“Five years.”
A mutual friend of ours from London was predicting how long it would take before I’d feel at home in Australia. At that point, I was still a newbie, with only eighteen months under my belt. He was several years into his stretch and was largely the reason my now-husband had decided to emigrate over two decades ago. I clung to those words - five years felt like an eternity, but at least it was a timeline.
No-one was more surprised than me when I left behind the life I had to reunite with an old flame. I am a naturally cautious person, who, it’s been said, can take ten whole minutes to decide on what brand of crackers to buy in the supermarket. Yet here I was, on the other side of the world, reinventing myself - and as if that weren’t enough, I was suddenly a stepmother, too - something I’ve previously discussed at length, here.
There’s no handbook for emigrating in later life. TV shows make it look easy - young families jetting off to a sunny new start, their entire journey wrapped up neatly in twenty-five minutes (ads included). But what about the loved ones left behind? The jobs, the familiar routines? If emigrating were that simple, surely everyone would be doing it.
The truth is, while the climate here in Queensland is undeniably lovely (tornados, floods and bush fires aside…) emigration is a monumental decision that requires significant sacrifice. It’s no small feat, as anyone who’s taken the leap will tell you. So yes, there had better be a substantial carrot-shaped incentive waiting on the other side to justify the hurdles you’ve jumped: the visa hoops, the countless obstacles, the doubts, the niggles, the fears, the resentment, and, of course, the guilt.
But five years still felt like an awfully long time. At this point I was still grappling with homesickness, mourning stuff I never thought I’d miss. Things like, pre-packed sandwiches, familiar faces and places on the news, bright Summer evenings spent in pub gardens, post arriving the same decade you sent it, Greggs sausage rolls, public transport on your doorstep, historic buildings, pubs, Marks & Spencer Food Hall, decent chocolate, British humour, also, pubs.
Instead, I was adapting to life’s new quirks. Winters that were surprisingly cold, despite the postcard-perfect summers, and the seasons being back to front - freezing in July, hot in January - took a bit of getting used to. Also, the constant rustle in a nearby bush, signalling a creature that could be harmless (a gecko, a brush turkey, a lizard) or something straight out of Beelzebub’s playbook, such as a brown snake, a funnel-web spider, or that nosy neighbour.
I’ve spoken before about the peculiar creatures here in my guide on How Not to Die Down Under, but it bears repeating: the wildlife in Australia often feels like fiction. Take the leaf-tailed gecko, for example. It isn’t deadly, but its habit of hiding under outdoor cushions, and lunging at you like a demonic cat when disturbed, can make you question your life choices.
But over time I started to adjust to both the wildlife and the climate. Checking sun visors for spiders before getting into the car became second nature (though I doubt this fear will ever fully subside). I’ve also learnt to ignore the rats scurrying across the wire roof, while locking up the chicken coop at night. And sharks? Everyone here knows to swim between the flags - or just stay on the sand…
Somewhere along the way, the “five years” prophecy came true. It’s natural to gravitate toward others on a similar journey - we are, after all, pack animals. And so slowly I began to find my tribe - fellow expats, locals, and neighbours, all of whom understood the challenges of navigating unfamiliar waters.
Without even realising it, Australia became a part of me. Now, as I near the two-year anniversary of my becoming a citizen, I reflect on the small moments that have truly made me feel like one of the locals, and the unique quirks I’ve embraced. For instance;
Using Aussie slang without irony, terms such as; Arvo – Afternoon, Bottle-O – Liquor store, Servo – petrol/gas station, Smoko – A smoke or tea break, Ambo – Ambulance or paramedic, Garbo – Garbage collector, Rego – Vehicle registration, Tradie – Tradesperson. Basically, the rule of thumb is to add a vowel onto the end of ANY word.
Gaining a geographical understanding of the area (to give you an idea of the vastness of the place, you can fit seven UK’s into the state of Queensland alone…)
Embracing Aussie optimism. They do, on the whole, tend to have a sunnier outlook, perhaps influenced by their climate, which is at odds with my English pessimism - a tendency to view the pint glass half empty, or as we say here, a Schooner, half full.
Turning into a coffee snob. In all honesty, I never thought I’d see the day when I’d swap my home-made cup of Mellow Birds for a mug of oat-milk flat white, but here I am, channelling my inner Zammo1, chasing that coffee bean fix every day.
Becoming a twitcher. Where I live, backing onto a rainforest, I’m spoilt by the array of feathered friends on our doorstep. Aussies are accustomed to living alongside and marvelling at their weird and wonderful birds, including king parrots, cockatoos, kookaburras, rosellas, the whip and the bower, of which the males do a very good job of recycling my blue bottle tops, using them to decorate their bower nest in an attempt to woo the ladies.
But perhaps the most elusive and enchanting bird around these parts is the Lyre Bird, otherwise known as the master mimic. Not only can they replicate the call of their feathered counterparts, they also do a very good job of imitating the sound of car alarms, camera shutters, and chainsaws - as you can see in this video.
Taking pride in your country. Most Australians would say that they are proud of their nation’s history, even for all of its shortcomings. Patriotism here takes many different forms, embodying a deep love for the place and an appreciation of its unique identity. The locals where I live don’t view their country as a patch of land occupied by unrelated individuals; it is a community bound by shared heritage. Coupled with the fact that Aussies are straight talkers - they don’t hold truck with hand-wringers and cancel culture, preferring to focus instead on the present, while looking ahead to the future.
Look, I’m not saying I managed to embrace EVERY aspect of Aussie culture. I’m still clueless when it comes to their love of footie and cricket, plus my Irish mammy ingrained in me the importance of a hot plate, so barbecues and the length of time it takes to get fed outdoors, leaves me wanting… And, try as I might, I will NEVER enjoy camping, that’s something I’ve spoken of on a previous occasion…
But hey, no relationship is perfect.
I was once a city girl who spent most of her time working hard, socialising harder and spending way too much money on boots. Now I’m a grey fifty-something, who often forgets to wash her face. Trust me, that’s a good thing.
Emigrating to Australia was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was also the most rewarding. It’s a love story - not just with my husband, but with this vast, unpredictable country that challenges and embraces you in equal measure. Nine years on, I can finally say it’s my home from home.
If you’ve moved countries in later life, I’d love to hear your story. Did it go as planned?! What challenges did you face?
Can’t wait to visit and see you soon! Xx
Thanks for these wonderful insights, Sharon. I’ve never lived abroad, but do live on a small island, which took some getting used to!