Full circle.

The last Christmas I spent in Australia was in 2010. My first European Christmas occurred the following year, and was in fact my first time in Europe at all.

A friend from school was living in Germany at the time, working as a rocket scientist, and had extended an open invitation to anyone who wanted to visit her. I had planned to go to the UK after New Year’s anyway to have trial lessons and suss out schools before auditions the following year, and was easily persuaded (and in turn easily persuaded my parents) to extend the trip by a few weeks.

In that first week of questionable, alcohol-fueled life decisions in Germany, the Rocket Scientist introduced me to the BFGD, or Big Friendly Giant Dutchman. I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone that tall at that point in my life. He arranged a brief sojourn in Amsterdam for us, including seeing a concert at the Muziekgebouw aan ‘t IJ.

In a nice bit of symmetry (which I always interpret as the universe telling me I’m doing the right thing with my life), I recently performed at that very same music hall as an intern with the Nederlands Kamerkoor. Right before boarding a flight to bring me back to my first Australian Christmas since that European holiday in 2011.

Since moving to the Netherlands, I’ve had many people ask me what Christmas is like in Australia. Some even question whether it happens at all! (Answer – yes, we have Christmas. We’re in the southern hemisphere, not on Uranus.) Basically, the essentials remain the same: family, food, presents, food, not working, food. But there are a few key differences, namely:

1. Summer

Seeing as we’re on the other side of the world, our Christmas occurs in the middle of summer. We still sing the traditional carols like Jingle Bells, they just make no sense. The Christmas holidays are part of the longer summer holidays, and so the family get togethers can be huge, as everyone is free to travel to whichever relative lives closest to the beach.

2. Salad and seafood

Many families still do the traditional roast ham, turkey and chicken as part of the Christmas lunch or dinner, though more often that not these are served cold rather than hot. But where we Australians really come into our own is with the salads – the more unusual the flavour combinations, the better. Seafood is also a pretty important element on many Christmases now – why eat turkey when you can have prawns?

3. Presents on the 25th

I’ve always found the European thing of opening presents on Christmas Eve really strange, not realising that this is the more “authentic” tradition. But for us (or at least my family), Christmas Eve is just a large feast and then filling stockings and putting remaining presents under the tree. Christmas morning is when you open the gifts.

4. Trifle

Trifle is hands down the most important aspect of Christmas in my family. For those poor deprived souls who have never experienced trifle, it is a pudding made from layers of sponge cake soaked in jelly, fruit, custard and cream. My grandmother was always in charge of making the Christmas trifle, and it would appear that since her passing, the recipe has become a thing of legend. No fewer than four children and grandchildren claim to have been taught the secrets of the trifle at her knee, yet all disagree on crucial aspects of the recipe. I personally believe that I alone know how to make the real thing, as in fact my last Christmas in Australia was also my grandmother’s last Christmas, and I made not one, but two trifles under her supervision. I’ve tried to make two trifles in The Hague, neither successful. But I might head back this time armed with Aeroplane Jelly and some crushed peanuts…..third time lucky!

 

Merry belated to Christmas to anyone reading, and Happy New Year!

 

 

The Festive Season.

So that time of year has come and gone again. The time of year when eleven months of diet and exercise is ruined in a three day spree. The time of year when Bing Crosby is played incessantly everywhere you go. The time of year you start to wonder if your great aunt Mildred has Alzheimer’s, because if she remembered anything about you, she’d be damn certain you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing whatever monstrosity of a sweater she gave to you this year.
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I quit sugar.

If I had to describe myself in three words or less, I’d go with “raging sugar addict”. It shames me to admit it, but I have been known to add five teaspoons of sugar to a cup of hot chocolate. Those desserts that most people outgrow by the age of eight because they become nauseating to eat? Yeah, I eat those for breakfast (when I bother to eat breakfast). When The Wasp asked me what to include in my next care package from home, I insisted on CSR brown sugar, because I had not found an acceptable version of brown sugar in the Netherlands. Yes, I’d tried out more than one type.

So facing the not-medically-confirmed possibility of having my legs amputated from diabetes at age 30, I decided drastic action was needed. I was going to face my kryptonite, wrestle my delectable demon, conquer the cake. I decided to quit sugar.

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When in Rome…

So before the advent of Sorrowful September, I was lucky enough to spend Awesome August in the country that gave us the Renaissance, pasta, Pavarotti and in-floor heating. That’s right people, I literally spent an entire month luxuriating under the Tuscan sun.

I had been awarded a scholarship to study a four week Italian course at the Michelangelo Institute in Florence, which I was super excited about. Not only because I got to learn Italian in Italy, but because I would have a full four weeks of eating authentic pasta and gelato. And it would be glorious. Friends from Australia who now live in Germany had done the same course a month before, and my appetite (both literal and figurative) for all things Italian had well and truly been whetted by their Facebook pages.

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The Wasp, M.D.

Sometimes it takes very little to evoke the memory of someone. A smell, a tone of voice, a quote from a movie, an act of public stupidity that you wished they had witnessed. The Wasp, M.D. has been on my mind a lot lately, brought to the front of my mess of a brain by sometimes the most unexpected events.

Perhaps this has been brought on by the fact that I recently flew back to Australia in order to be the totally useless* maid of honour at her wedding. Maybe it’s the visiting Australians, maybe it’s the stress of my exams making me revert back to my childhood, I don’t know. All I know is that I have to resist the impulse to WhatsApp totally nonsensical messages to her every other day based on some tenuous link between that thing I just did/ate/saw and that thing that happened at some point in our childhoods that she probably has forgotten and I’m probably remembering wrong anyway.

* I was three hours late to the hens night; I improvised my speech on the spot; I napped through the day-after-wedding-bushwalk; I had laryngitis and couldn’t sing during the ceremony. Bringing me back from The Netherlands = worst investment ever.

Seeing as I can’t think of any cleverer way to present this, I hereby present the top five triggers that get me thinking of the Wasp, M.D.

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2014: Keep it Clean

Yesterday was spent in the company of the Global Siblings, acting as host and tour guide to The Hague. Well, attempting to act as tour guide. My incompetence in my own city was highlighted by getting us lost not only once, but twice in search of cafés and monuments that I know rather well, as well as managing to get myself a fine on the public transport system. B strikes again.

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Heart attacks and happiness.

Upon arriving in the Netherlands, one of my immediate impressions of the in habitants of The Hague was that they were pretty fat. And I don’t mean that in a mid-2000s teenage ‘ph’ kind of way, but in a literal, everyone struck me as a bit tubby kind of way. Of course, all the starving students were off on holidays and all the scary fit Dutch people were off hiking, swimming to England, wrestling bears or whatever fit people do during the summer, so the city isn’t actually totally populated by beach ball lookalikes. But for the first two weeks it seemed that way. And that’s coming from an Australian. Continue reading