This week I have been in Australia visiting family. Just a few days in Melbourne, during which time a friend took me on a drive through Toorak, the city's most wealthy suburb.
Mansion after mansion, in leafy rows of streets that made Paritai Drive in Auckland look like one of those streets in Glen Innes the Prime Minister likes to visit as a pre-election stunt. At a cost of about $10 million apiece, they house the financiers, managers and wealthy foreign investors that make up the privileged elite of any such city.
My friend's daughter attends the local private school, charging as much as $30,000 a year, before incidentals. I have no idea if the education is better than anywhere else but the dimensions of its gymnasium and performance centre, the beauty of its sporting facilities and glossy top coat of its gleaming buildings suggest, at least, luxurious surroundings in which to enrich the mind. There are just a handful of brown-skinned children, she says, attending the school.
It seems that Australia has become a society in which being rich means you can live an entire life without encountering a different socio-economic strata of person. You can live in leafy, gated suburbs; walk clean streets, holiday abroad or in exclusive enclaves. If you have the money, you are almost compelled to send your children to the most pricey educational institution you can buy; that education will often be part government-funded anyhow, and, ironically, teach students things like "compassion for the poor" and "empathy" in air-conditioned comfort. The only time worlds will collide, it seems, are when they sidestep a homeless person slumped outside a luxury brand retailer in the central city.