Orientation and disorientation

In many respects Oakland is not unfamiliar. It's easy to feel as if I'm in that 'Australia on the other side of the sphere' (to paraphrase Melville). Acacia parramattensis, for example, is flowering up here in the Redwood Preserve. But a one-word difference in meaning can throw me. This afternoon a recorded message advised me that "if you know the name of the person you're looking for, enter their extension followed by the pound." The what? I had no idea what 'pound' was. Finally I worked out that it was what we call the 'hatch'. And yet, when I went looking for shoelaces later on, I was directed to 'the cobbler' - an old English word I haven't come across in Oz since I used to read children's storybooks.

I sat in Gaylord's on Piedmont Avenue this morning working on my La boheme piece (while Freak Water played over the sound system). The cafe was full of people working on their laptops. They sat in rows along the wall or at the various tables, furrowing their brows in concentration against the music being piped through for the benefit of those few customers not availing themselves of Gaylord's Wi-Fi.

To distract myself I glanced at yesterday's Oakland Tribune and a regular column called 'Voices'. There was an article by a 60 year-old insurance broker from Walnut Creek, a Lt Col in the Army Reserve, who recounted that he'd got an email back in 2007, ordering him to report to Ft Bragg within 9 days. In the few days he was given to get his affairs in order, he had to organize his office manager to take over his insurance agency, finalize a divorce, etc...

In Iraq he was a member of an embedded Provincial Reconstruction Team. He said that one of the most satisfying parts of the job was briefing Baghdad civilians on "mini loans" of $4,000. It doesn't sound like much, but it was enough for Iraqis to set up new businesses. I thought "what a great thing to do - nation-building is still alive and well". And yet, when this guy came back from Iraq, he had lost his 17 year insurance agency, and was unemployed for a year. It seems no assistance was provided to help him transition to civilian life. His company allowed him to re-start his agency but contractually obliged him not to get in touch with former clients. As he said, "I never thought that I would lose my successful agency by fighting for my country."

Everybody around here is friendly and very, very polite. It is quite touching. But the sense of "you're on your own", in tales like this, is a chill wind for Australians.