London Aeterna

Music: Lux Aeterna, by Clint Mansell

A welcome back

"What's this?" sneered the immigration officer behind the desk. I looked at my crisp, neatly typed documents that had just been cast onto the counter before returning my gaze at the imposing uniformed figure in front me. The officer maintained his disdainful glare at my presence. Confused at the unexpected question, my brain fought to formulate a coherent response. The 2 week long holiday in Great Britain and Spain, combined with the just completed 7 and 1/2 hour flight from London had deadened my senses and I struggled to comprehend my unexpected situation.

The room at Boston airport that I had found myself in was fairly large, with several rows of seats facing a counter where 6 immigration officers presided. Resplendent in their black uniforms and gold badges, they formed an intimidating human barrier for entry into the US. A two-way mirror spanned the length of the room, and security cameras maintained a silent vigil over the proceedings. Save one other Middle Eastern looking individual I was the sole foreigner in this 'Secondary inspection' area of US immigration. I had been led to this room after alighting the plane and presenting myself to immigration, a process that had been a mere formality during my numerous other entries into the States. Since I have a valid work-visa and am an Australian citizen, I had no idea why I was being so intensely scrutinized this time around.

Even though several officers were unoccupied when I was escorted into the secondary inspection room, it was several minutes before I was called up to be questioned.

At the counter, after a few routine questions including what did I do ("medical scientist") and whether I had a valid working visa ("yes I do") I was confronted with the sudden, angrily toned question of "What's this?", in reference to my document that had been thrown in front of me like trash. The paper was not trash, but was extra documentation from my workplace that further supported the validity of the visa in my passport.

I was stunned by the sudden hostility of the officer. My treatment made me feel like I had no right to be on US soil. Everything I had endured and accomplished in order to earn the right to work in the US - my PhD, the job interviews, the stressful move overseas - were temporarily stripped away during this brief moment. As for the question, I finally replied that the person taking care of my visa at work had supplied me the letter and had said that I may need to show it upon returning to Boston. Satisfied with the answer, the officer abruptly dropped the stern demeanour, informed me that I was "all set" and proceeded to make some light banter as he stamped my passport. I stumbled out of the room to collect my luggage, feeling bewildered with the experience.

It was with regret that I had boarded the plane to Boston earlier that day, as it meant that my holiday had ended and the stresses of work were imminent. Being an acutely sensitive individual, my immigration experience had further soured my mood and after arriving home I just wanted to leave the States again and not return. Sure I understand border protection is necessary. What I don't understand is the requirement to treat people impolitely in the process of merely confirming an individuals credentials (it wasn't as if my visa had expired); I guess it's easy to do so when you're in a position of power. Well at least I wasn't in immigration for very long, unlike some of the horror stories I've heard about where people with valid visas were detained for several hours as their visas status was confirmed.

So that was my welcome back to Boston last week. Not a great start to my Boston 2008 experience, nor is this a very inspiring 61st entry for Status: +61, but hey, c'est la vie. Oh yeah, a very belated Happy New Year!

A Sydney-free Christmas

It hasn't sunk in yet, but Christmas and the New Year are around the corner. All the familiar cues I usually associate with Christmas are missing; it isn't hot, the smell of mangoes ripening in the fruitbowl is missing, and there haven't been any Christmas party barbeques on the beach, no beers in a mate's yard. Instead, it's chilly and beautifully snowy at the moment.

It won't be a Boston Christmas for me however. In two days I'm off to London to visit my cousin, and then we're off to Spain where I'll spend my New Years Eve in Barcelona. Since I've never been to the UK or Spain I'm bloody excited, plus reaching London will only take 6 and 1/2 hours, as opposed to the gruelling ~24 hour Sydney to London travel time.

I think travelling overseas is a rite of passage for many young Australians. It isn't uncommon for Australian high-school leavers to spend a year or so overseas (typically in the UK) before starting university or a full-time job, and almost everyone I know has travelled abroad as much as possible. Perhaps it's just the adventurous and friendly nature of many Australians that sends us across the globe to meet new people. Living on our own continent, and being so geographically isolated, maybe travelling helps us Aussies reconnect with the rest of humanity. Whatever it is, I can't wait to travel again.

I've been fortunate enough to have visited several countries in Europe and Asia, but the map of unvisited countries and the empty space in my passport gnaws at my desire to travel. Travelling forces you to break free from the comfort of routine life and embrace new experiences (and people if you're lucky...). Regardless of the destination, every trip for me has been a lesson in independence, creativity and endurance. Plus, to encounter the generosity and genuine friendliness of strangers whilst visiting a poorer country is a humbling experience, it gives a refreshing perspective to life.

The tourism of death. Travelling the globe is often about visiting the burial places of renowned dead people. From top to bottom: Reverently file past the embalmed body of Ho Chi Minh in Hanoi, Vietnam; Take a donkey ride to the burial place of the Pharaohs at the Valley of the Kings in Luxor, Egypt; Check out Napoleon’s oversized coffin (and the ceiling paintjob) in Paris, France; No dead people, but the Museum of Natural History, New York, USA is a remarkable resting place for dinosaurs and animals from across the globe and history.

The past week has been bloody hectic, but now that it's over, I can concentrate on packing etc. for my impending trip. Here are a few sites that I use for my travel plans:

Tickets: Cheaptickets, Kayak and Expedia (also for accommodation)
Accommodation: Hostelworld, Venere

Avoid the horrors of "Seat 29E" (I highly recommend viewing the hilarious, original customer complaint by clicking the link to the PDF) by using Seatguru to make the best choice for your airplane seat.

For those overpackers amongst us, pack your luggage efficiently and keep your shirts wrinkle-free by following this diagram and these tips on "bundle wrapping".

If you are travelling soon, keep safe, have fun and be nice to any Aussies you might meet along the way.

Before he left the States recently, Ex-flatmate was kind enough to give me a book entitled "Conversational Spanish in 7 Days", which should make my Spain travels considerably easier. I'm not entirely confident of the book's 7 day claim, but if a Spaniard should ask me "Puede cambiar el neumatico?" I can definitely say "Si".

The Ex-flatmate Boston experience

With no signs of my misery disappearing, I thought I'd reflect on less depressing times. As mentioned previously, Ex-flatmate's recent visit was a highlight of my Boston existence so far.

Here are some highlights of the Ex-flatmate Boston visit:
- Chatting and just hanging out again. Poor Ex-flatmate. During his stay he had to cop a fair bit of complaining and venting from me. I haven't really had a chance to chat on such a personal level over here so it all kinda spewed out during our late night conversations. Gotta love those beer-induced existential crisis chats.

- Our trip to Maine for some 'leaf peeping'. For the uninitiated, leaf peeping is the raunchy act of going into the wilderness to see all the pretty autumn/fall foliage. Bradbury forest offered spectacular peak Fall viewing while Casco Bay at Wolfe's Neck Woods was more about quiet waterfront serenity than foliage. The Woods also gets the prestigious award for Best Bathroom at a State Park, it was surprisingly well-equipped (flushing toilet, hand-dryers) and impeccably clean, plus any park bathroom that doesn't smell like my incontinent Grandma's favourite armchair gets an enthusiastic thumbs up.





- On the freeway from Maine to Boston, we got a flat tyre that we embarrassingly didn't know how to change. To be fair, I did know the theory behind it but was foiled in practice by being unable to loosen the wheel nuts that initiates the whole process. The State Trooper that arrived at the scene, and who was obviously less than impressed with our tyre-changing inadequacies, gave me the tip to kick the tyre-iron to loosen the lugs. Oh yeah, turning the tyre-iron the correct way (counter-clockwise) to actually loosen the nuts was also sage advice.

- Dinner at Legal's Seafood after the Maine trip. If you go to Legal's, definitely go for their famous New England clam chowder and their banana and rum dessert.

- Ex-flatmate missing his flight and being forced to stay in Boston another night. Although it was an ultra-stressfest for Ex-flatmate, it was actually a fortuitous event since it allowed us to visit Matt Murphy's pub that night. I highly recommend the little Brookline Village pub. We went for the live music and weren't disappointed. Till closing time, we drunk tasty Harpoon Seasonal Ales, Speckled Hens, and enjoyed grooving to the funky/boogaloo sounds of B3 Kings. The band was solid and pumping all-round, but as a guitar player wannabe, I was particularly blown away with the amazing noodling of the lead guitarist.

Matt Murphy's is a small, intimate and stylishly dark pub with the most stressful bathroom location, ever. It's a one-person restroom (dunny in Aussie-speak) located right behind where the band plays. Getting to the dunny is the rookie part (just wait for a gap in songs, although that night their songs just seemed to flow to the next...), but exiting the bathroom successfully requires critical timing. A poorly executed bathroom break could end you trapped behind the band until you're brave enough and/or there's a sufficient break in the long set to drunkenly pick your way through the tangle of leads, amps, and musos in order to reach the safety of your seat. Oh, did I mention that the audience is eye-balling your every move during all this? But don't let the requirement of having a Bladder of Fortitude +10 put you off from Matt Murphy's. The music, ambiance and beer is well worth it.

- Ex-flatmate receiving his honorary doctorate from the esteemed centre of higher learning that is the Boston Beer Works. Although having received no formal training in chemistry, fluid dynamics, or any post-high school science whatsoever, Ex-flatmate's dissertation (scribbled on the table with beer and finger) on why the blueberries in his Blueberry Beer kept oscillating up and down his glass was, as far as I could understand, top notch (it involved some scientific mumbo-jumbo about gas bubbles collecting and dissipating on the blueberries affecting their buoyancy). True to the Scientific Method, it required a lot of beer drinking to test and validate his hypothesis on "The Entropic States of Ales and Lagers: A study on blueberry z-axis kinetics", which probably explained why we were the last two patrons to stumble out of the Works that night.


With current events seemingly stuck in a downward spiral it's hard to justify plodding along the path fate/luck/destiny/randomness has given, and knowing what really makes me happy is difficult to pin down. Sitting here, reminiscing, I remember lounging in the afternoon sun, watching squirrels, watching people, watching life tick past, chatting with a mate in the park. That's happiness.

Friend on a jet plane

Travelling solo overseas can be a tough gig. You're in a foreign environment, far from home, lost more often that not, and utterly alone. It's solely your resilience, confidence, organisational skills, charm, inventiveness and luck that will either make it a trip to forget, or savor. It's like a small personal test of your abilities in coping in a stressful and potentially rewarding environment. If you're travelling alone, be pro-active, take a risk now and again, chat to strangers and foremost be confident. Chances are you'll meet some interesting people and have a great time.

Ex-flatmate is currently en-route by himself to the States. It'll be 2 weeks until he makes it to Boston for a few days to visit me, so until then, if you live in San Francisco or New York and happen across a solo Aussie traveller, be kind, say g'day and buy him a beer! In return, you'll be regaled with laid-back charm, rugged outback looks, heroic tales of how we dispense with all the lethal creatures we encounter on a day-to-day basis, and of course you'll be treated to the irresistible Aussie accent that all Americans, deep down, absolutely adore.

Into the Berkshires

Work seems to be consuming my Boston life already. It's been bloody hectic these past few weeks due to ongoing experiments. Plus the pressure to present some positive results at the weekly group meeting, or risk getting grilled by The Boss, is always a prompt motivator to be in the lab doing stuff. With scientific research, experiments don't work 90% of the time (well for me anyway...), so most of your time is spent tweaking the conditions for one experiment in order to get it working. This means there's a lot of repeating experiments which can be incredibly frustrating and demoralising. Coupled with the constant threat of a verbal crushing by The Boss, it has been getting increasingly stressful. I'm very conscious that the honeymoon-period of protection that is conferred by being the new guy is wearing thin in the eyes of The Boss.

In non-work news, made my first sojourn out of Boston last weekend. Went with Bay-buddy, his wife and another postdoc in the lab on a 2 and 1/2 hour drive west of Boston to the Berkshire region of Massachusetts that borders on New York. We spent the day hiking in the area around Bash Bish falls and Mt Alander. It was a fairly moderate hike of about 7 miles I think (11.2 km) up fairly steep terrain for the most part, so I was glad that we were only lugging day-packs and not rucksacks for camping.

The falls were only a few metres high and not that spectacular, but hey...

I had a great time being out in the US wilderness for the first time and I really enjoyed the tranquil and my somewhat sweaty reconnection with Nature. The only thing that bugged me was that the map they provide at the beginning of the track sucked big-time as it wasn't very detailed. So if you're ever heading out there for a hike, I'd recommend getting a decent map of the trails elsewhere before you go.

Ferns and fungi, what's not to like?

We crossed into New York going to the South Taconic trail and Mt Alander.

I also saw my first chipmunk running around the bush which excited me greatly. There was this fuzzy little brown and black ball capering noisily through the undergrowth and when I excitedly pointed it out to Bay-buddy and asked him what it was, he glanced up for all of 1 second and in a completely unimpressed tone said "It's a chipmunk". Then he turned back to cursing at the map. I assume now that chipmunks are quite common. Well I was excited... Glad I never told him how cool I thought it was to see squirrels running around Boston.

"How's the serenity?" A small stream from the falls.

So this was my animal spotting list: chipmunks, a small snake, two frogs, a green and yellow caterpillar which plopped onto my arm from the sky, and many birds. Again, I got childishly excited when the tap-tap-tapping sound that echoed through the woods was identified by Bay-buddy to be a woodpecker. A lyrebird calling, and not a woodpecker pecking, is the norm in the Aussie bush: hence my excitement.

(Left) Aaaagggh snake!; (Right) Spot the wildlife...

Leave a comment if you spot the wildlife in the photo (it's actually pretty easy).

Living +61

It's strange to think that one can identify with a number, especially one as innocuous as 61. Yet as an Aussie, 61 has significance to me as this is Australia's international calling code. For me, the necessity of adding 61 to an otherwise familiar phone number means the sound of a familiar accent and the reassuring words of family and friends. That simple code establishes a conduit to home and erases the isolation of distance. More importantly however, +61 shouts of travel abroad, novel experiences, and the exciting uncertainty of being far from home.

Now that I’ve moved from Australia to the US, my interpretation of +61 has altered. Plus 61 is not just about the feeling of being away from Australia, instead, it now implies living beyond Australia. I’ve come to realise that this period of my life is not just about finding a new home. It’s also about discovering what it means to me to live in this absurd world, regardless of geography.

Furthermore, my interpretation of +61 has evolved by the view that the web has largely superseded the phone as the primary form of long distance communication. This blog is my new +61.

Therefore in many aspects, living +61 seems an appropriate theme for this blog. Who knows how it’ll turn out, but I plan the blog to be an eclectic documentation of how one relocates their life to the other side of the world, random day to day observations of adjusting to a foreign city, the odd rant, and if I’m brave enough, an occasional intimate insight as I continue the philosophical journey to know myself.

I guess it comes down to necessity, but it’s still intriguing to think that the convention of an international calling code is something that the entire world agrees on. Even though it's ridiculous to think of the international calling code as some sort of a global ranking of a country, it still kinda feels that way to me. It's stupid I know, and I'm not even exactly sure what I perceive the code to rank. Liveability, economic clout, political stability and global influence maybe. I'm not saying that the US is the "best" country in the world, but doesn't it seem fitting that the US code is 1 and not 994? 994 is the code for Azerbaijan by the way. For the record, my opinion is that Australia is the best country in the world (of course), and I think Australia is suited to +61. A number that's not too high, but not completely obscure either. Sixty-one sits well for a country that's generally laid-back and comfortable in its isolated corner of the globe.

Having relocated to the east coast of the US, I've moved 60 places in the "hierarchy" of calling codes to pole position. My new international calling code is 1. Will the day come when the need to dial plus 1 invokes the same emotions of “home” that I've come to associate with plus 61? There will be plenty of time to find out.

Memories awakened

I was in Boston once. It was snowing and bitterly cold, with temperatures that were nothing like you'd ever experience on the worst Sydney winter day. At least the cold was refreshing after living in planes and airport lounges for the past 20 hours. It was my first solo trip overseas and I had just checked into my nondescript hotel, the cheapest accommodation work could arrange. Typical. The small room was well heated thankfully, but remained feeling as sterile as the cold beige hallways that led me there.


The night outside was frozen to stillness. It was late and cold enough that no-one, except those with pressing need, braved the street. Snug in my room and relieved that the travel was over, I called home, dialling +61 to Australia, to reassure my family that I had arrived safely. After all, the first anniversary of 9/11 had passed not long ago and fears of a fresh attack were still lingering in peoples minds. The near empty United Airlines aircraft I had travelled on were a testament to that fear. The media was in a frenzy over the impeding war.

Sitting alone in my motel room, I tried to avoid pondering over the busy days ahead. Uncertainty and a sense of pessimistic inevitability threatened to dominate the eagerness in my thoughts of the work I was sent over to complete. Ultimately, my memories of that 2 week visit are filled with immense stress, pressure and satisfaction that was associated with surviving the 12-18 hour working days. During that time, I was absolutely pushed to my limits of physical and mental endurance. With the work done, I returned to Australia with a feeling of achievement, a greater sense of independence and more importantly, a fresh new stamp in my passport.

That was quite a few years ago. Now I'm back in Boston. Not for days, but for years this time around. My passport may have acquired a few more stamps, but the familiar mix of uncertainty and eagerness that I experienced during my first Boston trip remain. The war in Iraq still wages, but I've certainly changed over the years. On this trip, there's more at stake. It's not only work that I must conquer, but also a new life to establish.

Bring it on.