Far From The Subway Crowd

"Come on down to the Mermaid Cafe and I will
buy you a bottle of wine
And we'll laugh and toast to nothing and smash our empty glasses down
A round for these freaks and these soldiers
A round for these friends of mine
Let's have another round for the bright red devil
who keeps me in this tourist town"

From 'Carey', Joni Mitchell 1971

Standing wedged between fellow New Yorkers in the subway car lurching and shuddering its way downtown; unable to reach the bar to stabilise myself, and held upright by the pressure of the black-clad bodies around me, my mind suddenly and inexplicably jumped back several decades.

Bell's Beach, Victoria circa 1980.

Sun, surf and sand. In those days I was bringing up two blonde Aussie kids. A day didn't go by that there wasn't sand between our toes. Barefoot and brown we'd rise and shine to clear blue skies and the sound of surf.

Unbelievable to me now; in those days I barely knew what a computer was, and though my life's dream was to stand in the middle of Time's Square, I never really expected to get there.

In those days I was a potter - a bead-maker and ceramicist. I loved using brightly colored glazes in primary colors. The fashion back then was browns and earthy greens; it was a time of back to nature. Rebelling against the trend, I imported glazes from Germany - the colors I wanted were not to be had in Australia in glazes - though they suffused the landscape and skies of Victoria as they still do.

I'd set the kiln off at night and in the morning creep barefoot across a sandy path to the garage where it was housed, to carefully lift the lid. Bright, still semi-molten jewels of clear blues and greens, stared back at me. Greens and blues, the very hues of the Great Ocean Road. I never tired of that morning trek to discover what I had created.

Bell's Beach 1980. A world I cannot now imagine; so far away in time and distance it no longer seems real.

This far-off world was again brought back to me today. Watching Australian Gordon Elliot on the telly in our cramped studio apartment in Manhattan, I saw again the unbelievably blue skies of Australia. Elliot's culinary journey took the viewer around Sydney Harbour, spectacular at any time. Laid-back Australians discussed the seafood and wines that are in abundance there. The Opera House sparkled. Commuters filled ferries making their relaxed way home from work. The Lucky Country.

"Why do you want to live here when you could live in Australia?" American colleagues ask. When they do, I ask myself, and usually have no quick answer. Like many expats it is easy to forget just precisely how we arrived at where we are.

The far-away in time and geography can easily seem better than it actually was. We forget the downside and why we moved away in the first place. Nevertheless I can't think of many places so different from each other in appearance and life style than Bell's and Manhattan. How can the same person have existed in both places?

I take another look around at my fellow commuters on the 6 train. They are from all over the globe. From Indian villages and third world metropolises, from the steppes of eastern Russia to the beaches of the Caribbean. From the crowded market towns of Eastern Africa to economically-troubled Argentina. I'm not alone in leaving behind a completely apposite life.

As I pushed my way toward the door as the train pulled into Grand Central, I thought - if we could somehow bring together all our past places, what a brilliant tapestry we New Yorkers could make.

Kate Juliff
New York
March 2002

Your Say

Brandon
It was hard for me to believe that you were the author of both "The 'I don't care people' and "A Plea for Sensitivity". As an American man married to an Australian woman, I have lived in Australia twice now, for a little over a year each time, and I am truly scared of the place, and of the thought of having to go back. However, my wife misses her family, and I know it is inevitable that I will have to return there to live from time to time.

After reading the "I don't care" article, I was all set to write you a letter telling you "Oh yeah? Well, callous indifference toward you beats veiled hatred anyday!" with reference toward my perception of how I am treated in Australia once people realize I am an American...But after reading your other article, it seems that you are already aware of this phenomenon.

I just wanted to let you know that I appreciated your article--for the first year I lived in Australia, I couldn't even convince my wife that the anti-American sentiment there was real...it wasn't until she started to adopt a bit of an accent herself from having lived in the USA, then returned to Australia, that she really felt the sting.

Anyway, thanks...I guess not all Australians are imbeciles.

Brandon, you will by now have read answers from expat Australians to a similar question you posted on the The Pub with no Beer. For other readers who may be interested, see Aussiness.

I still stand by both stories. "The I Don't Care People" is written specifically about New York. It was written several years ago, and since writing it I have only been in two more American's homes in New York! I don't think the sentiments are true of other Americans.

The only thing that has changed since I wrote the article, is that now I've have changed. I no longer care whether people visit or not, and feel little need to meet other New Yorkers. Read Like Sand Through the Hourglass written a few months ago, which is more of how I think now.

Regarding the rude and parochial Aussies. I agree completely. I've sensed the same attitude as you have, and am embarrassed by it. I am sure that I speak for many Australians when I say, "I believe you and I am sorry".