Click

The majority, if not all, of American visitors to Australia generally make the same sets of observations regarding differences of cultural quirks, social etiquette, and the subtleties of economic scale, the latter frequently taking the form of the exclamatory question “Eighteen fucking dollars for a six pack of beer!?!?” The former may include comments about the sorrowful status of indigenous peoples, the domination of television programming by exotic and unfamiliar sports such as cricket, netball, and underwater men's doubles ping-pong, whether driving on the left side of the road is practical or suspect, and the unexpected British-ness of Australia in general. Indeed, this blog is largely dedicated to the dissection of such observations.

Yesterday, the third and final round of this year's international visitors departed after a 5 week whirlwind visit, and they of course made note of all of the above – with particular emphasis on the cost of goods and services. During their frequent and somewhat emotional rants about the price of mangoes or the wretched value-for-dollar ratio of accommodations, a strange thing happened to me. I found myself becoming increasingly defensive.

And when I observed that in myself, I heard and felt a distinct 'click' from deep within my chest, an irreversible and unexpected ratcheting sound, which both thrilled and frightened me at once.