MARCH’09
Expat Brat What’s life really like? With Jenny Hewett.
Enjoying the finer things in life at Balmoral Beach, Sydney.
A
couple of months ago I was hit with the itch. You can stop chuckling, I’m talking about the homesick itch. The I-cannotstand-one-more-grain-of-sandon-my-shoes kinda frustration that takes a hold of you and has you pining away for the simplicity of Aussie life. As a relatively new edition to the Dubai expat shelf, I was wondering why I was getting the feeling after only seven months as a resident in the sandpit. I felt like a kid at the beach without a bucket and shovel. Yes, it’d been ten years since I had lived overseas and Sydney had become my home, ‘but seven months?!’, I thought… a foetus can handle two more than that inside the human body! It wasn’t that I hated to be in Dubai, but I was beginning to crave the things I missed most. I was kicking myself at how nostalgic I was becoming – daydreaming of the unbeatable beaches, trees, footpaths (mmhmm), meat pies, Twisties, Fruit Tingles and Cherry Ripes. And I was finding myself growing more attached to the Sydney Morning Herald website than ever. You know you’ve got it bad when you get a kick out of how miserable the weather is in back in Australia and the only news you read is that of a country you don’t live in. ‘Bah, if I can’t be there when it’s sunny and 28 degrees, then by all means, let it rain down on those suckers with a vengeance.’
Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t earned my wings as a Dubai local, yet I was no longer true blue either. Was I stuck in some sort of cultural chasm? Or maybe it was the blatantly obvious – the Australian summer was approaching. I could hear the roar of the waves and clink of bottles over thousands of miles away. Luckily enough, I was due back in Sydney for a friend’s wedding and was amping myself up for being back there in all my Aussie glory. So I went, I saw, I kicked some ass! Well not really. That was the Ghostbusters. But after spending three weeks in Sydney, it’s safe enough to say, I got my fix. I did things only a tourist would; I ate a meat pie on Balmoral Beach; strutted Bondi in only a bikini and spent Australia Day within arm’s reach of a BBQ, beers, my best buds and the beach. (The highlight of this get together, the coffin a mate had built and fitted out as an eski for the day, “Rest In P**s” it was appropriately labelled). I even took the Manly ferry to the city, something I wouldn’t dream about doing whilst living in Sydney. All of these things reassured something in me – that they would always be there when I returned. Well ‘tie me kangaroo down, sport!’, it seemed all I needed was a quick Oz indulgence to reaffirm the reasons that I had come to Dubai – opportunity and experience. As the third week of my holiday ensued I found myself longing for the Middle East and couldn’t wait to be welcomed home (that’s right, I said ‘home’) by the flock of dishdashas at the immigration hall in the Dubai airport. And just in case I hadn’t consumed my fair share of Aussie treats, I collected a small stash to tide me over until next time. The only thing I couldn’t bring back was a meat pie. But that’s no skin off my nose, because for now, home is where the shawarma is.
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