I joked to Ashley that our two-and-a-half-week honeymoon was "the shortest amount of time I've ever spent in Australia". And, speaking of quotes, I just love the Winston Churchill quote, "Never, never, never give up!" As we toured around Victoria, Perth, Melbourne and Sydney, I couldn't help but laugh at the incredible circumstances that led to our much-anticipated honeymoon.
In order to help pay for the trip, I had taken up a seasonal job driving semi trucks for Craigo Grain. Take a moment to appreciate this: As Ash and I sipped a beer in the Aussie summer heat, in the shadow of the Sydney Opera House and Harbor Bridge, I was briefly reminded how we got there. Just a few weeks prior, there I was, sitting in line, waiting to dump the thousand-bushel payload I was hauling from farm to elevator. Snow was in the immediate forecast, inciting something of a panic as everyone struggled to get corn harvested. I borrowed Mike's cell phone, and from the cab of my truck I would coordinate the upcoming travel plans to Australia. I steered with my knee, clutching with the other foot. In one hand was my credit card. I shouldered the cell phone, carefully balancing a clipboard on my steering knee, all while scribbling down dates and confirmation numbers with my free hand. Great - the truck ahead of me has scaled out and Mike is yelling obscenities. Trip the air brakes and pull ahead; I'm next in line.
Never, never, never give up!
Now, as Ashley and I wrapped up our trip, I could not help but reflect on the country around which so many of my formative years have been centered. I lived in Australia with my host family in 2001, then returned two years later. I made a third visit in 2005, ostensibly to study marine biology and business management. Now, for Christmas of 2009, I returned with my wife for our honeymoon. It was almost creepy to be back.
We visited La Trobe University. The dorm building still smelled the same, of heavy, industrial cleaner that is required to clean up after a mob of college teenagers. That was my room. That was where we used to watch TV and drink beers. I played cards on that table.
We stopped at the bar I used to work at, in downtown Melbourne. It was scummy, just like I remember. I used to wash those tables, sweep cigarette butts off the floor. Over there is the open-air balcony; backpackers from England used to sit out there and get high.
Ashley and I walked around Melbourne. Huge banners hung from government buildings urging everyone to have a "Merry Christmas!" News agencies sold magazines, the cover of one jumped out at me: A slipping caricature of Uncle Sam. It was accompanied by an article which essentially read, "American capitalism has been hijacked. The system is not corrupt, just the people running it. How do we (Australia) not make the same mistake?" During a bus tour of Perth, the guide proudly pointed out antique buildings and masonry that had been handcrafted by the original convicts. His commentary included phrases like, "Look at the quality; stood the test of time."
Most incredibly, I could not help but notice a complete lack of coverage of President Obama. Conclude anything you want from this, but I'm telling you, the Aussies were far more interested in President Bush than they are in his successor.
Here were these tangible, physical reminders of a period in my life fraught with uncertainty and insecurity. I found it increasingly difficult to try and relate to the person I once was, even just a few years ago. Such is life, and as I walked into the sunset, hand-in-hand with Ashley, I had no desire to return to that life (despite the good times).
On Australia in general, the difference is genuinely creepy. I have mentioned in previous articles, and I wish to continue this point, about the growing sense of Australian national pride. They are proud of their holidays. They are proud of their economic freedom. They are proud of their history, culture, and heritage.
Conversely, Americans are taught to be ashamed. We are embarrassed about our heritage. We condemn our free-market economy. We are humiliated about baseless "facts" surrounding the Founding Fathers. We hide from our celebrations - call them "holidays", and don't mention Pearl Harbor Day - it's offensive.
Nowhere is this disparity more evident than at international airports. Aukland proudly displays Maori artifacts. Melbourne showcases brilliant examples of the Australian lifestyle. Visitors to Los Angeles and Chicago are herded down cold, institutionalized hallways. The only decoration is the occasional U.S. flag, and a welcome message from the Department of Homeland Security. Entering the U.S. feels like a salute to the State.
"The Secretary of State of the United States welcomes you." And, if you don't believe me, just ask her.
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnists for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
In order to help pay for the trip, I had taken up a seasonal job driving semi trucks for Craigo Grain. Take a moment to appreciate this: As Ash and I sipped a beer in the Aussie summer heat, in the shadow of the Sydney Opera House and Harbor Bridge, I was briefly reminded how we got there. Just a few weeks prior, there I was, sitting in line, waiting to dump the thousand-bushel payload I was hauling from farm to elevator. Snow was in the immediate forecast, inciting something of a panic as everyone struggled to get corn harvested. I borrowed Mike's cell phone, and from the cab of my truck I would coordinate the upcoming travel plans to Australia. I steered with my knee, clutching with the other foot. In one hand was my credit card. I shouldered the cell phone, carefully balancing a clipboard on my steering knee, all while scribbling down dates and confirmation numbers with my free hand. Great - the truck ahead of me has scaled out and Mike is yelling obscenities. Trip the air brakes and pull ahead; I'm next in line.
Never, never, never give up!
Now, as Ashley and I wrapped up our trip, I could not help but reflect on the country around which so many of my formative years have been centered. I lived in Australia with my host family in 2001, then returned two years later. I made a third visit in 2005, ostensibly to study marine biology and business management. Now, for Christmas of 2009, I returned with my wife for our honeymoon. It was almost creepy to be back.
We visited La Trobe University. The dorm building still smelled the same, of heavy, industrial cleaner that is required to clean up after a mob of college teenagers. That was my room. That was where we used to watch TV and drink beers. I played cards on that table.
We stopped at the bar I used to work at, in downtown Melbourne. It was scummy, just like I remember. I used to wash those tables, sweep cigarette butts off the floor. Over there is the open-air balcony; backpackers from England used to sit out there and get high.
Ashley and I walked around Melbourne. Huge banners hung from government buildings urging everyone to have a "Merry Christmas!" News agencies sold magazines, the cover of one jumped out at me: A slipping caricature of Uncle Sam. It was accompanied by an article which essentially read, "American capitalism has been hijacked. The system is not corrupt, just the people running it. How do we (Australia) not make the same mistake?" During a bus tour of Perth, the guide proudly pointed out antique buildings and masonry that had been handcrafted by the original convicts. His commentary included phrases like, "Look at the quality; stood the test of time."
Most incredibly, I could not help but notice a complete lack of coverage of President Obama. Conclude anything you want from this, but I'm telling you, the Aussies were far more interested in President Bush than they are in his successor.
Here were these tangible, physical reminders of a period in my life fraught with uncertainty and insecurity. I found it increasingly difficult to try and relate to the person I once was, even just a few years ago. Such is life, and as I walked into the sunset, hand-in-hand with Ashley, I had no desire to return to that life (despite the good times).
On Australia in general, the difference is genuinely creepy. I have mentioned in previous articles, and I wish to continue this point, about the growing sense of Australian national pride. They are proud of their holidays. They are proud of their economic freedom. They are proud of their history, culture, and heritage.
Conversely, Americans are taught to be ashamed. We are embarrassed about our heritage. We condemn our free-market economy. We are humiliated about baseless "facts" surrounding the Founding Fathers. We hide from our celebrations - call them "holidays", and don't mention Pearl Harbor Day - it's offensive.
Nowhere is this disparity more evident than at international airports. Aukland proudly displays Maori artifacts. Melbourne showcases brilliant examples of the Australian lifestyle. Visitors to Los Angeles and Chicago are herded down cold, institutionalized hallways. The only decoration is the occasional U.S. flag, and a welcome message from the Department of Homeland Security. Entering the U.S. feels like a salute to the State.
"The Secretary of State of the United States welcomes you." And, if you don't believe me, just ask her.
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnists for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
