Familiar room, but the furniture's been moved

I have now been here in the Land of Oz for near on eight months, so it is a good time to get some perspective.

I have decided that I am now Mister In-Between - not home but also not away.

Crossing the Tasman to Sydney has been a shift in more ways than one - it is a change from a small provincial town to a city of 4.4 million, and I have gone from having a network of friends, musicians and colleagues to the task of finding some of those links in a new setting.

Workwise there are some organisational things that are the same but with different names, and different things with baffling names that I am still learning. I have decided it's a bit like being in a room you know really well but with the furniture all changed about (note: Aussies call a sofa a lounge).

The other disorientating thing is that Australians are so like NZers in many ways that it's like being in NZ but with more gum trees and crazy laughing birds.

If I had moved to somewhere that was a real contrast to New Zealand, where the history, demographics and the language are completely different, then maybe the change would be more clearly defined. But because the differences between NZ and Australian life are so subtle, it is almost more disorientating - being here is not so different but, yet, it is not the same.

The everyday evidence of cultural diversity gives Sydney depth and character although the city edges on being superficial.

The inner city's walls of steel and glass towers glorify the power of money. The waterfront is blessed with the grace of the Opera House and the glorious Harbour Bridge while the gains of gambling seem very intent on ruining the skyline with yet another monstrous edifice.

This, I guess, fits well with the focus of many Sydneysiders on the accumulation of visible wealth. Conversations are often about investing in and the cost of houses, apartments and overseas trips - maybe this is big city talk, but certainly appearances are important here. People are often stunned to find we do not have a car or a television as if these things are a measure of our worth.

It is important to note, though, that - without exception - the people we have encountered in Sydney have been friendly and helpful.

I get plenty of time to observe the Sydney-ite in its natural habitat on my daily train commute to work and often see random acts of kindness to strangers - seats being offered to the less able, women with baby buggies getting a hand to get them on the train and young people giving up their places for those with kids in tow.

I also see clusters of young people chatting, all clearly from diverse backgrounds, as they head out for an evening together but there is the feeling that this is easier for some Australians than understanding the First Australians, the Aboriginal people.

Adding to this mix is the current toxic political brew being cooked up by some Australian politicians around the fate of asylum-seekers trying to get here by boat. Perhaps the politicians who are using this issue to score points have forgotten that their forefathers/mothers also arrived by boat to build a new life in the great land that is Australia? The misuse of the term "boat people" has now become so overloaded with political cargo that it cannot sink any lower.

On a more local Whanganui note - 88 keys, in fact - will the people who took the old upright please give Jack back his piano so others can enjoy its sweet street sounds.

Terry Sarten is a musician, writer and social worker currently living in Sydney. Feedback to tgs@inspire.net.nz Website: www.telsarten.com