Chook – An Aussie slang word for chicken that’s commonly used as a ‘nice insult,’ especially when somebody has done or said something really obviously retarded that’s only worth laughing about.
Ok. I admit it. I may be a bit accident-prone. Clumsy. A klutz. Have been called a spaz, a goof, a nincompoop. But when my colleagues gave me The Australian First Aid Guide to put on my weekend reading list, I knew my clumsiness had followed me around the globe, all the way to Australia. I was turning into a galah. A goose. An old chook. Birdism – name-calling Australian style.
There is a lesson to be learned from making mistakes, looking absolutely ridiculous in front of a crowd of strangers, and yet, recovering from your own Most Embarrassing Moments gracefully. I have had plenty of those dumb-things-I’ve-done-moments, made mistakes all over the world. Ran into lampposts in Germany. Slipped on ice in Canada (right in front of Starbucks, of course!). Did a faceplant in Washington DC.
And yes. I have made plenty of stupid mistakes since my arrival in Downunder. Some of them can be explained with being a New chum – a person from abroad unacquainted with the Australian life and customs. Others were pure stupidity. Foolishness. Naivitity. Clumsiness. So here they are – the things you should not do in Australia, but which I did anyway, ‘cause that’s just what I am. An old chook. A flaming galah!
The Frowned-upon
Do not order a jumbo coffee.
While I may, after some initial struggles and embarrassing moments, have mastered the art of ordering a cuppa, I made a complete fool of myself the first time I order that jumbo coffee at the local coffee shop. “Are you from America?” they asked me, silently putting that offensive label on me. Never ever call a Canadian an American! Though, apparently only an American would order half a liter of coffee with four shots of espresso in it. Quantity over quality. I wish I could say I didn’t care. I still order my jumbo cuppa, but I always make sure to wear my Canada regalia.
Do not tip the waiter
My first night out in Downunder. Determined to celebrate my beautiful new flat. Even if that meant going to a restaurant on my own. I enter one of the many eateries in this town. The place is dead. Winter in the Northern Beaches. I am the only customer, yet the waiter leads me to the only table right in the middle of the room. Talking about being the centre of attention, which I did not desire. The whole evening turned out to be a rather humbling experience – going out on your own and doing so gracefully isn’t an easy thing to do. To top off this rather embarrassing experiment, I committed the faux pas of tipping the waitress canadian style – 20% added to the bill. Not because the service was so great. It’s hard not to be served well when you are the only customer – but because that’s what we do where I come from. In Australia you don’t necessarily tip. Service workers are paid fair wages and tipping is not an expected part of going out. I’m sure the waitress didn’t but, yet another lesson learned for me.
Do not talk loudly on the bus
In fact, it’s best not to talk at all on the bus. Especially in the morning. People read or sleep or check their phones. But they do not talk. Or even whisper. Even if it’s your colleague you are sitting next to. You do not engage in a conversation or you get shushed by that lady in the front seat right next to the bus driver. You do say thank you, though, when you get off the bus to make the bus driver’s day a bit better. And you give that cranky old lady a friendly wave. She needs it.
Do not use disposable coffee cups
No coffee without a keep cup. It took me a while to figure out what a Keep cup was. The iconic barista-standard reusable coffee cup that comes in all sizes, shapes and colours. Invented by an Australian company over ten years ago to fight the growing amount of non-recyclable single-use coffee cups that end up in landfills. The goal is to get rid off single-use coffee cups altogether. Along with straws, plastic bags, and all other single-use plastics. We have coffee travel mugs in Canada, too. The difference is that the people down here actually use their reusable cups. And if they forget theirs, they simply won’t have a coffee. Good on ya!
The Embarrassing
Do not wear your Roots sweater
Root is an offensive Australian slang verb meaning “to have sexual intercourse with.” You don’t wear your Canadian Roots sweater. You don’t root for a team. Root beer is called Sarsaparilla. And you don’t tell people that your hair salon is called “Vintage Roots”. Unless you don’t care. Which I don’t.
Do not call it a fanny
A bum is called a bum, not a fanny – that’s the front bum. A fanny pack is called a bum bag. It’s ok to use rubbers in class and to wear your thongs in public. You go to the toilet, not the washroom. And the Map of Tassie is definitely not a geographic term.
The Dangerous
Do not touch a snake
Or even get too close to take pictures if you see one at the school playground. Don’t try to hold a koala in the wild either. They are protected. You can pet that koala at the wildlife park. And if you do it right, you probably will put it back to sleep. Because that’s what they do pretty much all day long. And yes, don’t assume kangaroos are cuddly creatures. You may approach a wallaby if you want to get up close and personal, but don’t try to take a kangaroo on. They have a pretty intense boot on them.
Do not forget your sunscreen
Slip. Slop. Slap. Seek. Slide. That is: Slip on a shirt. Slop on sunscreen. Slap on a hat. Seek shade or shelter. Slide on some sunnies. Simple.
Do not ignore the warning signs
You swim between the flags. Or even better – you don’t swim in the ocean at all. You do not ignore fire warnings during bushfire season. You do not go for a bush walk on your own.
The Simply Crazy
And then there are the simply crazy mistakes you make – hopefully – only once. Like signing up for an Australian Coastal Trail Run. Been there, done that. Never again. And if I forget, please, hit me over the head. And take my hat off first.
The Bouddi Coastal Run. Just another opportunity to follow my passion of running and taking in the beautiful scenery around me, I thought. Picturing a picturesque boardwalk along the shore, flat and easy, I signed up without even checking what I was signing up for. 14 km – not too long. I’d be done in less than two hours and could take some great #instapics on the go.
I have never done a trail run. Nor bushwalking (besides that little escapade into the bush behind my school that nearly cost me my life). I hate walking or hiking and I resent climbing stairs. Doesn’t matter if up or down. Hate it. I don’t like running on the beach. I don’t do well with heat. My optimal race is on a flat, circular loop in the dark.
The Bouddi Coastal Trail run was every I hate put into one event. 1.4 km along the beach to start with, waves washing over your feet, not quick enough to avoid them, leaving your shoes and socks soaking wet. When finally done with the tiring track along the beach, we had to climb what seemed like the stairway to heaven. Up, up, up we went, a slow line of exhausted runners snaking up steps, and we had only just begun.
Once we reached the actual trail along the coast, things began to move and everyone started running like a pack of Orcs hunting for hobbits. Weathered boardwalks, rocky ledges, narrow and dusty bushtrails, over tree roots and rocks, dodging branches, avoiding the thorny thicket of the bush. Always running on the left – even in the bush there is a certain etiquette to follow – making room for the real trail runners with their fancy water packs on their backs, their professional looking trail running shoes (needless to say those were not dripping wet) and their fit, lean and well trained bodies. Maybe preparing for a trail run was more than carb loading the night before.
My goal for this run (every run really): do not trip and fall. Needless to say, I did not reach it. After 5 km my legs were getting heavy and tired, my body aching from the unexpected strain of this run, my mind exhausted from having to focus on what was in front of me to avoid falling over it or in it or down from it.
Tripped over a root on the narrow path, did a faceplant into the bush, looking absolutely ridiculous I’m sure, quickly trying to recover gracefully from my fall. Simply remaining in a fetal position, rocking myself back and forth to seek relief, and giving up was not an option. So I got up and soldiered on like Frodo climbing up Mount Doom. Bruised and bloodied, with my spirit slightly crushed.
Stopped racing and starting enjoying. Took pictures of the stunning scenery around me, savoured the treats at the half-mark stop, had a chat with the first aid people, gave them something to do. Faked running-like-the-wind pictures with my very own Sam on my side, took my shoes off at the final stretch of the run and let the warm sand and ocean water play with my toes.
Eventually I made it over the finish line, bruised and battered and almost delirious, apologizing to the mirrors of the cars parked along the road that I bumped into when making my way back. Trail running, especially when ill-prepared, may be another thing NOT to do in Australia. But I learned my lesson that even if I keep falling, making a complete fool of myself, I can get up and keep going.
And Finally
The final thing NOT to do in Australia: be offended by the Australian humour. When Australians call you a bloody galah or an old chook, not to be offended by this friendly banter, but to take it as a lighthearted sign of their friendship. Even if they ask you to read the Australian First Aid Guide. They only mean well.
Thoughts From the Upside Down 