Life in a new country
I went to a ballet class today. Apart from the weird accent, it was home. Ballet, ballet is special. Ballet is the same the world over. We all speak the same language. We all understand the same grading system. And the result is that you can walk into any ballet class, around the world, and know what to expect.
I mean, every teacher teaches slightly differently, they all have their own style on top of the basic steps, they might use very slight variations in some of the step names. But, basically, it's the same. The steps are the same. The technique is the same. They all expect the same level of perfection. It's familiar, it's friendly, and it's home.
The class was full of teenagers. It's a place that has some more full-time students as well as the evening classes, it's a serious dance school. So the class was for students that are spending a lot of time there. Some that had been there a while, some that I think had just joined. Some doing class on pointe, some not. Some legs well above 90, some struggling to make it. I was somewhere middle-to-top, I guess. but then, I have about 15 years of practice on most of them. The class moved fast, it was fun, it wasn't crazy hard to keep up with, but it wasn't 'not advanced enough'. It meant that I could push my limits a bit. Everything was slow, which was so nice after a series of teachers that do everything fast. Especially for me, who likes moving that bit more slowly. It gives time to find the lines, time to push for that extra bit of height. Time to really rotate to full turn-out without having to think 'oh, no, don't have time to get there, I have to do the next step!'. I'll go back.
Class tomorrow, at the same place, with presumably the same kids, but a different teacher. Hope this one's just as good.
It was important for another reason too. It's part of feeling settled here. Feeling like we're living, rather than visiting. Getting back to normal ways. In the last week we've moved 12,000 miles, bought a car in a new city, registered for taxes in a new country, registered for the healthcare system, been to a new church (more to visit yet), got our names onto the Quaker attenders list, found the English pub (does Real Beer), learnt where all the shopping centres are and got our rewards cards for Woolworths, applied for 6 houses to rent for the next year (and 2 more forms are sitting on my table, with another viewing tomorrow and one on Thursday). I've started a new job, Pete's been applying daily (and has an interview on Wednesday). It's been busy, it's been productive. And yet, it doesn't feel new at all. This city, this lovely lovely city, it feels like home. It felt like home on day 2, despite not knowing where we were going, despite map-reading like crazy and relying on the satnav. I'm still mapreading like crazy, but I'm not using the satnav any more, and I'm learning the roads, bit by bit. And seeing every day a little bit more of how lovely Canberra really is.
It's green. It has hills (especially around the south). It has space. So much space. Green parks and pathways all the way through the city, splitting the suburb-districts. Lakes, and 'ponds'. Cycle paths, and footpaths, all around the lakes, all through the suburbs. Big wide cycle paths down main roads, wide enough for 2. The districts. Weston Creek, Woden, Tuggeranong, Gungahlin, Belconnen. They all have smaller breakdowns into suburbs, they all have shopping centres (some bigger than others). They also all have greenways running between them. We've found quiet spots by the lakes to sit, and picnic and barbecue spots for another day. Pete's been cycling, and running. I've strolled to the shops in the sunshine. We've had sun, we've had thunderstorms, we've had torrential rain (but it was still hot). I've turned Aussie "gee, it's cold" only to realise when I got in the car that the air temperature outside was 19ºC. It's a a beautiful city. It doesn't feel like a city at all. It doesn't have traffic problems. It has clear roads, surrounded by green.
Come and visit, I'd like to show it off.
I mean, every teacher teaches slightly differently, they all have their own style on top of the basic steps, they might use very slight variations in some of the step names. But, basically, it's the same. The steps are the same. The technique is the same. They all expect the same level of perfection. It's familiar, it's friendly, and it's home.
The class was full of teenagers. It's a place that has some more full-time students as well as the evening classes, it's a serious dance school. So the class was for students that are spending a lot of time there. Some that had been there a while, some that I think had just joined. Some doing class on pointe, some not. Some legs well above 90, some struggling to make it. I was somewhere middle-to-top, I guess. but then, I have about 15 years of practice on most of them. The class moved fast, it was fun, it wasn't crazy hard to keep up with, but it wasn't 'not advanced enough'. It meant that I could push my limits a bit. Everything was slow, which was so nice after a series of teachers that do everything fast. Especially for me, who likes moving that bit more slowly. It gives time to find the lines, time to push for that extra bit of height. Time to really rotate to full turn-out without having to think 'oh, no, don't have time to get there, I have to do the next step!'. I'll go back.
Class tomorrow, at the same place, with presumably the same kids, but a different teacher. Hope this one's just as good.
It was important for another reason too. It's part of feeling settled here. Feeling like we're living, rather than visiting. Getting back to normal ways. In the last week we've moved 12,000 miles, bought a car in a new city, registered for taxes in a new country, registered for the healthcare system, been to a new church (more to visit yet), got our names onto the Quaker attenders list, found the English pub (does Real Beer), learnt where all the shopping centres are and got our rewards cards for Woolworths, applied for 6 houses to rent for the next year (and 2 more forms are sitting on my table, with another viewing tomorrow and one on Thursday). I've started a new job, Pete's been applying daily (and has an interview on Wednesday). It's been busy, it's been productive. And yet, it doesn't feel new at all. This city, this lovely lovely city, it feels like home. It felt like home on day 2, despite not knowing where we were going, despite map-reading like crazy and relying on the satnav. I'm still mapreading like crazy, but I'm not using the satnav any more, and I'm learning the roads, bit by bit. And seeing every day a little bit more of how lovely Canberra really is.
It's green. It has hills (especially around the south). It has space. So much space. Green parks and pathways all the way through the city, splitting the suburb-districts. Lakes, and 'ponds'. Cycle paths, and footpaths, all around the lakes, all through the suburbs. Big wide cycle paths down main roads, wide enough for 2. The districts. Weston Creek, Woden, Tuggeranong, Gungahlin, Belconnen. They all have smaller breakdowns into suburbs, they all have shopping centres (some bigger than others). They also all have greenways running between them. We've found quiet spots by the lakes to sit, and picnic and barbecue spots for another day. Pete's been cycling, and running. I've strolled to the shops in the sunshine. We've had sun, we've had thunderstorms, we've had torrential rain (but it was still hot). I've turned Aussie "gee, it's cold" only to realise when I got in the car that the air temperature outside was 19ºC. It's a a beautiful city. It doesn't feel like a city at all. It doesn't have traffic problems. It has clear roads, surrounded by green.
Come and visit, I'd like to show it off.