Sorry for that Wait on Hold

Sorry for that wait on hold

Day drinking, wedding vibes, and a close encounter with death

Written by

Dieter

Published

August 22nd, 2019

In

Sydney, Australia

YOU'RE SPEAKING WITH DIETER. HOW CAN I HELP?

“Thank you, Vito.”. “Could you please reconnect me with the lady from the roadside assistance?”. “Oh, f*ck off!”. Australians are very creative creatures on the phone. And I got front row seats. But that’s only one of the many perks of being the sexy voice that answers when you call Club Med from Australia or New Zealand. Being paid for it is obviously fun too. And absolutely nothing beats the snickering of my colleagues around me when I have to spell my name. Again. For the twentieth time that day.

You’re right, I have been a little distant lately. Around 16.000kms for most of you, to be precise. Budum tsss. Know that I’m terribly sorry about not having provided you with the best excuse to take a break at work since the invention of coffee. But life happens when you’re busy writing a blog. And I haven’t exactly been sitting still, apart from those eight hours per day from Monday to Friday for the past six weeks. So, please, close that mailbox for a second and get carried away by my latest adventures. You’re very welcome.

COMING BACK TO SYDNEY STRANGELY FELT LIKE COMING HOME

I had only been away for eight days (I owe you that story, and I promise it’s coming soon to a computer screen near you), and the definition of home had gotten so vague over the past few months, but it weirdly enough did feel like coming home. Having a job possibly (probably) also helped change the colour of my perception of the city from dark grey to girly pink.

So I had a job and a car. The only thing missing to make me a complete suburbanized citizen again, was a place to live. Camping in front of my job was possibly largely frowned upon, living on the streets was definitely a no-go, and the place where I lived in Redfern before wasn’t so keen on parked cars. So I looked for an apartment along the single lightrail-line in the city, which could easily get me into work, and ended up finding one in the beautiful tiny suburb of Lewisham.

My new flatmate was called Max, and we had seen each other for about ten minutes over a FaceTime call before I decided to move in. He had just left on a trip to South America on the day that I came to inspect the place. So when he finally got home after five weeks, I had seen his father numerous times, and had called with his mother even more – as they were taking care of the practical affairs in his absence – but I had not the slightest idea about who this guy I was sharing a fridge with was.

By now, we’ve been living together for about three weeks, and it’s all running very smoothly. I definitely feel like I’m living the Friends-life, with a little less bar and a little more work (and, in case you’re wondering, I’m obviously Phoebe).

And what does this job pacifically entail (if you’ve never seen Kath & Kim, hurry over to Netflix)? Easy, I pick up the phone when you call Club Med from Australia or New Zealand, and I’ll help you book the holiday of your life to one of the numerous Club Med-resorts around the world. But I can only also add flights to your package, cancel your holiday, or chase you because your payments are overdue.

We’re about fifteen in the team, we’re all young, and we’re all from all around the world. It’s really fun. And did I mention I actually get paid to do it? Having nobody on the other side of the line understand my name is obviously only a small price to pay for all this fun.

Knocking on heaven's door

Booking holidays for other people sure as hell does get you hungry, so most days I finished two entire $0.70 packages worth of the unhealthiest biscuits possible. After about three weeks I couldn’t stand the little voice of guilt in my head anymore, and I bought a $9 bag with an almond and sultanas snack mix. I had a few over lunch and felt a severe stomach pain coming up about thirty minutes later. Remembering an earlier blood test stating that the pain might be related to an allergic reaction – without knowing to what – I was actually glad I finally found out it was almonds I was allergic to. But this delighted feeling of happiness quickly melted away as my body felt it needed to show me more clearly how I allergic I was. Sweaty all over, suddenly the office started spinning. I heard and saw concerned people around me talking to me, but thanks to the black veil that started to form over my eyes and ears, my brain didn’t actually got what they were saying. To top it all, my throat hurt and felt really swollen, and I felt so nauseous I couldn’t believe I still hadn’t thrown up half of my intestines. It’s probably only thanks to the quick reaction of some of my colleagues who immediately gave me an antihistamine (and the fact that I hadn’t eaten more than 5 almonds) that I didn’t end up convulsing (or worse, lifeless) on the floor.

A few weeks, a blood test, 35 scratch-tests, and 20 injection-tests later, I now know for sure that I shouldn’t be eating almonds anymore if I don’t want to join Jesus and some thousand car-hit kangaroos in heaven (no offence, it’s nothing personal). The effect of amaretto is yet to be defined, but I’m rather reluctant to try.

Big spender

Having some money hit my bank account after three months of only spending was a sweet feeling. Other nice feelings were the fact that I got paid weekly, and that the amount was almost double what I made in Belgium in the same time. Win-win. And what’s the first thing you do when you make some money? Exactly, you spend some! So we booked a weekend in the Hunter Valley. For all you non-alcoholics out there, that’s a wine region about two hours northwest of Sydney. A wine tasting tour would therefore be an essential part of the trip. We left Lewisham at 6:30 on Saturday morning, stopped for coffee (and of course we arrived too late thanks to that), and by the time it was 10:15 we already had “tasted” two wines at the first vineyard. Every winery we visited served us in 45 minutes between five and ten tastings of red wine, white wine, brandy, liquor, whiskey, vodka and/or tawny. So by the time the bus dropped us back off at our Airbnb around 6pm, we just fell asleep. Because we woke up so early, of course.

On Sunday we drove by Newcastle on the way back, did a walk, have some brunch and enjoyed the sunshine.

Special shoutout to the family of five we saw at the deserted place where we had coffee on Saturday morning. The mother had grey dreadlocks, all four kids had long hair and wore overalls and ski jackets, and they took off… in a ute, of course. It couldn’t have been more Australian. Also a special thank you for our cute Airbnb host who offered to drive us to the first winery after we missed the tourbus. And an even bigger thank you for not injuring any of us while doing so (talking and focusing on the road at the same time didn’t seem to be her strong suit).

White snow and the three sisters

Another weekend, another adventure. So we took the car, and drove up to the Blue Mountains, which, thanks to their closeness to Sydney and a very aggressive touristy ad-campaign, are one of the most famous natural attractions in the region. And they did disappoint, as expected from such hyped places. Views were impressive, but not as breathtaking as other places I’ve been to here Down Under. Although one minor teeny weeny small thing might have influenced my impression from that day; it snowed. I wasn’t still drunk from the weekend before, it’s not a typo, and you might be drunk by now – but it really snowed. Cars, streets and trees were all covered in pretty white blankets, and kept there by an icy cold aggressive right in your face wind. Needless to say I was pretty unprepared for that (I was just not wearing shorts), and had to cancel the 7km hike I planned on doing. So I got out, took a few breaths, took a few pictures of the Three Sisters, criticised the disappointing view, and got back in the comfortable warm embrace of my car seats.

Doing it for the views

Other weekend activities included a hike over the cliffs in the Royal National Park, which led us to some rock formations that showed some resemblances to a wedding cake, and were therefore aptly named Wedding Cake Rock. The real highlight of that hike were the unobstructed, unlimited views over the Pacific Ocean though. Another Saturday saw me watch the sun set over Botany Bay, after another hike through the Botany Bay National Park. Chilly wind, but again some magnificent views. And on other weekends, I’d just lay down in the park, and read a book.

Thanks for checking in

I appreciate it. I really do. And don’t worry, I’m still doing great. It’s been almost five months of wearing the same six shirts and the same two pair of trousers over and over again, of speaking English all the time and slowly forgetting words in Dutch, of making plans and adapting them to the changing reality, and of doing whatever the hell I want. I’ll admit, I start to miss my family. And my friends. And European cities. And my clothes. But dancing in the shower every morning because I’m happier than ever doesn’t require an extra pair of pants. And knowing that only a few small nuts can have the same devastating impact as a bus I didn’t see coming, just makes me want to hold onto this crazy adventure even tighter than before. So if you made it this far, and you’re still reading, just make plans to do something fun this weekend. Do it for me, and, more importantly, for yourself.

And then tell me how it was. And tell me how you’re doing. Because I’m (literally) dying to know what’s going on in your life, and I really want to know what’s up. Until then, love you most, and talk to you soon!