From Amsterdam to Melbourne
The tale of a Dutchie trying to survive Down Under
About half a year ago, I moved from my beloved Amsterdam to Melbourne. I’m sad to say that in five days, I’ll be leaving this gorgeous city again. How is it to move from the tiny village of Amsterdam (in The Netherlands we call it a metropolis, but that’s only because the second largest city extends about eight kilometres from east to west, which Amsterdam beats by a staggering, mind-blowing, shocking six kilometres — a village), to a true metropolis as Melbourne, which extends about 65 kilometres from east to west? Hashtag urban sprawl. I’ll tell you now.
The tale of the bikes
So, guess the first thing a Dutchie does when arriving in Melbourne? Of course! Buy a bike. And is that a good idea? Of course not! Admittedly, the city layout is much more bike-friendly than any other non-European I’ve ever seen. There are bike lanes galore, on busy crossroads we have our own traffic light, it’s relatively flat, there are many parks that provide fast-lanes for us, and we’re allowed to behave schizophrenically (sometimes bike-rider, sometimes pedestrian, sometimes car when switching lanes — something I’d never done before). However, Melburnians are a bit less bike-friendly than the city itself. I received a middle finger twice, I heard “You fucking idiot on your fucking bike” once, “That’s not funny guys!” once (okay, okay. I was giving my boyfriend a ride on the carrier on the back of the bike — a very common sight in Amsterdam, as many as three people fit on one bike easily, but not so common in Melbourne), something like “A hat would look good on you!” or “Safety first!” (okay, okay. I forgot to wear my helmet. A very common sight in Amsterdam — helmless riders). I’ve been violently overtaken, I’ve been yelled at, I’ve been horned at, and I’ve had a car door slammed into me twice (accidentally though, because it can be quite lethal. But still..), also known as ‘doored’.
But why? I never yelled at anyone for being a fucking idiot driving a fucking polluting car, I never said “Emitting is not funny guys!”, I never gave someone a middle finger for taking up 3.75 square meters of scarce urban area, I never said “A bike would look good under you!” or “Environment first!” Still, despite the areas for improvement in bike-friendliness of Melburnians, being able to ride my bike anywhere, made me feel happy in this city. You’re so much more strongly connected to life on the street while navigating through it in the open air, rather than being locked-up in your metal cocoon. Downside: metal cocoons have air-conditioning. My bike doesn’t have that yet, and that’s not fun on a 42-degrees day. On the black asphalt. Behind a garbage truck. Wearing a helmet.
It’s awesome to see that, whereas in Amsterdam the bike is the most common method of transport, here bike-riders form a true sub-culture. Or probably even counter-culture, since we’re talking about a city that’s designed for cars. A city that is so sprawled that when you live in any of the suburbs, driving is your only option. We, the bike-riders, are the outcasts of society, and it’s fun for a while — even though I hope to see a change in the future, when bike-riding will become the status quo.
The tale of the conversations
So, I got my bike. What’s next? Talk to an Aussie. I was lucky to have been prepared for this by my friend from Perth, with whom I live in Amsterdam. She told me to never say Melbourne. It’s Malbun. You don’t want to sound like an American tourist, do you? And How are you doing today? Is everything well? translates into Hawyagarn? or Howzitgarnmate? Some more Australian language peculiarities:
1. Everything is abbreviated. Even if the abbreviation is longer than the actual word. Making avo from ‘avocado’, makes sense to me. But then making smoko (two syllables) from ‘smoke’ (one syllable) makes me question everything in life. And making arvo out of ‘afternoon’? Why? There’s no v in ‘afternoon’. And it sounds exactly the same as avo when an Aussie pronounces it. Can you imagine how confused I was at first? Thinking my colleague was telling me that ‘This avocado was going by so slowly.’ or asking me if I wanted to meet this avocado for a beer.
2. That’s perfect, or that’s no problem = Sweet as, mate. Which sounds exactly the same as sweet ass, mate, which is not something I expected this same colleague to say to me on my first day of work.
3. Carlton Draught = Ca’n Drah
4. Carlton Dry = Ca’n Drah I had such a hard time bartending at the horse races this year, where we served both Carlton Draught and Carlton Dry, which happened to be the two most popular drinks.
You know, it doesn’t stop with understanding what they’re saying. Because you also need to make actual conversation with these people. Talk back to them. When they ask you how your day has been so far, they expect an answer. When you ask this same question in Amsterdam, your answer will be a raised eyebrow. But these friendly Aussies, the stereotype is true, they are extremely social, want to make conversation. You don’t have to say anything in those conversations, though. As long as you talk. This morning, I walked into this hip clothing shop in my hipster neighbourhood Fitzroy and the convo (= conversation, of course) went like this.
Bearded hipster: G’day mate, hawyagarn? (For the record, I’m a girl. But gender neutrality.)
Me: Pretty good, thanks! And you?
Bearded hipster: Not too mad myself, mate! Anything going on this morning?
Me: Nah, not much. Just wandering about.
Bearded hipster: Ah sweet as, mate. Pretty cruisy morning, hey?
Me: Pretty cruisy. What about yourself?
Bearded hipster: Yeh, just hanging around a bit. Not much.
Me: That’s the way, mate.
(***You’re allowed to skip to the end of this conversation, dear reader. You may continue reading, if you’re super interested though***)
Bearded hipster: I know right. Just seeing what’s going on.
Me: Yeah, seems to be a lot going on this morning.
Bearded hipster: Always, mate. Always. Had a good weekend as well?
Me: Yeah, pretty sweet actually. Laid back. Not much going on.
Bearded hipster: That’s the way, that’s the way. Living the life.
Me: You too?
Bearded hipster: Yeah, not much going on. Just hanging a bit, you know.
Me: Sweet as, mate.
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The tale of the coffee
Bought myself a pair of jeans from the bearded hipster. I was happy to hear from him that all profits go to job training for the homeless. Now, it’s time for a coffee of course. Melburnians are true coffee artists. Never have I been in a city where the standard of coffee-making is as high as here. I’m going to have such a hard time being back in Amsterdam. Anyone who has ever been to Amsterdam will now think: But, the coffee in Amsterdam is not that bad right? No it isn’t. The coffee in Melbourne is that good. And ordering a coffee is an art in its own and I think I still don’t quite get it, even after having read the idiot’s guide to coffee. Dear Melburnians. Forgive me for any mistake I am about to make. Dear friends and family. If I haven’t returned to Amsterdam by the 26th of March, give up all hope.
To begin with, there’s no such thing as coffee with milk. You have to make more decisions than that.
1a. What coffee? Espresso (or short black), double espresso (or double short black, which no one ever says, I think), long black, Americano (which is not the same as long black), filter coffee (which is not the same as Americano or long black)?
1b. What coffee? Arabica (some sort of bean), Robusto (some sort of other bean), Other Bean (some sort of other bean) or Other Bean?
1c. What coffee? Dark roasted, medium roasted, light roasted, semi-dark roasted, nearly dark roasted but still a bit medium roasted?
2. What milk? Soy, almond, full cream, skim? I’m sure there are more kinds of milk than this, but don’t ask me which. And then they do things with your milk which makes it warm or foam or half foam or half warm or whatever, I’m confused.
3. Make your combination! You’re free to choose what you want, but whatever you do, choose a short black. With milk.
a. Short black + milk = latte
b. Short black + milk = flat white (I know.. but you know, in the latter the milk is milk, nice and creamy. In the former, the milk is steamed into this also creamy consistency but with a tiny bit of foam on top. And there’s more of it than in the latter)
c. Short black + milk = cappuccino (I know.. but you know, in this one, the milk is more textured than in the two former)
d. Short black + milk = short macchiato, better known as mac(I know.. but you know, in this one, there’s only a tiny amount of milk. And it’s foamed)
e. Short black + milk = magic (I know.. but you know, this one is just different than the other ones)
So, I’ve got my bike. Got my homeless-people-funding jeans. I’ve had my coffee. I’ve seen my art while doing so — because the streets of Melbourne are full of it, see a previous story that I wrote. So I go back to my loft with exposed-brick walls, before going out again to the local corner-pub for a local craft beer while listening to a local craft band wearing local craft clothes and covered in local craft tattoos. Because everything you eat and buy and do and see should be Aussie-made. The least original slogan found in any shop in Melbourne is “Locally owned, locally produced” or any equivalent such as “Locally designed, locally made”, also a very common one. While I find my keys in my back, I say hi to the neighbor who is just turning a mini-van into a house on wheels. Our neighbor is also our gardener, but he doesn’t have the key to our garden. It doesn’t matter, he says. He just always climbs our wall when the plants need watering.
You know, these people know how to live and enjoy, and it was a true gift to have been part of this for half a year. Every time I go abroad for longer time, there’s some fantastic trait that I learn from the locals that I hope to take home with me to Amsterdam, but I always seem to lose it so quickly once I’m home. In Vancouver it was chit chatting to people in public. In Indonesia it was be satisfied with what you have and happy with the small things in life. In Ecuador it was salsa-dancing is not for me. In Cape Town there were too many lessons to count — I’ll write another story about this later. In Melbourne it is: relax a little bit more. Don’t stress, it’ll all be alright. Be friendly to people. Talk to them, it doesn’t matter about what. Don’t be shy, just do it. Smile to people on the streets. Tell them they look nice today as they walk past. FIND GOOD COFFEE AND SPEND ALL YOUR MONEY ON IT. Go home from work at 5pm. I truly hope I can take these lessons home with me. Okay, I can tell you now that the last one’s not going to happen. But the rest might just be possible.
