Lost In Translation - Thou Shalt Not Soy

Thou Shalt Burp on a Dairy Farm Instead My temporary Australian visa has just turned one. I have learnt many things in this year, such as, do not go into a shop named Dotti, Neighbours is the worst show on TV, definitely go to see independent Aussie bands, jogging on the beach isn’t what it looks like on Baywatch, and thou shalt not drink soy milk. Yes, some people hate soymilk. And they will publicly get upset by my drinking this evil non-dairy brother of milk in public. Recently, a friend of mine gave me the raised eyebrow over my soy latte order.

Why? Have you ever been to Asia? I wondered. I asked him why he chose to hate a bean from the legume family that’s used by all of Asia and some Westerners whose bowels revolt against dairy, but hey. I wondered if he had a similar problem with tofu. Did he secretly spit on the chunks of tofu in the supermarket? Maybe he was even one of the people who hate vegetarians and fantasise about blowing up yoga classrooms.

Anyway, I wondered if I should feel bad. I guess I’m letting down the dairy farmers. Maybe I should drink dairy like any ordinary man and woman. And here we have arrived at the biggest lesson that Australia has taught me – that it’s all about being ordinary. Everyone is chilled, relaxed and happy to drink cask wine. At least on the surface. Then they run home and read their Jamie Oliver cooking books in secret. If I’d decide to sing the Pretenders at Karaoke, and belt out “I’m special” in a laneway karaoke bar, no doubt border control would instantly kick me out of the country.

Australia is a baby democratic country, and pretty much devoid of open class segregation, which is great. Particularly after 6 years of London, it’s fantastic, democratic and interesting. I like the whole fair go for everyone thing. It’s nice. We are family. But it’s a surface thing. And I think some people take it to a bad extreme. You’re a soy drinker and people think you think you’re something better. Suddenly it’s a political issue. Am I meant to read the Herald Sun, drink VB, burp, burn my clever books, live on a sheep farm and worship cow milk? I don’t think so. I won’t hide my clever books, I like The Age, and I won’t ever develop issues about soy milk. In fact, I don’t hate any vegetable for any reason. I think it’s a waste of time. I drink soy milk because dairy makes me ill. I don’t think drinking cow’s milk has ever made anyone a better person.

I’ve also come to understand that Australians like anyone who is dead or not in power. Heath Ledger, hero of today, despised gay cowboy of yesterday. John Howard, international laughing stock of yesterday. But then people got tearful at his leaving do. And of course, now everyone hates Rudd. For no particular reason. He’s just in charge, when he should be burping on a farm and drinking dairy milk with all the rest of us.

Rudd is acknowledging climate change and the fact that oil is an international, not an Australian, problem. What’s so bad about that? I guess he’s not like Howard, who embarrassed Australia on a global platform by ignoring climate change issues.

Rudd goes to the G8 summit. Why is that so bad? I don’t get it. But yes, he should be burping on a dairy farm, drinking VB and reading the Herald Sun…

Rudd is also frequently attacked for forming too many focus groups and listening to the advice of those who are attending the focus groups. Now, that has to be the most un-Australian thing I’ve ever heard. Listening to other people? Just the idea of a question mark in politics is preposterous. Along with soy milk!

Why wouldn’t he listen to people who know better? You’re always going to find someone who knows something you don’t. It’s interesting to listen to other people. But an Australian leader should not listen to anyone, he should shout loudly, burp on a dairy farm and drink VB…

My own country’s history has taught me that the people who shout the loudest are the ones who should be ignored. This is why I often feel completely out of place in this country. Funnily enough, I’ve never in my life heard so many people tell me what’s wrong with the history of Europe since I’ve arrived here, 35,000 kilometres away. People seem to know everything about Europe. People have blathered to me about Hitler (because I wouldn’t have any idea…), informed me about the strict recycling system in place in Germany (really?), European university rankings (you don’t say), that you can’t get good coffee in Paris (not true at all), the dirty streets of Berlin (my capital city, but thanks) and European airport safety (double snore). I am rather sure that most of this knowledge was acquired in the Hammersmith Walkabout pub in London, where the Australian goes for a true European experience. There he can shout loudly, drink VB, burp…

I guess I will have to stay here and continue my deepening love affair with this country, keep staring at the walls, rocking back and forth and using earplugs. But tomorrow I’m getting the Proust out from under the bed. Or should I move to a dairy farm, read the Herald, drink VB…

Better go, I think border control have just arrived at my front door.