Across the Big Blue

It's a mild, clear and quiet Spring day in Tasmania. Monsterman is out and about somewhere with his mother for his weekly visit with her. Most likely he's down brushing down, riding or feeding horses.

Me? I'm taking a few moments out to procrastinate. There are things I need to do. Small jobs like hanging out laundry, buying food for Rappy, mowing the lawn, giving the carpets a decent vacuuming, making myself something for lunch - things like that.

Oh. And finish packing my bags.

This time two days from now I'll be looking out the window of a Qantas jet as it taxis down the runway at Melbourne's Tullamarine Airport, knowing that as I watch the wheels lift off the ground I'll be settling in to make the long haul flight to Los Angeles.

At the other end of that, somewhere just beyond the Customs point, Renee (she of the undying devotion to all things wombat) will be waiting for me.

She is sure to look, feel and smell fantastic; while I'm fairly certain that even if I take a moment or three to give myself a quick pseudo-scrub down and throw on a new shirt, I'm going to look rumpled, tired and probably be a little on the nose.

I'm pretty sure she'll forgive me that.

As you might imagine, I'm pretty excited about it. The time apart from one another has been too long - remedying that is definitely something to look forward to.

And, truth be told, I'm also a little apprehensive. In a weird, hard to pin down sorta way.

Of course, there is the disquiet I always feel on those rare occasions I have to leave Monsterman for any extended length of time. But that's a given for me really.

The main reason for that, I think, is the destination. While I've travelled internationally before, I've never been to another English-speaking country (I'm being generous here in implying that either Australia or the United States speak English, but you know what I mean), with a similar culture (see previous proviso) to my own home country.

I think it is the similarities mixed with the slight, subtle and not so slight or subtle differences that has my brain doing a minor pre-emptive flip-out.

Little things, like people driving on the wrong side of the road. Or tipping after a meal or some such service. Having to ask for soda or pop or some such rather than soft-drink or cordial. Keeping the vegetable shortening and eggs in the wrong part of the store. Saying, "How ya doin'," instead of "how's it goin'?" Having my accent being the stand-out difference rather than my language or appearence. Walmart and a lack of Chickenfeed stores. Weird sports. Cabs not taxis. A distinct lack of meat pies or really good fish and chips. Once again being in places where multiculturalism is visibly evident as opposed to this overwhelmingly white-anglo bit of the world I currently live in. Thanksgiving. Stuff like that.

Or the knowledge that in some ways the culture I'll be in will be at one and the same time better and worse, the same and different to the one that I have been exposed to in books and on television and in movies and documentaries.

Perhaps it's that while I am confident in knowing the cues and taboos and the social nuances where I am, I'm unsure as to how transferable that knowledge will be. That isn't as much an issue when going to a completely "foreign" country and culture - there the expectation that I'll be socially and culturally naive is a given. It's right up front and out there. This time though, it seems a bit...muddier. The lines that mark the differences are less distinct. Blurred.

The best bet I suppose is to simply let any prior knowledge and expectation go and just enjoy immersing myself in a different country (in very good company too I might add) - but given the ubiquitous imposition of American mores and culture I've been exposed to thoughout my life it's not so easy to do.

Now, when you are planning going to a completely different culture,you read up and research so you can at least get by. Or at least I do. For the U.S. though (or, as an Australian, the U.K for that matter), all of that research and surface dipping is not just un-necessary, but near impossible. It's already there. In you. That lifetime of subtle and overt information and influence.

In that way, I guess that makes this trip too, and entirely new experience for me - even if it is in a very mild way discomforting.

And any way, regardless of all of that, I have the best of reasons to be making that flight and diving into this new land and new experience.

And to mark the moment and celebrate the anticipation, in the times of procrastination between now and my leaving, I'm going to re-post a few more old bits of writing: stories of Renee, Monsterman and I, of the King and Queen of Chickenfeed of popcorn and movies and of the American sofa.

Two more sleeps. Two more days, two more airports and a long arsed flight across the Big Blue.

I can't wait.