See the real Australia - mow the lawn
Most tourists don't actually experience the lifestyle enjoyed by the majority of Aussies - they travel up the coast to beach resorts, or across the desert to see the wilderness of the outback, or gather in the centre of the state capitals to see the sights. But that's not where most of the 20 million locals live. The vast majority occupy the few large cities, and there few live in the high-rise CBDs. Nope, pick any Aussie at random, and the chances are good that they live in the suburbs. Yes, it really is just like Neighbours.
So I was very lucky on arriving in the country to have the opportunity to see that side of Australian culture. I was practically adopted by the family of my traveling companions, and for five weeks I enjoyed the unhurried pace of Sydney's vast sprawl.
The first thing an Englishman notices is that there are very few houses like the ones back home. The most curious thing is that every home seems to occupy the same amount of land, and that amount is quite generous by British standards. Our tendency to cram as many dwellings as possible onto a given plot doesn't seem to occur here. Each family gets a garden front and back, and I haven't spotted such a thing as semi-detached, so no banging on the walls if the neighbours make a racket.
But even the most expensive mansions with million dollar harbour views don't seem to merit much more square footage than the average. Here, the mark of affluence seems to be how high you build, and how solid it is. The typical house here is what most Europeans would call a shed, constructed with weatherboard walls, perhaps lined on the inside with pressed aluminium sheeting. I remember we used to joke about the poor production values on Aussie soaps because we could see the walls wobble. Turns out that's quite realistic. And the whole structure is usually topped off with a corrugated iron roof. And that's fine for a country as warm and dry as this, except it's not always warm, or dry. Though they don't get much rain, when they do, it means business, and anyone inhabiting an older house better have a few buckets available. It also gets pretty loud.
If you do well for yourself, you can knock down the shed and build something a touch more substantial, concrete and perhaps a brick or two, and if you're really raking it in, you might even indulge in a upstairs - then you can sit on your balcony and look down on your less affluent neighbours. The end result is a complete lack of uniformity anywhere. Houses come in every colour and style - a short walk will take you past bright mediterranean villas, plain brick boxes, and the occasional swiss chalet, all randomly interspersed with sheds in various states of repair.
Another thing I noticed during my wanderings is that pavements are optional. Grassy verges go right from fence to roadside, cut only by driveways. But there's often so little traffic that walking on the road isn't a problem. What pavements they have are usually concrete, and not very well drained after a downpour.
I have found that any town or city has a different feel after dark, so I tend to wander around fairly aimlessly in the evenings, which luckily it is safe to do here (I'm advised not to try similar if I'm ever in South Africa). The views across the Sydney landscape lit up like Christmas are spectacular, both towards the city centre, and west across Olympic Park, but I'd recommend scouting out any potential route by daylight first - streetlights seem to be optional in some places too. And watch out for low-flying fruitbats.
Anyway, I mentioned mowing. What activity could be more domesticated (for a man at least). In gratitude for the hospitality I had received, I offered to cut a ridiculously overgrown back lawn. I apologise to any lost pygmy tribes I decimated in the process. Pausing midway through my efforts, I found myself sitting in the sunshine next to the leaky tin shed that was temporarily home, silly akubra hat on my head, cold beer in my hand, looking out over a splendid view of the the city, the top of the harbour bridge just poking over the treetops. I couldn't imagine anything more quintessentially Australian, unless it involved a prawn.
So I was very lucky on arriving in the country to have the opportunity to see that side of Australian culture. I was practically adopted by the family of my traveling companions, and for five weeks I enjoyed the unhurried pace of Sydney's vast sprawl.
The first thing an Englishman notices is that there are very few houses like the ones back home. The most curious thing is that every home seems to occupy the same amount of land, and that amount is quite generous by British standards. Our tendency to cram as many dwellings as possible onto a given plot doesn't seem to occur here. Each family gets a garden front and back, and I haven't spotted such a thing as semi-detached, so no banging on the walls if the neighbours make a racket.
But even the most expensive mansions with million dollar harbour views don't seem to merit much more square footage than the average. Here, the mark of affluence seems to be how high you build, and how solid it is. The typical house here is what most Europeans would call a shed, constructed with weatherboard walls, perhaps lined on the inside with pressed aluminium sheeting. I remember we used to joke about the poor production values on Aussie soaps because we could see the walls wobble. Turns out that's quite realistic. And the whole structure is usually topped off with a corrugated iron roof. And that's fine for a country as warm and dry as this, except it's not always warm, or dry. Though they don't get much rain, when they do, it means business, and anyone inhabiting an older house better have a few buckets available. It also gets pretty loud.
If you do well for yourself, you can knock down the shed and build something a touch more substantial, concrete and perhaps a brick or two, and if you're really raking it in, you might even indulge in a upstairs - then you can sit on your balcony and look down on your less affluent neighbours. The end result is a complete lack of uniformity anywhere. Houses come in every colour and style - a short walk will take you past bright mediterranean villas, plain brick boxes, and the occasional swiss chalet, all randomly interspersed with sheds in various states of repair.
Another thing I noticed during my wanderings is that pavements are optional. Grassy verges go right from fence to roadside, cut only by driveways. But there's often so little traffic that walking on the road isn't a problem. What pavements they have are usually concrete, and not very well drained after a downpour.
I have found that any town or city has a different feel after dark, so I tend to wander around fairly aimlessly in the evenings, which luckily it is safe to do here (I'm advised not to try similar if I'm ever in South Africa). The views across the Sydney landscape lit up like Christmas are spectacular, both towards the city centre, and west across Olympic Park, but I'd recommend scouting out any potential route by daylight first - streetlights seem to be optional in some places too. And watch out for low-flying fruitbats.
Anyway, I mentioned mowing. What activity could be more domesticated (for a man at least). In gratitude for the hospitality I had received, I offered to cut a ridiculously overgrown back lawn. I apologise to any lost pygmy tribes I decimated in the process. Pausing midway through my efforts, I found myself sitting in the sunshine next to the leaky tin shed that was temporarily home, silly akubra hat on my head, cold beer in my hand, looking out over a splendid view of the the city, the top of the harbour bridge just poking over the treetops. I couldn't imagine anything more quintessentially Australian, unless it involved a prawn.