adventures with Australian culture
I love the moments when traveling where you can’t tell what’s part of the foreign culture and what’s just a misunderstanding. At least, I love them afterwards.
One day in Adelaide, I had two such moments. The first happened at lunch.
I ordered fish and chips, which came with tartar sauce. The man behind the counter asked if I wanted anything else, and I said, “Yeah - do you have any ketchup?”
He looked at me in confusion, then looked around behind the counter for a bit. “No, sorry,” he said, finally. “We don’t have anything except the normal sauces.”
“All right, thanks anyway.” So Australians - or at least Adelaidians - didn’t have ketchup - or even recognize the name. I wondered how widespread the condiment was worldwide, as I munched on my fries. At least I really like fries in tartar sauce.
After I finished my meal, I bussed my tray. As I placed it on the counter, I spotted a large container of tomato sauce.
Aha. Not so unknown, then. (Though online research shows that Australian tomato sauce sometimes does not contain vinegar - which is a shame - and can also be referred to as “dead horse.” So, not entirely interchangeable, then.)
A few minutes after finishing lunch, I was in line at an espresso stand. Under guidance from friends, I had so far ordered a “flat white” every time I would have normally ordered a latte - like a latte with less foam, allegedly, although I had been unable to detect a difference between it and lattes I had known. This time, I decided to order an Australian latte and see if and how it differed from its American cousin.
“Will that be for take away?”
“Yes, please.”
“Here you go.”
I looked down into the cup she’d handed me. It was only half full. I wondered if this was a feature of an Australian-style latte. Was I supposed to add sugar before she added the rest of the milk? Was I supposed to inspect it? Was there an intentional air pocket to create some special thermodynamic effect? Was this somehow because I’d asked for it for take away? I couldn’t even tell if I was supposed to take some action or make some decision at this stage and then hand it back to her, or whether our transaction was finished. I waited uneasily for a further clue.
The woman smiled at me, doing ambiguous things to a container of milk. Was the milk meant for me? Who knows.
I looked around for other customers, hoping to watch and learn. None were in sight. The woman and the milk moved back and forth behind the counter, and I realized I would only look more foolish the longer I stood around staring questioningly into my coffee cup.
Finally, I spoke up. “Um. Excuse me?”
“Yes?”
“Um.” Having gotten her attention, I wasn’t sure what question to ask. “I was wondering… about this space? In my cup? Is it… what do I do?”
She stared at me for a moment, and I felt very good about the impression I was making on behalf of Americans.
“Oh, I’m sorry, lovey. I should have explained. We ran out of the smaller cups!”
“Oh. Oh! Okay. Great. Thanks. Bye.” I fumbled the lid onto my half-full cup and left as quickly and non-sheepishly as I could (not very, in both cases).
Sometimes, I found myself in situations where “there is something Australian going on here” wasn’t even a hypothesis I initially entertained, but I should have. Before B. and I climbed the Sydney Harbor Bridge, we had to get into a whole bunch of climbing gear, and we also had to leave behind or secure everything that might fall off during the trip. One of the climb leaders came over to me and said,
“You gonna wanna take off your glasses?”
“Oh, no, I want to keep them on,” I told him.
“You gonna wanna take off your glasses?” he repeated.
“Um, no - I can’t see without them. I need them for the climb.”
“You gonna wanna take off your glasses?” he said yet again, sounding somewhat impatient.
At this point, I was clamping my glasses to my head with both hands in case he tried to take them away from me and leave me visionless. “No!” I yelped.
However, I was also racking my brain for ideas about what could be going on during this exchange that I was not understanding. Finally, I came up with a theory. Sydneysiders (yes, they’re really called that), like most other Australians, elide many of their Rs when pronouncing words (they are non-rhotic) [1]. Could he actually be saying, “You’re gonna wanna take off your glasses,” instead? But if it was an instruction, why did it sound like a question?
I decided to treat it as an instruction, and, when I removed my glasses experimentally, he immediately grabbed them. He attached a retaining cord to both ends and handed them back to me. He looked as relieved as I was to be finished with the conversation. Thereafter, I noticed that many Australians’ sentences end with the kind of upward tone indicative of a question in the U.S.
One thing that is Australian, and is completely awesome: you can go to the bar and ask for a pony, and you’ll get one! A pony turns out to be a very small beer - 140 ml (in some locations, you can also ask for an even smaller “Shetland”). That more than makes up for all of my misunderstandings about Australian culture.
[1] They compensate by adding Rs in silly spots; a professor I met told me about something that had happened when he’d been “at a higher state”, and I was wondering why he’d returned from enlightenment until I realized he’d said “Ohio State.”
One day in Adelaide, I had two such moments. The first happened at lunch.
I ordered fish and chips, which came with tartar sauce. The man behind the counter asked if I wanted anything else, and I said, “Yeah - do you have any ketchup?”
He looked at me in confusion, then looked around behind the counter for a bit. “No, sorry,” he said, finally. “We don’t have anything except the normal sauces.”
“All right, thanks anyway.” So Australians - or at least Adelaidians - didn’t have ketchup - or even recognize the name. I wondered how widespread the condiment was worldwide, as I munched on my fries. At least I really like fries in tartar sauce.
After I finished my meal, I bussed my tray. As I placed it on the counter, I spotted a large container of tomato sauce.
Aha. Not so unknown, then. (Though online research shows that Australian tomato sauce sometimes does not contain vinegar - which is a shame - and can also be referred to as “dead horse.” So, not entirely interchangeable, then.)
A few minutes after finishing lunch, I was in line at an espresso stand. Under guidance from friends, I had so far ordered a “flat white” every time I would have normally ordered a latte - like a latte with less foam, allegedly, although I had been unable to detect a difference between it and lattes I had known. This time, I decided to order an Australian latte and see if and how it differed from its American cousin.
“Will that be for take away?”
“Yes, please.”
“Here you go.”
I looked down into the cup she’d handed me. It was only half full. I wondered if this was a feature of an Australian-style latte. Was I supposed to add sugar before she added the rest of the milk? Was I supposed to inspect it? Was there an intentional air pocket to create some special thermodynamic effect? Was this somehow because I’d asked for it for take away? I couldn’t even tell if I was supposed to take some action or make some decision at this stage and then hand it back to her, or whether our transaction was finished. I waited uneasily for a further clue.
The woman smiled at me, doing ambiguous things to a container of milk. Was the milk meant for me? Who knows.
I looked around for other customers, hoping to watch and learn. None were in sight. The woman and the milk moved back and forth behind the counter, and I realized I would only look more foolish the longer I stood around staring questioningly into my coffee cup.
Finally, I spoke up. “Um. Excuse me?”
“Yes?”
“Um.” Having gotten her attention, I wasn’t sure what question to ask. “I was wondering… about this space? In my cup? Is it… what do I do?”
She stared at me for a moment, and I felt very good about the impression I was making on behalf of Americans.
“Oh, I’m sorry, lovey. I should have explained. We ran out of the smaller cups!”
“Oh. Oh! Okay. Great. Thanks. Bye.” I fumbled the lid onto my half-full cup and left as quickly and non-sheepishly as I could (not very, in both cases).
Sometimes, I found myself in situations where “there is something Australian going on here” wasn’t even a hypothesis I initially entertained, but I should have. Before B. and I climbed the Sydney Harbor Bridge, we had to get into a whole bunch of climbing gear, and we also had to leave behind or secure everything that might fall off during the trip. One of the climb leaders came over to me and said,
“You gonna wanna take off your glasses?”
“Oh, no, I want to keep them on,” I told him.
“You gonna wanna take off your glasses?” he repeated.
“Um, no - I can’t see without them. I need them for the climb.”
“You gonna wanna take off your glasses?” he said yet again, sounding somewhat impatient.
At this point, I was clamping my glasses to my head with both hands in case he tried to take them away from me and leave me visionless. “No!” I yelped.
However, I was also racking my brain for ideas about what could be going on during this exchange that I was not understanding. Finally, I came up with a theory. Sydneysiders (yes, they’re really called that), like most other Australians, elide many of their Rs when pronouncing words (they are non-rhotic) [1]. Could he actually be saying, “You’re gonna wanna take off your glasses,” instead? But if it was an instruction, why did it sound like a question?
I decided to treat it as an instruction, and, when I removed my glasses experimentally, he immediately grabbed them. He attached a retaining cord to both ends and handed them back to me. He looked as relieved as I was to be finished with the conversation. Thereafter, I noticed that many Australians’ sentences end with the kind of upward tone indicative of a question in the U.S.
One thing that is Australian, and is completely awesome: you can go to the bar and ask for a pony, and you’ll get one! A pony turns out to be a very small beer - 140 ml (in some locations, you can also ask for an even smaller “Shetland”). That more than makes up for all of my misunderstandings about Australian culture.
[1] They compensate by adding Rs in silly spots; a professor I met told me about something that had happened when he’d been “at a higher state”, and I was wondering why he’d returned from enlightenment until I realized he’d said “Ohio State.”