Like Harry Potter plucked from a familiar life into the odd, yet exciting, juxtaposition of another culture, I find travel to be a weird experience. 

I’m visiting my mum in Australia (sometimes called ‘Oz’) and by the time this story is published I’ll probably be back in Vietnam slaving away over a hot English textbook and a class of smartphone distracted kids.

It’s startling to be flung back into the developed world. No car or motorbike horns. You can actually walk down a sidewalk without potholes, no parked vehicle obstacles and people move out of your way! 

Even more remarkably, taxis are well behaved, crossing the street feels bizarre because you don’t need to look seven ways and buses are not crowded and people don’t shout on the phone. Sounds like heaven really...

It’s only been a week but I’m already homesick for the hustle and bustle of Vietnam, my little house, the heat, my dogs and the life I’ve built up there over nine years. Although Australia is still a great place in many respects such as education and healthcare, instead of it being the ‘land of Oz’ it seems more like the land of ‘Noz’.

No smoking here, there and most certainly not within four meters from the front of any hotel. I got told off (scolded) for that by an evil parking inspector who looked vaguely like a woman. Seems there’s a lot you shouldn’t do in Sydney and probably can’t afford to do anyway. I suppose that’s good but it’s not the kind of lifestyle for me anymore. Do they really have to tell you that you need a valid ticket to ride a train?

One good thing is that texting on a phone while driving can get you a penalty of over a thousand dollars! I checked with squinty eyes as cars roared past and sure, plenty of people still ignore that rule – I guess everyone in Sydney must be rich. In fact I’m sure they are because I’ve never seen people paying for beer in a pub with a credit card before. Another strange moment was watching the local news about South Australia (it’s a state of Australia). South Australia had a big storm and more than a million homes were left with no electrical power (a ‘blackout’) and then there was flooding outside the big cities. I thought it was nothing compared to Vietnam’s autumn and winter storms, and wondered if I should write an instructional booklet called ‘How to enjoy a blackout the Vietnamese way’. 

Yes, there’s a lot I miss – the smell of the street food, the cheerful cafes and beer halls open late at night. I love the smell of the barbecue pork and loud laughter everywhere. It’s noisy in the pubs in Oz too but there are so many signs telling people to keep the noise down and consider the people living nearby – do you think that would ever work in Vietnam? I’ll buy a sign like that to put on my front gate in Hoi An.

People in Sydney are very polite which I now find a bit kooky and alien – I’m used to being pushed and jostled at every turn! Someone opened the door for me the other day and I just stood there expecting him to charge out the door like an angry coconut seller.

Sydney is just as busy as Vietnam in the early mornings but people line up politely at coffee shops to get take-away cappuccinos to drink on the buses and trains as they go to work. If you’re rich, you can sit in a beach-side café and have a twenty dollar breakfast (coffee NOT included) and read the newspapers. Again the oddness hits me. There’s not a lot of news in newspapers anymore either – I read one this morning, 190 pages long but only about 20 pages of real news – the rest was advertising for a million things inside your house. Australians have a big obsession with decorating and changing the inside of their homes. There must be a lot of money in it too because most of the people eating the 20 dollar breakfasts all wore builder clothes and had big trucks parked outside the cafes.

It’s not the life for me; the big city and the stress of work. I’d rather do battle with the rain and the wind in the winter on my motorbike as the lightning crackles overhead. I’d much prefer to wade in the small pond outside my house during afternoon downpours as the Vietnamese ride past giggling. 

I miss my home. My special little place called the central coast of Vietnam.