Well, it’s official: It’s winter.
Australia has the quirky tradition of choosing otherwise completely arbitrary days to make things official. In this example, they choose the first of day a respective month to declare a change of season instead of the usual equinox and solstice days that I’m accustomed to. Therefore, June 1st is the first day of winter. Just like that. No fanfare. No shortest day. No nothing. It’s June. It’s winter. Shut up about it.
And yes, I know you’re all reveling in your spring/summer glory now. Probably dancing around half naked in a cozy rendition of Billy Idol’s Hot in the City. Sarcasm aside, I’m happy for you. Back in February when I was roasting at 36 degrees celcius and your nubs were all frozen and falling off, I sympathised and tried not to rub your runny frostbitten noses in it.
Other fun tidbits about Australian winters so far are that although it’s not technically cold, it’s still cold. There’s no damn heating in these apartments and I’d say about a dollar’s worth of insulation, not to mention the wood floors, so suffice it to say that warmth is a temptress in her many forms. Blankets, hot water bottles, tea, space heaters, fat socks, showers, did I say blankets? Oh, and sweaters, sweaters, sweaters. No, I’m no grandma—I’m cardigan-hip, not cardigan hip-replacement! Fingers and noses and toeses are cold. It’s not unlike camping where you wriggle around in your sleeping bag putting your clothes on because it’s just too darn frosty to risk it in the open air. In Japan I had this crazy heated table thing (called a kotatsu for anyone who cares) that you sat at and kept warm by…no Australian equivalent thus far. Contrary to popular belief, a sunny disposition actually does not produce any heat.
And I think I might be slowly drowning myself from the inside with soup. I can’t get enough of it. And it’s warm. I will say it’s glorious to finally have some fruit to eat though. Ah, apples and oranges….I have missed you like a limb. Exotic and delicious though they may be, I am not seduced by the passionfruit, nor am I smitten with the pineapple. Give me a Granny Smith any time of day. And a big hurrah for root vegetables that are now back in season! I know we’re now meant to call all squash and gourds “pumpkin” in this land, but I resist and know in my heart that pumpkins are big and orange and are grown strictly for mutilation and jiffy marking. But squash and sweet potato and regular potato and turnips and parsnips, we will have many warm and happy days together when I put you in my belly.
