Australians

Last weekend myself and four other Australians travelled to Stockholm for no other reason other than four months ago, Ryanair was having a sale. But despite this inauspicious beginning, a fantastic time was had by all. Every aspect of Stockholm is beautiful: the people, the various old things, the boats, the dogs and the parks. It was also fun to spend time with a group of home-grown Aussies: your humour is understood and your cultural references recognised. And so this is an opportune time to write about a topic that’s been bothering me for a while: Australians.

Meeting Australians is the last reason that any Australian travels overseas, but it’s inevitable that you will - despite your best efforts to avoid them. We dominate the backpacker trail – thanks to the culturally encouraged rite-of-passage that is Overseas Travel, we are a permanent fixture in hostels across Europe. You can find us by following the trail of spirit bottles, loud voices and Havaianas.

There are Australians lurking around every corner in Berlin. Leaving wine-cork hats, ug boots and flannel back in the homeland, they’ve managed to blend into the environment so their presence is mostly unfelt. But once an Australian says anything in English anywhere in public, if another Australian is in the vicinity odds are they’ll come and introduce themselves. This has happened in nightclubs and bars, in every one of my law classes, after a phone conversation on the street. Even in yoga class, where silence is mandatory!

Sometimes, I really hate Australians. With the broad, lazy, nasal accent, it seems impossible that anyone could take us seriously. Entire conversations are sometimes spent locked in a cultural cringe. When Australians get drunk the talk becomes parochial and they carry on with little regard to the fact that Australia is actually both insignificant and boring. Sometimes we forget that no-one outside the citizenry cares about Australian politics, university structure or whether Home and Away or Neighbours has superior plot development.

So every time I meet a new Australian, I have this double feeling of happiness and guilt/shame. Mostly, good things happen. The last time I met new Australians it was on the U-Bahn home from uni and we ended up having dinner that night of pizza and house red streetside near Nollendorfplatz. It’s easy to become friends with someone when you share a background. Bluntly, you have things to talk about.

But I dread ending up cocooned by ‘Strine. It’s comfortable, sure, but it’s silly and it’s not what I want. And (with respect to all concerned) I don’t want to become like the Americans. I know the university is lousy with them, but I haven’t met any kids from the US yet. Apparently they hang out always together and don’t mix much.

Yet some of my closest friends are Australians I have met overseas. And some Australians here I can do without. As time goes on people become friends simply because they’re awesome, rather than due to relationships of nationality or convenience or obligation. Being “Australian” doesn’t matter. I guess Stockholm provides a weird illustration of this: we spent ANZAC day - one of the most patriotic days on our calendar - on a pirate-themed gay bar on a ship in the middle of the harbour.