surreality is not as far away as you think

i’ve been back in australia now for two days. in that time i’ve, naturally, arrived at the airport and come home via taxi. i’ve then slept, gone shopping for food to fill the fridge with, and then today i went shopping in the city centre to get a few items we don’t have locally. i’m now back home after catching the train back from the city and i’m sitting here at my computer feeling a little shaken.

you see, since returning home i feel i am stuck in some bizarro world which has somehow replaced the place i left behind. this is made more disturbing by the fact i was only away for two weeks.

it is considered normal when going on a journey that you may experience some kind of life-changing moment – that you will suddenly be struck by a thought and realise some fact previously unknown to you but buried deep within your psyche. it will change you. and what better place to have such a moment than in asia – the land of mystery and a place of deeply revealing clichés as outlined in any hollywood movie? but, i’m sorry to say, no such moment occured to me. sure, i loved the temples and the mountains of korea were amazing. the shopping was brilliant, and the people fantastic, but it certainly didn’t move something inside me to change or alter my perception of who i was or where i belonged. far from it. i was looking at everything and thinking of how i might steal some ideas to bring home and adapt into my future business ideas in australia.

and then the strangest thing happened as i got on the plane from singapore to perth.

it was almost like a sudden shift of reality cut through me like a knife, splitting me in half. one half of me is no doubt blissfully unaware and living happily in his home while i am here, typing frantically in hope i might regain composure, if not my self.

it began with a buzzing sound i had not encountered on about five other planes we had flown on during our holiday. i couldn’t quite place it for some time. and then it occured to me. it was talking. people talking. they kept talking and laughing gustily. they called gutterally across each other to someone four seats up, ensuring that the rest of the plane could hear exactly what it was that was so important to them. like how they’d been travelling this route for 10 years. and when the beer would be served.

and that’s the next thing i noticed. every other plane i had taken, the air hostesses brought round trays of drinks after take off. orange and apple juice. every time, orange and apple juice. not on this plane. for some reason all they seemed to carry was wine, bourbon and coke, and beer and a few small cups of lonely orange juice. i asked for water and she had to rummage for it.

and the buzzing slowly grew louder as the air hostesses, rather than doing two trips for the entire journey made no less than four, busily fulfilling the need of the passengers for beer and wine. as the captain announced our descent and called for the hostesses to make their way to their landing positions, i heard three passengers complaining that they couldn’t have another beer “for the landing.”

they argued grouchily with the air hostess even as she sat down in front of them, and then proceeded to ask where she was staying that night and how much they loved asian girls. i was waiting for them to start offering her money the way they were acting.

two seats behind me, some guy had taken off his shoes to provide a nasty aroma of cheese for the entire journey. in front of me, an older guy managed to get twice as much beer for his buck each time the air hostess came round by getting a beer for himself and a beer for his wife, which he drank on her behalf. he turned his light on twice to get more between rounds.

and the buzzing grew louder during the journey. i had the foresight to bring earplugs with me from australia and hadn’t really needed them until this plane. i screwed them into my ears and waited for sleep. which never came. i live on a busy highway. these earplugs block all noise. we stayed in a hotel opposite a construction site – in every hotel. i heard nothing. but on this plane i heard it all. their voices stabbed through the earplugs as though they weren’t even there. it was amazing, the power of these people.

and who were they? germans? americans – known globally as the noisemakers with voices so robust they often shout at walls in iraq rather than use their missiles to bring them down. no, they were my kind – australians.

as we left the plane, i surveyed the chaos. i had not seen such a thing on any of the previous planes. blankets and pillows, rather than being left on the seats, were tossed to the floor – even in the aisle so you had to walk over them. cans of beer were rolling under the seats and empty cups were strewn about. lolly wrappers were discarded like christmas decorations and i couldn’t count the plastic wrapping left by any number of strange chip bags or food containment devices. it was like walking through an abandoned building site where the homeless had come and upended the bins before playing football with the cans.

i had travelled on longer flights, i had travelled on long distance trains with many more people who ate more than was served on this plane, but never had any vehicle i had left been anything less than spotless. this one shamed me deeply as i felt a part of this loud and inconsiderate gang. and were they young? were they thugs? no, they were averaging around their mid forties, many looking older. is it any wonder the “kids of today” have no manners on the trains anymore? here, i saw, were those who taught these kids all they knew in the art of being an animal.

dismissing this as a simple case of temporary insanity, i left the plane shoved tightly between a bickering couple who couldn’t seem to agree on which way to go despite the sign. the language used was colourful.

customs was next – a sea of beaurocrats fed on a diet of arrogance and self importance. it took an hour to move 30 passengers ahead of me through australian customs. in the four countries i had visited on my way home, i had spent a grand total of less than half that in customs combined, and had encountered geniality and a sense of politeness i found disurbingly lacking in this place. tightly wound around kilometres of their ribbon fences, we were herded toward angry officers determined to find something wrong with everyone’s bag, and rather grumpy when they couldn’t and livid when they could.

three ahead of me was an asian lady with large bags. she stepped up to an already-grumpy officer who looked like she’d had one too many cakes and it was disagreeing with her in a bad way. i felt comforted that the officers in my country were kept at the peak of their ummm fitness. to anyone wanting to smuggle anything into our fine country, i offer the following advice: just walk fast, they can’t catch you.

she machinegunned the asian lady with questions, and i could see the passenger was a little confused by the twenty or so thrown at her in a single sentence. her tentative “no,” was just that – tentative, and not in a “i’m hiding some drugs in my bag” kind of way. however, as the bags were scanned, the officer went totally batshit berserk. “why did you lie to me?” she’s shouting. “why did you lie? you have golf shoes in your bag!”

golf shoes. i had to think about that. in singapore you’re warned carrying drugs can give you a death sentence. malaysia does the same. i didn’t hear the warning on the flight that carrying golf shoes would get you yelled at by an aggressive customs official with a god complex in a way that basically said “fuck off back to your own country!”

the asian lady said in broken english, “i thought you said golf clubs. i said no clubs.”

“i said golf shoes! you said no! why did you say no?”

this rant about the lady not confirming she had golf shoes (and in all fairness, i’d been standing as close as could be and i didn’t hear anything about golf shoes prior to her eruption either), went on for, oooh, ten minutes, at the top of her voice so the whole airport could hear.

in no other country had i encountered any such aggressiveness by an official. in fact, in ipoh, when we landed, we had to open our suitcases. the officer was polite, smiled a lot, didn’t ask stupid questions, and thanked me before helping me to close my case. he wished me a good holiday and despite the oddity of such a wish in a place like ipoh, i was very overwhelmed considering malaysia was supposed to be home to officious military guys coldly slicing up your stuff looking for drugs so they can hang you – at least that’s what our media says.

i felt more ashamed of this, and when i finally cleared customs an hour and a half later, i stalked outside to the taxi feeling like something had gone wrong. had australia suddenly become a fascist state while i was away? was i about to be arrested for being an insurgent? did they notice my horror at their attitude? was i being reported, even now, to some secret organisation which at any moment was going to send its operatives to take me some place quiet so we could “chat about it?” had “please” and “thankyou” and “have a nice day” become curses in this strange land which had taken over my city in my absence?

i strolled up to the taxi, and was guided to mine by an airport official whose job it was. i went to the boot of the taxi. i looked at the driver. he didn’t look up. i went up to his window and said, “hi, could i pop this in the boot, please?”

he didn’t unwind his window. he didn’t bother to look up at me. he jerks his thumb. “back seat.”

“back seat.”

that’s all he had to say to me?

normally, i would have gone to another taxi, but i was flummoxed. i was so weirded out, i opened the door and struggled to shove my suitcase into his back seat. it was a bit difficult, but i got there in the end. i climbed in beside it and he takes off before i’ve got the door closed. “where?”

“where?”

where, what?

i tell him (insert number) stirling highway in claremont. that, you see, is where i live.

he nods, and drives.

30kmph all the way.

i was so weirded out. had the road rules changed, too? had it suddenly become illegal to drive at more than 30? surely not. cars overtook us. even another taxi. but this driver kept quietly going on his way, the car weaving ever so slightly along the road. i began to notice this weaving and had a sliver of fear go down my spine. is he drunk?

he didn’t seem to smell drunk.

i figured it was because he was going so slow he couldn’t keep a straight line.

at least, that was how i resolved myself until he slowly drove right through a red light and we nearly lost our back end to the car going the other way.

he slowed to 10 after that, looking over at the intersection as though it was looming up behind him. maybe in his head it was, or maybe i was just unaware of the fact it was now legal to drive through red lights and he couldn’t understand why i was suddenly very very afraid for my life. (lucas’ note: do NOT catch taxi #209 driver #2025)

he asked me where i was going. i said stirling highway.

“yes, but which street?”

“i live on stirling highway. up ahead. an apartment block – i’ll let you know when we’re close.”

“which street off stirling highway?”

“ON stirling highway!”

he got frustrated. “which street is it?”

i think about it. “just here will do.”

i get out and quietly walk the rest of the way, dragging my case with me and wondering what the hell i was doing here when my wife is in korea and of the zillions of taxis we’d caught in singapore, malaysia and korea, there wasn’t a single weird one of the lot (other than the funny ones in malaysia who charge a flat fee of 15 bucks – quite funny – walk away and they’ll start cutting it down). they all had known where to go, they were all polite and they all were a few steps above surly, incompetent and downright dangerous. you’ve probably read the many problems we’ve had with taxis here in perth, with moments to remember such as my wife being dumped in the middle of nowhere of a friday night, or taxi drivers abusing her for being korean, or driving us in the wrong direction because they don’t know where claremont is. you’ve probably read those stories, but it was this driver – the first i encounter after being driven all around parts of asia by dozens of other drivers, that i realise just how awful perth taxis are. they’re also a lot more expensive, i notice.

the next day i get up and go to the shops for food. my supermarket – something i didn’t see in korea – has suddenly become self service in my absence. the guy in front of me can’t get his to work. it keeps beeping at him and he’s getting very frustrated. i’m thinking food is suddenly very expensive. in korea, a place where things such as clothes, computers and general living costs are pretty comparable there’s a difference in a few basic elements of life – food and long distance travel. it’s so cheap to move from city to city there. 12 bucks got us a two hour journey on a train in luxurious comfort compared to australian rail where 12 bucks wouldn’t buy you an orange juice let alone a ticket. and food – which is mindbogglingly cheap. 500ml coke for 1.30 anyone? a dollar for a pack of cookies. 5 bucks for a meal in a restaurant? 10 – 15 for a banquet for two?

i’m coming to terms with sudden explosions in the cost of eating when i realise that this self service thing – it is saving this supermarket hundreds of dollars in wages, and yet the cost of my food hasn’t gone down at all. as australia rushes toward a serviceless service industry, i’m wondering why all these cuts in service aren’t cutting the costs? and if they aren’t, why are we turning into machines? i am disturbed by this, but not as disturbed as i could be. i shrug and do my best to explain to the machine that i’m not quite sure which type of vegetable this is. there are three types of them, you see, and they all look the same on the machine photo. i give up and give it to the guy watching over everything. “if it can’t tell me what it is,” i say, “and there’s no sign on them when i buy them anymore, how can i know what to press?”

he offers to find out, to his credit, but he’s bored and i’m just wanting to get away because the lady behind me has two screaming kids. they demanded stuff. demanded. and mum was looking at them like, “yes, you deserve it – okay, have one.”

i hadn’t seen a screaming kid like this in the entire time i was in korea. except once, and that was obviously a tourist.

i shuffled home and put it down to being jetlagged. after all, i had thought this was sunday and actually it was only saturday.

sunday came, and i ventured out to go to the city for some more groceries. everything is closed here on sundays. that was something i really loved about korea – the sensible and civilised shopping hours. most things don’t open until anywhere from 10 – 12. the reason being is shops can stay open anywhere until after midnight. in fact, you can be walking around at 11pm, and many shops are still open and there’s still lots of people on the street and even more absurd – you feel safe! safe to walk down the alleyways and the backstreets.

here, you can’t feel safe walking down the mall after 9pm – sometimes before.

i catch a train into the city and am struck by the difference. i had been spoilt in korea, i think. spoilt by the attitude of the passengers on the trains. don’t get me wrong – they’re not overly friendly on their train system, especially in seoul. they can be quite pushy getting on and off, and eris help you if you think about pausing to stand still on the platform while everyone’s rushing to get out. but, you have to take into consideration the nature of the subway system there. you’re crossing from train to train, you’re trying to get to work, and so are zillions of other people. perth doesn’t know what a packed train is. or a packed bus. we were on one bus which stopped whenever it had to stop. he’d wait and wait until all the passengers had gotten on. maximum load? what does that mean? sardines, we were. it was an exciting trip.

so, no, i’m not saying they’re nicer people on their trains. far from it. but they certainly are more well behaved. on the train to and from perth to claremont, there are people eating and dropping their rubbish under the seats. kids climb chairs like monkeys and swing off the bars meant to steady them while their parents encourage this behaviour by ignoring it or in one case laughing at them. they feed their mouthy brats and one kid plays her gameboy with the volume on so the whole train has to listen to the damn noise. and all that buzzing!

the thing i noticed in korea the most was how every train and every bus, no matter how full, was like a tomb. it was quiet. the most popular thing there at the moment is handheld tvs. all mobile phones have tvs, and video-phoning each other is all the rage. they do it on the train. you’ll have six or seven people in a row with their tvs on. with their headphones on. and unlike here, they use their headphones to listen to their show rather than use their headphones as speakers to assault everyone else with their music or their tv. and when they’re talking, they talk to each other. here, all these people on the train compete with each other to be heard the most. instead of talking for the benefit of their friend, they act as though they’re on a stage and they really think that everything they say is of utmost interest to everyone around them.

australians, i noticed today, do seem to think they’re on a stage. they swagger about, rambling at each other in this loud boozy manner that projects levels of intelligence which couldn’t measure on any known iq test. they firmly believe that everyone around them is thinking, “man, this person is uber cool! and everything they say is so right! i do hope they keep talking so i can be entertained and educated by their obvious superiority in every single way.”

by the end of my train trips, i found i couldn’t concentrate. i couldn’t feel calm at all. i have, it seems, come from a very relaxed, almost calm environment – which is very weird considering the population of places like seoul – and entered a realm of bizarro threat where it seems people are imitating monkeys in attempts to be cool. the aroma of the train was one of unwashed clothes, unwashed bodies and kids with too much sticky sweet food and vinegar chips. i desperately wanted off by the end and have almost run home.

i feel so eerily out of place all of a sudden.

i have always laughed at people who’ve wanted to leave perth. it’s a nice place, i say. quiet, not many people. i always equated the fact we have a smaller population with peace and quiet. but it’s been proven wrong to me in a rather vivid, yet subtle manner. eating in korea was never a rushed affair. we took our time. it wasn’t because of our holiday, but rather that’s just normal. food is served in small side dishes and this encourages you to browse your food rather than just slide it all down your throat as is the case here. my shopping experience today and yesterday was rushed as the retailers pushed me along as fast as they could. and don’t get me wrong there, either, because i work in a bookstore and have done for many years. i consider myself a retailer. i am suddenly very aware of the fact that i’ve been doing this for years.

i am suddenly rocked to my core that everything i have believed about peace, about quiet, and about comfort, is wrong.

i am also deeply disturbed by the fact that since returning to perth, my countrymen have turned into disgusting primitives with no pride and little consideration for those around them.

i am ashamed to say – i hate it here and i am having an identity crisis. i don’t know where i am, or where i should be.

i want to go home.

Tags: australia, home, korea, korean, life, lifestyle, taxis