It’s cool to have backpacker friends. You can tell backpacker stories without boring anyone. You can have backpackers plans without sounding too much like a tourist. Yes we’re going to climb it, this mountain, and be the first to see the Sun in Australia. How cool will that be.
And you can say nasty things about the country you’re in without hurting anyone. But , no we did not find anything bad to say about Australia. My Japanese friend was even having Vegemite on toast for morning tea the other day.
But to feel good, The backpacker needs to blame the country for something. It’s like a birthright. Okay when it all goes wrong we can always blame the weather. That works really well in the UK. And this story about winter in summer is not right. We’re all expecting Christmas anytime soon. And guess what , pressies are months away. So not fair.
And then we talk about our backpacking experience in Australia. Well that’s when I stop talking. And smile. They were taking about the outback , about driving motorbike for miles ( sorry, kilometers) and the amazing things they had seen.
I’ve got to tell them the ugly truth. ‘’ I’ve stayed in a hostel once. For one night. When I landed. On 25th January. And in 6 months, I ‘ve traveled 37km. And a half. But I still have a backpack. I’m a backpacker!’’ To the answer ‘’why’’ they probably expected the answer ‘’ I wanted to extend my visa doing hard labor for 3 months ’’ ( yep you’re got to earn it mate) or ‘’ I have no money’’ or even worse ‘’ I am scared to travel by myself’’ I just told the truth ‘’ I just wanted to be with people’’. Lame.
And then I remembered that awesome trip I took to Armidale . 6hour 9minutes through New South Wales with my 26 year old car Chouchou. I was so proud of it! So what did you see in Armidale?’’ I looked at them , not understanding. ‘’ I saw… people of course! ‘’ I had snails in a French restaurant with friends I had met in England years ago. Beat that mate. Of course I remember what I see but I most remember whom I see it with.
‘’ I never stayed long enough anywhere to get attached to people’’ said John.
Backpackers are independent. I remember the feeling. I’ve done a round the world trip with this feeling in 2009. Japan, New Zealand , Australia, Fiji , Los Angeles. A month of frantic traveling from one capital city to another. From one hostel to another. And a sense of lack when you get home. Mmmmm what did I miss? I missed people. Yeah I even remember living a life of independence. ‘’ What? You want to do this for me? I a quite capable to do this by myself thank you’’ That’s how you end up coming back to a empty flat every night… and even like it.
A crazy French dude once said ‘’ Hell is other people’’. I see what he means. And if you have ever worked in hospitality you must know too!
‘’ Can you move our table in the Sun? I’m cold. Wait can we have half of it in the shade? She’s warm’’ ‘’ Can I have 2 of everything, in a separate box?’’
People are mean. They throw their frustration at you. They test you until you give in.They boss you around , insult you until you can’t take it.
‘’ People come to work here to be abused, it’s not MY fault’’ my boss Gary said one day. He is so awful with his staff that I decided to keep track of everything he says in a book ‘’ The evil Gary book’’. We even invented a Gary factor. We agreed to not talk to him when GF exceeds 4. And leave the premises when it reaches 6.People break your car, people call only on Fridays but forget about you the rest of the week, or they want to do everything for you because they must don’t YOU can do it. Hell IS other people.
So why did I miss the Great Barrier Reef for people then? Because they’re Heaven too Mate.
No I did not see much but I’ve learnt. From them. With them. I’ve learnt to put the exact right amount of vegemite on a toast to make it right , I've learnt to say Op Shop , Rego , Capsicum , Efpos machine ( like everyone else). I’ve learnt to block everything that Julia Gillard says and only focus on her hair cut (like everyone else) I’ve learnt to tolerate the embarrassing presence of Tony Abott (like everyone else), I’ve learnt the national anthem from a 6 year old Australian kid. I’ve learnt to say ‘’ G’day Mate’’ in an Aussie accent. And keep my French accent when it’s handy ( most of the time). I’ve learnt that the RTA is not good news and NRMA sucks , I've learnt to drink beer at 4am on Anzac Day. I’ve learnt how bad the war was from real soldiers. And how good it is to remember.
People give you , You know , that sense of belonging . When I returned to visit my first home 37 km away in Mount Burrell the other day, it was literally like going back Home to visit Mum and Dad. Because John and Sue ARE my Aussie mum and dad. They helped me to pick my car, we had morning tea together everyday for 3 months, they fed me when I had hard days at the other job and we even got drunk watching the Royal Wedding together. And when they invited their whole family for a birthday lunch , I was invited too.
And Evil Gary. He’s evil but how can you not love him when he says ‘’ you’ve got a job with me until you go. So you can pay your rent. Even if it’s scrubbing toilet you will work here and you will teach my son French’’ Thanks Gary. How delicate. I love him. He’s the most generous guy I’ve met. But don’t tell him that.
Even random people have something great for you if you look at it. Everyone has something to offer you. GUIDANCE. It could be a smile or a liquor from a customer when you feel down or sick ( bloody strong liquor by the way. Must have been French) It could be a random conversation with a stranger at the shop that reminds you of your life mission. Or your fitness buddy whom you barely know telling you to keep running because YOU can do it. And magically, you do it. It could be an artist friend who tells you he likes your blog and you want to keep going.
It’s one for all Mate. You take their crap they take yours.You grow together. Where would I be without people? I would probably have seen most of Austraaaalia. But hey, don’t we have all our life to do that?
For now , I’m enjoying every minute of this life , coming home to a noisy house ( I’m mostly responsible for the noise) , sharing my day with my 6 year old friend , my doubts and joys with my flatmate who undeniably became my best friend, sharing the gluten free lactose free dinner she made especially for me ( she rocks) And speak to our new cat. Blacky Noir Star.
And that Mate, is worth any Great Barrier Reef.
A french girl discovering ze world, other cultures, people and herself...
Wednesday, 22 June 2011
Saturday, 11 June 2011
No G strings attached
‘’ Annabelle, you’re in charge of the new staff on trial today are you okay with it?’’ my manager at the posh restaurant said. What? if I mind RESPONSIBILITIES? I was born to have responsibilities. Working under pressure is my middle name. There I was , in charge of people. Telling them all these things they had to do, things that they should not forget that it’s all COMMON SENSE anyway. How empowering. And how easy it is to TALK. You just make things up as you go. And they take it so seriously these new people.
You would probably feel a bit superior to them , attached to your new responsibilities. If you could not see your scared self in them. Yes I had been there before. Many times. 2 weeks ago actually. So yeah I did let them learn, make mistakes, get stressed, it’s part of the show. But I also gave them that bit of comfort zone they needed. And in end I told them THE truth. ‘’ No one really knows what they’re doing. It’s all about pretending that you do’’
Same in Life. You’ve got to show that you know what you’re doing at all times. One of best test this week was singing the National Anthem in a school full of kids who knew it by heart. I did mumble through it with dignity. And, half way through I even felt it. The sense of belonging. I felt Australian, Mate. That’s when one of my friend decided to ask me ‘’ Why would a tourist like you come o a small town like Murwillumbah’’. A tou what? ‘’ Because I’m NOT a tourist. I like to live with the locals and get involved in a community’’ I smile, half upset to be called a freaking tourist. I was starting to realize how involved I actually got in the past months.
‘’ Dinner tonight?’’ Said mister Pink and Green Monster ( see previous post)
A tourist would call it good time at a local’s place. I call it a ‘’ DATE’’ . Like there was some sort a freaking future to it. A tourist would wear her only pair of jeans and her only sweater. I borrowed a sexy jacket from my friend. A tourist would buy food with her last dollars . I bought perfume. Bloody perfume. It was on special though.
SO , me , my make up, my Friend’s red jacket and my perfume go on a ‘’date’’. Happy times. After dessert , A tourist would have probably thought of what she was going to tell her friends back home ‘’ I hooked up with that cool dude in Oz , we had a fab time he was so funny , caring and… hang on I added him on Facebook I’ll show you his profile’’ but I thought ‘’ He’s great! Hang on. We’re not friends anymore now. Is this a relationship. No. Can’t be. Or is it?’’
I was still wondering how to approach the situation later that night ( you know , girls that ‘’ I don’t want to make plans but I’ve got flashes before my eyes ‘’ situation while the guy is snoring away next to you. Yeah that one. Let’s call it Feminine hallucination. I vaguely remember the promise I made to my dear girl friends in England ‘’ have the right priorities’’ when I moved the pillow and I found it. The reminder. That I was just passing by.
Oh these are my…. Hang on they’re NOT mine. They belong to another… woman.
I had done the girlfriend / wife police check before obviously ( far wiser when you’re French over here ) and I knew him long enough to know that no, there was no one permanent in his life. So there was no casualty, except for my dignity.
NOW. What would a normal woman with common sense do in that case. I hesitated between ‘’thanks for the present but I think they’re too small ’’ ( bitch) or ‘’ F**** B**** WTF is that’’ .
That’s when I heard it. The little voice in my head. The Truth. ‘’ Mate , can you look at this guy in the eyes and tell him that you’re going to hang around for him? Promise him you’d actually move in with him , That you would stop traveling and actually commit to this life? Can you ask him to love you and only you , when in YOUR head you’re already making plans to go teach English in Thailand ? . You can own if you want to buy. Otherwise you have to share. Stop kidding yourself , Mate’’
Bloody Wisdom. Always right. No, I can’t promise. So yes, what he does with HIS life is none of MY business. I’ve got to take responsibility for MY choices. And stop kidding myself. I don’t belong here. Or do I? But How about Thailand, Tibet, The Outback? Maybe…..
‘’ Stop thinking so loud I can hear you. What’s wrong?’’ Said the ‘’ Monster’’ next to me
My reply was the wisest thing I’ve ever said to a guy ‘’ What is right is far more interesting ‘’ And I stayed. For a little while longer. And a lot of stuff was right. And interesting.
Yeah. When you travel you don’t have time for what’s wrong.
Backpacking is the fine Art of ‘’seizing the day’’. You can Love but you can’t get attached to anyone or anything. Because you’ll be gone before you know it. Nothing or no one is really yours. All that you own fits in your backpack. You share everything else. But hey you also share bloody good times.
Have you ever heard 2 backpackers chatting?
You want to ask : ‘’ Are you guys best friends?’’ ‘’No we just met 40 minutes ago’’
That’s how I met 2 new friends the other night. John from Austria who’s traveling Australia on a motorbike , and Eiko from Japan who hopes to study here one day. There we were, 3 strangers in a café in the middle of nowhere , trying to warm ourselves up with tiny little candles, sharing traveling stories. Like that time in Kuala Lumpur when I put shorts on and EVERYONE was stopping to look at me. HAHA. Or that other time when I was living in the jungle in Malaysia … We were talking like we’ve always known each other, like we’ve always LOVED each other.
Because Love is so easy to give, in the end, Mate. But please do not attach any string. The trip is too short for that.
You would probably feel a bit superior to them , attached to your new responsibilities. If you could not see your scared self in them. Yes I had been there before. Many times. 2 weeks ago actually. So yeah I did let them learn, make mistakes, get stressed, it’s part of the show. But I also gave them that bit of comfort zone they needed. And in end I told them THE truth. ‘’ No one really knows what they’re doing. It’s all about pretending that you do’’
Same in Life. You’ve got to show that you know what you’re doing at all times. One of best test this week was singing the National Anthem in a school full of kids who knew it by heart. I did mumble through it with dignity. And, half way through I even felt it. The sense of belonging. I felt Australian, Mate. That’s when one of my friend decided to ask me ‘’ Why would a tourist like you come o a small town like Murwillumbah’’. A tou what? ‘’ Because I’m NOT a tourist. I like to live with the locals and get involved in a community’’ I smile, half upset to be called a freaking tourist. I was starting to realize how involved I actually got in the past months.
‘’ Dinner tonight?’’ Said mister Pink and Green Monster ( see previous post)
A tourist would call it good time at a local’s place. I call it a ‘’ DATE’’ . Like there was some sort a freaking future to it. A tourist would wear her only pair of jeans and her only sweater. I borrowed a sexy jacket from my friend. A tourist would buy food with her last dollars . I bought perfume. Bloody perfume. It was on special though.
SO , me , my make up, my Friend’s red jacket and my perfume go on a ‘’date’’. Happy times. After dessert , A tourist would have probably thought of what she was going to tell her friends back home ‘’ I hooked up with that cool dude in Oz , we had a fab time he was so funny , caring and… hang on I added him on Facebook I’ll show you his profile’’ but I thought ‘’ He’s great! Hang on. We’re not friends anymore now. Is this a relationship. No. Can’t be. Or is it?’’
I was still wondering how to approach the situation later that night ( you know , girls that ‘’ I don’t want to make plans but I’ve got flashes before my eyes ‘’ situation while the guy is snoring away next to you. Yeah that one. Let’s call it Feminine hallucination. I vaguely remember the promise I made to my dear girl friends in England ‘’ have the right priorities’’ when I moved the pillow and I found it. The reminder. That I was just passing by.
Oh these are my…. Hang on they’re NOT mine. They belong to another… woman.
I had done the girlfriend / wife police check before obviously ( far wiser when you’re French over here ) and I knew him long enough to know that no, there was no one permanent in his life. So there was no casualty, except for my dignity.
NOW. What would a normal woman with common sense do in that case. I hesitated between ‘’thanks for the present but I think they’re too small ’’ ( bitch) or ‘’ F**** B**** WTF is that’’ .
That’s when I heard it. The little voice in my head. The Truth. ‘’ Mate , can you look at this guy in the eyes and tell him that you’re going to hang around for him? Promise him you’d actually move in with him , That you would stop traveling and actually commit to this life? Can you ask him to love you and only you , when in YOUR head you’re already making plans to go teach English in Thailand ? . You can own if you want to buy. Otherwise you have to share. Stop kidding yourself , Mate’’
Bloody Wisdom. Always right. No, I can’t promise. So yes, what he does with HIS life is none of MY business. I’ve got to take responsibility for MY choices. And stop kidding myself. I don’t belong here. Or do I? But How about Thailand, Tibet, The Outback? Maybe…..
‘’ Stop thinking so loud I can hear you. What’s wrong?’’ Said the ‘’ Monster’’ next to me
My reply was the wisest thing I’ve ever said to a guy ‘’ What is right is far more interesting ‘’ And I stayed. For a little while longer. And a lot of stuff was right. And interesting.
Yeah. When you travel you don’t have time for what’s wrong.
Backpacking is the fine Art of ‘’seizing the day’’. You can Love but you can’t get attached to anyone or anything. Because you’ll be gone before you know it. Nothing or no one is really yours. All that you own fits in your backpack. You share everything else. But hey you also share bloody good times.
Have you ever heard 2 backpackers chatting?
You want to ask : ‘’ Are you guys best friends?’’ ‘’No we just met 40 minutes ago’’
That’s how I met 2 new friends the other night. John from Austria who’s traveling Australia on a motorbike , and Eiko from Japan who hopes to study here one day. There we were, 3 strangers in a café in the middle of nowhere , trying to warm ourselves up with tiny little candles, sharing traveling stories. Like that time in Kuala Lumpur when I put shorts on and EVERYONE was stopping to look at me. HAHA. Or that other time when I was living in the jungle in Malaysia … We were talking like we’ve always known each other, like we’ve always LOVED each other.
Because Love is so easy to give, in the end, Mate. But please do not attach any string. The trip is too short for that.
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Australia's got talent
‘’ You’ll see, this job is easy. It’s just common sense’’ said my boss at the posh restaurant . Sure. Common. Sense. What the hell does that mean. Is that something people say when they can’t explain properly? Or is it something we ALL have. No because I’m missing mine. Shall I just add that to my resume? ‘’ People skills, bilingual, no common sense’’
In the past 5 months I’ve been a farmer, a cleaner, a manager, a dishwasher, a waitress, a front counter lady, a barista and a nanny. ‘’ use your common sense for f*** sake’’ . The ‘’ sorry I’m French’’ excuse kind of always made up for my lack of common sense. But no one kept me for my brilliant skills at the job. And that’s a little frustrating.
We all have different talents, my friends would say to me after yet another day at sucking at my job
People in their 30’s all know what they’re good at, right? I know great cooks, great interior designers, musicians, singers, gardeners, and baristas. Me? I’m just good at trying .
Me, Pip and her little 6 year old boy decided to open the Career Book , and pick a random job with our eyes closed. That will reveal our talent / future job ( yes that’s how life works mate. Who needs Job Centers) . Pip got Dietician. She is so good at cooking that it was probably the best option for her. She was very happy .Excitement. Little Dharni is a environmental scientist. Although he currently wants to be a Pirate, that sounds about right too. Super excitement. I could not wait for my turn. I was thinking humanitarian worker or psychologist.
WHAT? ENTERTAINER? Is that even a JOB? Yes look, it says clown here. All right so that’s my career. Some people go into politics, others save the world and I’m a bloody entertainer? I would not have taken it seriously if everyone I told about that did NOT say : ‘’ This is sooo you. Spot on! ’’ . And laughed.
I always wanted to be that scary person. You know that person who’s got so much charisma and authority that when she walks into a room everyone goes ‘’ shhhhh’’ . The woman you respect because she’s tough but fair. I ‘d like the little Dhani to say ‘’ Is it Annabelle looking after me tonight? She makes me work so hard , I have to respect the rules with her. And she’s such a great cook too’ But he doesn’t. It’s more like ‘’ Yay Annabelle is looking after me tonight! We’re going to play crazy games, do the homework with monsters and angels and a have a PJ competition. Then We will make up our own bedtime story which is going to get out of control . Yay! But please mum, can you cook dinner before you go?’’
I’ve tried. To be posh and serious and do what I’m told. But people always end up looking at me with that ‘’ come on mate, get REAL’’ look.
Freelance Entertainer could be a career .Not much money. Even though. You sometimes get tips for it. That guy gave me 10 dollars the other day just because I took his order in French. But it gives you smiles, laughter. So it’s a talent, right?
‘’Your talent makes you unique’’. I looked back at my week and thought How true is that?
Who else would call her boss / best friend in England with the intention of showing him how composed and emotionally balanced she had become, and starts crying her eyes off for no reason 3 minutes in the conversation. (I AM so mature now Lee. I swear.)
Who else would let a 6 year old cover her legs with drawings of Pink and Green Monsters 20 minutes before she ‘s due to go to dinner at a guy’s place. No the monsters did not come off. And yes I did spend the night. Now THAT’s talent.
Who else would have a 6 year old friend with whom she makes up loud barking songs on the way to school every morning?. We are soooo good at it. Was funny until I stopped next to a hot guy at the traffic light and my window was open. End of the song. Oh and no he s not my son. And I’m single. Smile.
Who else would pick the hottest Aussie Guy on CouchSurfing.com to go and stay with in Byron Bay, tell everyone about it and have the following reply ‘’ Sorry I just got back from my honeymoon in Japan. When did you want to come and visit us? ‘’ Now THAT’s entertainment. Where is my bloody red nose.
Who else would jump in the sea when it’s 10 degrees just because June is Summer in Europe. That was so amazing… Until I got back into my car and looked at myself in the mirror. Make up was far gone , messy hair and covered in sand. That’s when I remembered that I would probably see that guy a couple of minutes later ( identity protection. Let’s call him the Pink and Green Monster Guy) . He looked at me, laughed and said. ‘’ Dinner tonight?’’ Why not.
Because in the end ‘’ It’s not what you look like or what you DO for people that counts. It’s how you make them feel’’. And that, mate, IS talent.
In the past 5 months I’ve been a farmer, a cleaner, a manager, a dishwasher, a waitress, a front counter lady, a barista and a nanny. ‘’ use your common sense for f*** sake’’ . The ‘’ sorry I’m French’’ excuse kind of always made up for my lack of common sense. But no one kept me for my brilliant skills at the job. And that’s a little frustrating.
We all have different talents, my friends would say to me after yet another day at sucking at my job
People in their 30’s all know what they’re good at, right? I know great cooks, great interior designers, musicians, singers, gardeners, and baristas. Me? I’m just good at trying .
Me, Pip
WHAT? ENTERTAINER? Is that even a JOB? Yes look, it says clown here. All right so that’s my career. Some people go into politics, others save the world and I’m a bloody entertainer? I would not have taken it seriously if everyone I told about that did NOT say : ‘’ This is sooo you. Spot on! ’’ . And laughed.
I always wanted to be that scary person. You know that person who’s got so much charisma and authority that when she walks into a room everyone goes ‘’ shhhhh’’ . The woman you respect because she’s tough but fair. I ‘d like the little Dhani to say ‘’ Is it Annabelle looking after me tonight? She makes me work so hard , I have to respect the rules with her. And she’s such a great cook too’ But he doesn’t. It’s more like ‘’ Yay Annabelle is looking after me tonight! We’re going to play crazy games, do the homework with monsters and angels and a have a PJ competition. Then We will make up our own bedtime story which is going to get out of control . Yay! But please mum, can you cook dinner before you go?’’
I’ve tried. To be posh and serious and do what I’m told. But people always end up looking at me with that ‘’ come on mate, get REAL’’ look.
Freelance Entertainer could be a career .Not much money. Even though. You sometimes get tips for it. That guy gave me 10 dollars the other day just because I took his order in French. But it gives you smiles, laughter. So it’s a talent, right?
‘’Your talent makes you unique’’. I looked back at my week and thought How true is that?
Who else would call her boss / best friend in England with the intention of showing him how composed and emotionally balanced she had become, and starts crying her eyes off for no reason 3 minutes in the conversation. (I AM so mature now Lee. I swear.)
Who else would let a 6 year old cover her legs with drawings of Pink and Green Monsters 20 minutes before she ‘s due to go to dinner at a guy’s place. No the monsters did not come off. And yes I did spend the night. Now THAT’s talent.
Who else would have a 6 year old friend with whom she makes up loud barking songs on the way to school every morning?. We are soooo good at it. Was funny until I stopped next to a hot guy at the traffic light and my window was open. End of the song. Oh and no he s not my son. And I’m single. Smile.
Who else would pick the hottest Aussie Guy on CouchSurfing.com to go and stay with in Byron Bay, tell everyone about it and have the following reply ‘’ Sorry I just got back from my honeymoon in Japan. When did you want to come and visit us? ‘’ Now THAT’s entertainment. Where is my bloody red nose.
Who else would jump in the sea when it’s 10 degrees just because June is Summer in Europe. That was so amazing… Until I got back into my car and looked at myself in the mirror. Make up was far gone , messy hair and covered in sand. That’s when I remembered that I would probably see that guy a couple of minutes later ( identity protection. Let’s call him the Pink and Green Monster Guy) . He looked at me, laughed and said. ‘’ Dinner tonight?’’ Why not.
Because in the end ‘’ It’s not what you look like or what you DO for people that counts. It’s how you make them feel’’. And that, mate, IS talent.
Sunday, 29 May 2011
End of comfort zone. Caution : deep water
I’ve got so many first days at so many things at the moment that I had 2 choices. Get out there , out of my comfort zone and pretend I know what I’m doing or stay indoors and watch more ‘’ Grey ‘s anatomy ‘’ episodes. Since I only had 1 season left to watch ( and that I would soon not be able to afford renting it since my hours at the front counter at the café were dropping ) , me and my French accent decided to get out there.
When I was working in Kipps backpackers hostel in England I was always completely amazed by these people leaving their whole life behind to live in a different country with no job perspective. I would print their CVs , tell them where to go and drop them off or sometimes help them to learn a restaurant’s menu by heart before their trial day as a waitress. I always wanted to know what it felt like. Today I can.
But first I had to go swimming. Part of my comfort zone. But that night , if I wanted to swim I had to join the swimming club. No worries I am a swimmer I can cope. Easy. 10 minutes later, the teacher created an ‘’ Annabelle lane’’. For those who thought they were good at swimming but actually completely suck at it. The ones with no dignity left ( but with a French accent) . That’s when I REALLY learnt how to swim. With a half naked sexy Aussie man telling me ‘’ Mate, you wanna reach the other end with your arm’’ Okay. Let’s reach the other end then.
I went and dropped off my resumes / CV s everywhere with a smile. ‘’ We don’t need anyone at the moment but we will get back to you if we do!’’ Hang on a minute, that’s MY line. That’s what I used to say to people looking for a job at the hostel . Usually the next step was the bin. Damn it IS my turn now. Action / Reaction. I would let the job come to me.
And guess what sort of job came to me? Volunteer work . Yes, the ‘’ work for free but bring so much to others ’’ sort of job. My favourite kind. So yes, next week I will be a teacher in the best primary school in Australia. A French woman who is going to teach Australian kids how to read in ENGLISH. Hilarious. I might also work in a retirement home , just talking to people. I always wanted to do that. Now I can! Life is sweet.
Back on Planet Earth people say that you need MONEY to survive. Ah yes. That one. How do you get a paid job? Hmmmm I realized I could get paid to do what I love in Life. Writing about Life. It’s called Free Lance writer mate. Sounds sexy. I’ll try that one. So I wrote to French magazines. Well it’s not going to bring immediate money is it? So I played Lotto. Not working either. I was ready to ask my blog readers to sponsor me when Pip , my dear friend and housemate found me a job offer on the newspapers. ‘’ What? Week end Waitress in the poshest restaurant in the area? Have you looked at me? Haha’’ 2 days later I was called for a trial. ‘’Dress in black and white’’ Oh my God. Of course the only black and white thing I had was a pair of thongs /flip flops. I run to the closest Op Shop / Charity shop ( NB to Brits and Aussies : Could you please speak the same language that’d be awesome.Thanks.) And I tell them I have a trial in that restaurant and I’ve got nothing to wear. Panic. So we did the cheap version of Pretty Woman. You know when Julia Roberts tried all these outfits. Mine cost 16 dollars including the shoes. Seriously. I promised my new friends I would come back and tell them if I got the job. And maybe volunteer there too. Of course.
Look and act posh. Smile and pretend I know what I’m doing. There I was , trying to remember a whole food menu in 15 minutes. What’s that? Fish. And that? French Pate. You silly. Of course I could not pretend to be posh and quiet for more than an hour. I ended up taking pictures for customers, joke with people in the kitchen and ‘’flirt’’ with 80 year old Australian men . No it can’t be Champagne you’re ordering because only the FRENCH can call it that. What am I saying it’s my TRIAL day… But I managed to make a whole table laugh. Slightly embarrassing when they asked me if they could take a picture of me. 1.2.3 Fromaaaaaaage! The boss was watching. Marvellous.
Table 22 pork salmon chicken gooooo. Can’t you carry 3 plates at the same time. No sorry. Where the hell is table 22. Is that a latte? No that’s a Cappuccino. Isn’t it obvious. 6 hours and bleeding feet later I was not very impressed with myself.
‘’ We would love to have you’’
Me, working in a posh restaurant. And teach kids how to read. In Australia. Last thing I expected. Life is in charge of the decisions Mate. We’re not. Not really.
Just go with the flow and… swim.
When I was working in Kipps backpackers hostel in England I was always completely amazed by these people leaving their whole life behind to live in a different country with no job perspective. I would print their CVs , tell them where to go and drop them off or sometimes help them to learn a restaurant’s menu by heart before their trial day as a waitress. I always wanted to know what it felt like. Today I can.
But first I had to go swimming. Part of my comfort zone. But that night , if I wanted to swim I had to join the swimming club. No worries I am a swimmer I can cope. Easy. 10 minutes later, the teacher created an ‘’ Annabelle lane’’. For those who thought they were good at swimming but actually completely suck at it. The ones with no dignity left ( but with a French accent) . That’s when I REALLY learnt how to swim. With a half naked sexy Aussie man telling me ‘’ Mate, you wanna reach the other end with your arm’’ Okay. Let’s reach the other end then.
I went and dropped off my resumes / CV s everywhere with a smile. ‘’ We don’t need anyone at the moment but we will get back to you if we do!’’ Hang on a minute, that’s MY line. That’s what I used to say to people looking for a job at the hostel . Usually the next step was the bin. Damn it IS my turn now. Action / Reaction. I would let the job come to me.
And guess what sort of job came to me? Volunteer work . Yes, the ‘’ work for free but bring so much to others ’’ sort of job. My favourite kind. So yes, next week I will be a teacher in the best primary school in Australia. A French woman who is going to teach Australian kids how to read in ENGLISH. Hilarious. I might also work in a retirement home , just talking to people. I always wanted to do that. Now I can! Life is sweet.
Back on Planet Earth people say that you need MONEY to survive. Ah yes. That one. How do you get a paid job? Hmmmm I realized I could get paid to do what I love in Life. Writing about Life. It’s called Free Lance writer mate. Sounds sexy. I’ll try that one. So I wrote to French magazines. Well it’s not going to bring immediate money is it? So I played Lotto. Not working either. I was ready to ask my blog readers to sponsor me when Pip , my dear friend and housemate found me a job offer on the newspapers. ‘’ What? Week end Waitress in the poshest restaurant in the area? Have you looked at me? Haha’’ 2 days later I was called for a trial. ‘’Dress in black and white’’ Oh my God. Of course the only black and white thing I had was a pair of thongs /flip flops. I run to the closest Op Shop / Charity shop ( NB to Brits and Aussies : Could you please speak the same language that’d be awesome.Thanks.) And I tell them I have a trial in that restaurant and I’ve got nothing to wear. Panic. So we did the cheap version of Pretty Woman. You know when Julia Roberts tried all these outfits. Mine cost 16 dollars including the shoes. Seriously. I promised my new friends I would come back and tell them if I got the job. And maybe volunteer there too. Of course.
Look and act posh. Smile and pretend I know what I’m doing. There I was , trying to remember a whole food menu in 15 minutes. What’s that? Fish. And that? French Pate. You silly. Of course I could not pretend to be posh and quiet for more than an hour. I ended up taking pictures for customers, joke with people in the kitchen and ‘’flirt’’ with 80 year old Australian men . No it can’t be Champagne you’re ordering because only the FRENCH can call it that. What am I saying it’s my TRIAL day… But I managed to make a whole table laugh. Slightly embarrassing when they asked me if they could take a picture of me. 1.2.3 Fromaaaaaaage! The boss was watching. Marvellous.
Table 22 pork salmon chicken gooooo. Can’t you carry 3 plates at the same time. No sorry. Where the hell is table 22. Is that a latte? No that’s a Cappuccino. Isn’t it obvious. 6 hours and bleeding feet later I was not very impressed with myself.
‘’ We would love to have you’’
Me, working in a posh restaurant. And teach kids how to read. In Australia. Last thing I expected. Life is in charge of the decisions Mate. We’re not. Not really.
Just go with the flow and… swim.
Sunday, 22 May 2011
How exotic
Sometimes I realize I’m on the other side of the world. You know that split second between the ‘’ I’m late for work’’ et F*** I ran out of petrol”. That split second when you remember how exotic your life is. Outside my bedroom window there is an orange tree. Seriously. How exotic .
The other day I was raving about this exotic bird I see everyday. And I was telling my fitness buddy how cool it was. ‘’ What ? the Ibis? It’s considered as pest here. We all want to shoot them. They’re awful’’. And then it hit me. I was the equivalent of a Japanese tourist taking pictures of pigeons in Paris. Damn. Was I still a tourist?
I was. The only one in this town looking for wine in a supermarket. ‘’ No alcohol here. Bottle shops mate, bottle shops’’ .
The best present I wanted to offer my newly fixed car ‘’Chouchou’’ was a drive on the Pacific Highway. There we were , 110 km/h on the left side of one of the most popular highways in the world , off to the white sandy beaches of Byron Bay. 30 minutes of pure happiness. Of course I wanted to share that with my Aussie friends. ‘’ What? The worst road ever. How much time did I waste , stuck in bloody traffic for hours. Useless.’’ “ But it’s exotic!”‘’Exotic? The Pacific Highway? You must be kidding me’’ . And then they laugh…
Oops I did it again. The Japanese tourist syndrome. ( Yes I did take pictures while driving too )
How can I still be a tourist. I live here! But Yes I was excited to sign up to the local Blockbuster video store. How exotic. And yes I’m the one who took 35 pictures of a local demonstration protest against poisoned water too. And no , THIS is NOT a parking ticket. This is an awesome piece of paper with my name on it that I will keep for ever in a photo album. A 86 dollar souvenir. My second ticket outside my home country. The first one was a speed ticket in South Dakota USA 9 years ago. I still have the paper.
But I’m not a tourist I’m a local. I work at the front counter of one of the most popular cafes in town. Everyone knows me now. I can’t be a tourist. I can’t walk 2 minutes on the street without someone greeting me. Even the guy at the petrol station knows me. And I don’t know him. ‘’ You’re the French girl from New Leaf Café aren’t you? I heard you were a lot better at the front counter than when you were doing the dishes’’. Seriously. Am I on some local Okay magazine front page or what?
Hang on a minute. Who’ s exotic now? ME . Haha. Well it’s not easy being French over here. You have to live up to the locals’ expectations and NOT take it personally. No you are NOT really sexy and attractive. You are just the representation of it. Don’t think it’s real mate.
I had my big French test last Saturday when my dear housemate and friend Pip invited 10 ladies over for her birthday party. I only knew a few of them. I was in the bathroom when I overheard her guests asking where ‘’ the French lady’’ was with obvious excitement in their voice. And then it hit me. THE French Woman Myth : born with make up on , classy, composed, mysterious…. I looked at myself in the mirror. How on Earth am I going to do this. I’m not classy , let alone mysterious ( especially after 4 glasses of wine) . But I’ve got make up and a 8 dollar ‘’French dress’’ bought in a local charity shop a few weeks back. They can’t possibly learn the truth about French women tonight (except the fact that we DO shave our armpits) What is exotic must remain exotic. A couple of drinks later I was telling them that Paris was actually polluted and full of stupid Parisians driving like mentals. But they still thought I was exotic and could not stop listening to me trying to describe what snow actually was. Most of them have never seen it. Then they were telling me about their Christmas on the beach, their trips to the Outback. So many exotic things to look forward to….
And we laughed. Because in the end, we are all the same. We’ve got the same dreams and hopes, fears and doubts. And we all want to keep this little exotic spark in our lives , the one that keeps us going. Whether it’s real or not. Who cares in the end. As long as we’re happy.
The other day I was raving about this exotic bird I see everyday. And I was telling my fitness buddy how cool it was. ‘’ What ? the Ibis? It’s considered as pest here. We all want to shoot them. They’re awful’’. And then it hit me. I was the equivalent of a Japanese tourist taking pictures of pigeons in Paris. Damn. Was I still a tourist?
I was. The only one in this town looking for wine in a supermarket. ‘’ No alcohol here. Bottle shops mate, bottle shops’’ .
The best present I wanted to offer my newly fixed car ‘’Chouchou’’ was a drive on the Pacific Highway. There we were , 110 km/h on the left side of one of the most popular highways in the world , off to the white sandy beaches of Byron Bay. 30 minutes of pure happiness. Of course I wanted to share that with my Aussie friends. ‘’ What? The worst road ever. How much time did I waste , stuck in bloody traffic for hours. Useless.’’ “ But it’s exotic!”‘’Exotic? The Pacific Highway? You must be kidding me’’ . And then they laugh…
Oops I did it again. The Japanese tourist syndrome. ( Yes I did take pictures while driving too )
How can I still be a tourist. I live here! But Yes I was excited to sign up to the local Blockbuster video store. How exotic. And yes I’m the one who took 35 pictures of a local demonstration protest against poisoned water too. And no , THIS is NOT a parking ticket. This is an awesome piece of paper with my name on it that I will keep for ever in a photo album. A 86 dollar souvenir. My second ticket outside my home country. The first one was a speed ticket in South Dakota USA 9 years ago. I still have the paper.
But I’m not a tourist I’m a local. I work at the front counter of one of the most popular cafes in town. Everyone knows me now. I can’t be a tourist. I can’t walk 2 minutes on the street without someone greeting me. Even the guy at the petrol station knows me. And I don’t know him. ‘’ You’re the French girl from New Leaf Café aren’t you? I heard you were a lot better at the front counter than when you were doing the dishes’’. Seriously. Am I on some local Okay magazine front page or what?
Hang on a minute. Who’ s exotic now? ME . Haha. Well it’s not easy being French over here. You have to live up to the locals’ expectations and NOT take it personally. No you are NOT really sexy and attractive. You are just the representation of it. Don’t think it’s real mate.
I had my big French test last Saturday when my dear housemate and friend Pip invited 10 ladies over for her birthday party. I only knew a few of them. I was in the bathroom when I overheard her guests asking where ‘’ the French lady’’ was with obvious excitement in their voice. And then it hit me. THE French Woman Myth : born with make up on , classy, composed, mysterious…. I looked at myself in the mirror. How on Earth am I going to do this. I’m not classy , let alone mysterious ( especially after 4 glasses of wine) . But I’ve got make up and a 8 dollar ‘’French dress’’ bought in a local charity shop a few weeks back. They can’t possibly learn the truth about French women tonight (except the fact that we DO shave our armpits) What is exotic must remain exotic. A couple of drinks later I was telling them that Paris was actually polluted and full of stupid Parisians driving like mentals. But they still thought I was exotic and could not stop listening to me trying to describe what snow actually was. Most of them have never seen it. Then they were telling me about their Christmas on the beach, their trips to the Outback. So many exotic things to look forward to….
And we laughed. Because in the end, we are all the same. We’ve got the same dreams and hopes, fears and doubts. And we all want to keep this little exotic spark in our lives , the one that keeps us going. Whether it’s real or not. Who cares in the end. As long as we’re happy.
Sunday, 15 May 2011
Abundance
My friend Karen (aka my spiritual master) talked me into joining a meditation circle every Wednesday night. No. Not a sect. A meditation circle. Getting there is already an adventure. It’s in a castle in the bush. Forgot your torch? Then you have to rely on the moon. Spooky enough.
There I was, lying on the floor with my eyes closed, surrounded by strangers. Of course I sat next to a crazy woman named “Chanti Chanti Chanti”. So… what am I doing here again. Find my inner self. Of course. The woman who does the course is really great and when you look at her you think that yes , swapping booze for meditation IS worth it. Last week’s theme was “ Abundance” . Listening to her voice we were supposed to visualize stuff that prevented us to be Ourselves.
After the session everyone was busy talking about what they had seen .Angels, demons and so forth. I was looking at the wall. “ So what did YOU see Annabelle?’’ “ Well it’s hard to describe” . Actually. Nothing. I saw nothing. Just heard Chanti Chanti Chanti snoring for an hour. I was about to tell Karen that I wanted my 10 dollars back when she said “ Don’t worry , it’s all going to be released this week. You ll just have to face some strong fears that prevent you to be happy” Haha. So what. I’m up for a challenge yay!
Well in a week , I had my car re inspected and failed ( it never happened to anyone I know) , my lap top broke, I almost lost my job , my car got smashed and I quit my job. Challenge… you’re kidding right ???
So my biggest fears are related to money . How did you guess Universe. Smart one.
I had almost got over the fact that I had to spend all the money I’ve got on car insurance and registration when I woke up last Friday. 7am. I could hear the 80 year old neighbor telling Philippa about what he saw last night. Never too early for gossip I thought. They had a dreadful look on their face when they saw me. I was going to say “ yep, that’s what a French woman looks like at 7am sorry to disappoint you” when I realized it was all about my Chouchou. Windscreen completely smashed by a brick. Angry people, 4 am. Nothing personal they broke 2 other cars ( relief) . No I was not impressed at all.
I get to work trying to be brave. To hear Graham my workmate say“ I think your job is in danger because you talk and laugh too much.” What? shut up and do the dishes? Yep that’s the idea mate” What’s the date again? Friday the 13th. Sure. Then it was all too much. This was too ridiculous. No car no laptop and … no job? Talk about abundance…. For the first time in 4 months I was completely lost and wanted to go Home. But which Home. I suddenly did not know where Home was. I’ve got so many. England , France, Australia… It did not make things easier…. I was all too blind and hurt to see them. My friends. All trying very hard to support me , make me laugh , cook me dinner, get me free coffee, offering me money . My new friends. The ones I did not know I had. Too blind to see that I WAS at Home. Just need to face some stuff….
2 days of pure painful depression and 8 episodes of Grey’s Anatomy later ( fat free way to NOT cope with your problems) I was ready to face it. Yes I had money to pay for all that. But that was on my secret account. The one I only remember in case of an emergency. The one that makes me feel comfortable just to know it was sitting there.The English account. Yes. Fixing Chouchou IS an emergency. Even if now I don’t have enough money to pay for a return ticket to Europe. Just writing it freaks me out. Got to face it huh. Okay number 2 THE job. Yes I was hopeless at my job. So be it. If I can’t be useful I have to quit. Can’t keep on working just for money. It’s not me. I’ve got to do it. Tomorrow. No. NOW.
“ Chef ( that’s how I call my boss. I love my boss. He’s absolutely awful with his staff but you can see he is the best man ever if you don’t take him seriously.) I just wanted to thank you for the opportunity you gave me to work here. Let’s face it I’m an awful dish washer. Part of my trip is about helping people out and I realize I’m not helping you at all. And I cannot change. I don’t want to. I’m a people person. So I quit. .” So proud of me.
“Yes you ARE an awful dishwasher. Everyone can wash dishes quickly enough to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. Everyone, but not you. YOU can’t. But NOT everyone is as good as you are with people. Monday, 10 am you start on the front counter serving customers. Don’t be late.’’
What? I quit my job and I get another one… from the same guy? Interesting.
I go home to my new family Pip and little Dhani. She had a lap top ready for me so I can keep on writing to become a writer. I tell them about my day , they tell me about theirs, we watch Doctor Who together. Abundance…..
The day after we were watching Annabelle and Smokey running around (The rabbits that is. She is not named after me . He named her 6 months before my time. Freaky huh. ) and little Dhani said : ‘’ I’m glad Annabelle found her way out of the cage’’ So am I .
There I was, lying on the floor with my eyes closed, surrounded by strangers. Of course I sat next to a crazy woman named “Chanti Chanti Chanti”. So… what am I doing here again. Find my inner self. Of course. The woman who does the course is really great and when you look at her you think that yes , swapping booze for meditation IS worth it. Last week’s theme was “ Abundance” . Listening to her voice we were supposed to visualize stuff that prevented us to be Ourselves.
After the session everyone was busy talking about what they had seen .Angels, demons and so forth. I was looking at the wall. “ So what did YOU see Annabelle?’’ “ Well it’s hard to describe” . Actually. Nothing. I saw nothing. Just heard Chanti Chanti Chanti snoring for an hour. I was about to tell Karen that I wanted my 10 dollars back when she said “ Don’t worry , it’s all going to be released this week. You ll just have to face some strong fears that prevent you to be happy” Haha. So what. I’m up for a challenge yay!
Well in a week , I had my car re inspected and failed ( it never happened to anyone I know) , my lap top broke, I almost lost my job , my car got smashed and I quit my job. Challenge… you’re kidding right ???
So my biggest fears are related to money . How did you guess Universe. Smart one.
I had almost got over the fact that I had to spend all the money I’ve got on car insurance and registration when I woke up last Friday. 7am. I could hear the 80 year old neighbor telling Philippa about what he saw last night. Never too early for gossip I thought. They had a dreadful look on their face when they saw me. I was going to say “ yep, that’s what a French woman looks like at 7am sorry to disappoint you” when I realized it was all about my Chouchou. Windscreen completely smashed by a brick. Angry people, 4 am. Nothing personal they broke 2 other cars ( relief) . No I was not impressed at all.
I get to work trying to be brave. To hear Graham my workmate say“ I think your job is in danger because you talk and laugh too much.” What? shut up and do the dishes? Yep that’s the idea mate” What’s the date again? Friday the 13th. Sure. Then it was all too much. This was too ridiculous. No car no laptop and … no job? Talk about abundance…. For the first time in 4 months I was completely lost and wanted to go Home. But which Home. I suddenly did not know where Home was. I’ve got so many. England , France, Australia… It did not make things easier…. I was all too blind and hurt to see them. My friends. All trying very hard to support me , make me laugh , cook me dinner, get me free coffee, offering me money . My new friends. The ones I did not know I had. Too blind to see that I WAS at Home. Just need to face some stuff….
2 days of pure painful depression and 8 episodes of Grey’s Anatomy later ( fat free way to NOT cope with your problems) I was ready to face it. Yes I had money to pay for all that. But that was on my secret account. The one I only remember in case of an emergency. The one that makes me feel comfortable just to know it was sitting there.The English account. Yes. Fixing Chouchou IS an emergency. Even if now I don’t have enough money to pay for a return ticket to Europe. Just writing it freaks me out. Got to face it huh. Okay number 2 THE job. Yes I was hopeless at my job. So be it. If I can’t be useful I have to quit. Can’t keep on working just for money. It’s not me. I’ve got to do it. Tomorrow. No. NOW.
“ Chef ( that’s how I call my boss. I love my boss. He’s absolutely awful with his staff but you can see he is the best man ever if you don’t take him seriously.) I just wanted to thank you for the opportunity you gave me to work here. Let’s face it I’m an awful dish washer. Part of my trip is about helping people out and I realize I’m not helping you at all. And I cannot change. I don’t want to. I’m a people person. So I quit. .” So proud of me.
“Yes you ARE an awful dishwasher. Everyone can wash dishes quickly enough to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. Everyone, but not you. YOU can’t. But NOT everyone is as good as you are with people. Monday, 10 am you start on the front counter serving customers. Don’t be late.’’
What? I quit my job and I get another one… from the same guy? Interesting.
I go home to my new family Pip and little Dhani. She had a lap top ready for me so I can keep on writing to become a writer. I tell them about my day , they tell me about theirs, we watch Doctor Who together. Abundance…..
The day after we were watching Annabelle and Smokey running around (The rabbits that is. She is not named after me . He named her 6 months before my time. Freaky huh. ) and little Dhani said : ‘’ I’m glad Annabelle found her way out of the cage’’ So am I .
Monday, 9 May 2011
Working Holiday Visa
Ha travelling. You, your backpack, and the world. Have you noticed how heavier your backpack gets with time? That’s the emotional baggage mate. Yep. You’re taking it with you no matter where you’re going. No worries it gets through customs all right. You don’t even notice it until it catches up with you. Until you have the sudden desire to leave everything behind and start fresh on the other side of the world. Again. But when you are ALREADY on the other side of the world there is only one thing you can do. Face it.
Let me introduce myself. Annabelle. 32 year s old. Workaholic. Hi Annabelle.
The worst thing about workaholics is that they know they are. And they are absolutely proud of it. They usually work with other workaholics who tell them they work too much. There is a question you can’t ask a workaholic ‘’ How was your day off?’’ because they don’t have days off.
Of course the first thing I did when I arrive in Oz was… work. For free. My compassionate side. Volunteer work. It s not quite like work, it’s an activity you can do for as many hours as you want, or at least enough to have the ‘’ I work so I am’’ feeling + food and accommodation. And then I had to find another job. For money you see. So in the morning I work for free, in the afternoon I work for money. Add 60 km return 7 days a week and you ll get the perfect package for the workaholic backpacker that I was.
As my skin began to get paler , my face about 50 year older , I could not quite remember in which country I was WORKING. Then there was that voice in my head who said , in a very thick Aussie accent ‘’ Oy Mate you’re in Oz, chill out will ya’’ Yep I was doing it again. Work my way through life. Working visa. I think there was something in between, something called h.o.l.i.d.a.y. Ho what?????
It was time for a shock. I am NOT my work. Have a job with no responsibilities. Part time. For a change. If your little ego can take it , that is. Work as a dishwasher in a café. No not a permanent one don’t be silly , a dishwasher who covers for a 17 year old kid when he has football. How s that for a therapy. 6 months ago I was wondering how to get my staff to work faster and now I am the one who s too slow washing bloody dishes. Yes you can laugh. 6 months ago I was wondering what I was going to say at my next staff meeting. Now I’m just wondering if I fancy a café latte or a cappuccino ( courtesy of the Italian guy I’m working with) . Yes it’s hard for my little ego. I want to shout sometimes that I was a teacher before and also a manager. That I should not be doing this. That I did not come all the way from Europe for this. But I did.
And then I laugh. Because it’s all a joke. And then I do what I do best . Entertain people. People who take it too seriously. I haven’t been that much of a laugh for a very long time. When people see me come to work they start to laugh. They know there will be wheelie bins competitions, ketchup wars or silly jokes. They often ask me why I’m so happy. Why not. I just met myself.
So working HOLIDAY visa. Holiday… that means beach right? Here I go to da beach. It’s awesome to be European here. You’ve got the beach to yourself these days. And when you do go swimming, How much fun it is to look at the bunch of freezing Aussies who ‘s watching you in disbelief , thinking ‘’ what the hell is she doing? it is W.I.N.T.E.R ‘’ , As they get ready to call the coast guard ( please do, he’s hot) I tell them I’m European and the water is still warmer now than it is in Brighton in Summer. Tough these Europeans mate.
How cool it is to add the holiday to the working visa. Chillax in the AM , work in the ‘’avo’’ . and free week ends. Guilt free? Getting there…
Let me introduce myself. Annabelle . Loves writing, yoga , meditation , sports and <Australian> Life. Non Smoker. Welcome Mate.
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