Foreign but not a foreigner?

I’m not sure how I expected to feel in the US, but I was surprised at how foreign I felt. I thought I’d blend in easily with everybody else; after all, I look like at least half of the population there, and I speak English the same as the majority of them. I’ve been a true foreigner in a foreigner before, when I lived for six years in Indonesia, and there I truly did feel foreign. I didn’t look like anybody else, and in fact I was taller than about 99% of the population; I didn’t speak the language at first, and even later when I was quite fluent, I only ever felt that I had a flimsy grasp on it; and I didn’t understand the culture in spite of a certain superficial knowledge of the main taboos. What surprised me in the US was how similar my feelings were to those I had in Indonesia. In spite of blending in in appearance, I felt off balance, never sure exactly how some things worked, frequently unable to understand what people said, and often afraid that I might have unwittingly offended somebody because of some cultural nuance that I’d missed.

One of the first and most frightening areas where I found adjustment very difficult was the switch from driving on the left to driving on the right. Not that I myself did very much driving; a couple of short excursions around the immediate neighbourhood was all I was game for. However, I did do a lot of walking, which necessarily involved crossing roads with traffic on them, and here I had a problem. I could never quite be certain just where a car might appear from, making me paranoid about checking in every possible direction several times, and even then, sometimes having an unnervingly close encounter with a car in the middle of the intersection I was crossing. I felt that the law which allows cars to turn right on a red light made things unnecessarily dangerous for unwary foreigners such as me! Even in Indonesia, where hardly anybody drives by any recognisable road rules, the law says they are supposed to drive on the left, so I felt that I had some grasp on what they should be doing, even if they weren’t. In the US, I just felt disoriented most of the time.

My sense of direction was also thrown off by the change in position of the sun in the sky. In Australia, if you live below the Tropic of Capricorn (which I do), the sun is always slightly to the north of you, whereas in the US, most of which is above the Tropic of Cancer, the sun is always somewhat to the south. Until I spent some time north of the Tropic of Cancer, I took for granted the fact that I have a good sense of direction, and it was very disorienting to find just how much my sense of direction relies for accuracy on the position of the sun. In the US, I had to stop and make complicated mental calculations to work out which direction was which, and that’s a thing I rarely have to do at home.

Money was another thing which disconcerted me. All the notes look the same, although luckily they each have their denomination marked in clear large figures in the corners. And the 25 cent and 5 cent coins (“quarter” and “nickel” as I had to remember to call them) were extraordinarily hard for me to distinguish. Many times I found myself fumbling embarrassingly for the right amount, and quite often I simply tendered a $1 note instead of bothering with trying to count out change and keeping everybody behind me waiting. I don’t remember having the same problem with coins in Indonesia. The notes there were easy, being different colours and sizes, as ours are in Australia, and I think the coins must have had greater size differences as well.

The topic of money brings me to another area of confusion. How chatty was I expected to be with cashiers, toll booth operators, check out clerks and the like? In my own country, I would not be considered rude if I merely held out the money, accepted any change and receipt, and said thanks, but I had the impression that more is expected in the US in the way of some kind of verbal exchange between customer and clerk. Of course, here in Australia some people are chattier than others, and a transaction between, for example, a check out operator and customer in a supermarket could include pleasantries about the weather, working hours, health and more, but none of this is obligatory. I heard my companion greet people in toll booths or behind counters, ask how much she owed, and say “Here you go” as she gave them the money, none of which would be expected here, so when I was alone, being a naturally very untalkative person, I often forgot to say more than “Hi” and “thanks”, and then later wondered if I’d been considered terribly bad mannered.

This chattiness extended to people on the street or fellow customers in shops or waiting in queues. Strangers seemed to have no hesitation in offering directions if we seemed uncertain which way to go, or in offering opinions or comments about events. I was browsing in Good Will one day when a woman near me suddenly held out a small vase towards me and commented on how attractive it was and what a nice gift it would make. Things like this do happen in Australia too, but they seemed to happen more often in the US, and at more unexpected moments.

The readiness of strangers to speak to each other ties in with the difference between the concepts of public and private space in the US and Australia. Something that I really leapt out at me was the fact that almost nobody had a fence around their house, at least in the parts of the US where I spent most of my time. This would be almost unheard of in Australia. We don’t always have a front fence, but we do almost invariably have back and side fences. Our backyards are private, and nobody except family or very close friends goes there uninvited. It seemed to me that I would feel very exposed living in a house without that private area away from the eye of all and sundry. It seems that Americans may have a veneer of openness and friendliness, a public persona of “hail fellow well met”, but in fact they are just as private as anybody else behind the friendly façade. Many, although not all, Australians tend to be more reserved in public, and to want to keep their home life somewhat private behind fences, but once you get past the more reserved façade, they are as friendly as Americans.

In Indonesia, everybody you meet speaks to you and asks quite personal questions as a matter of course, and as a foreigner, you come to accept that this is just how Indonesians are. However, when you’re mixing with people who look more or less the same as you do, there is a certain underlying assumption that they will have the same mores as you, and therefore it’s more of a shock when they don’t. I think it’s easy for an Australian such as me to believe that because Americans are so apparently outgoing, they really do look on you as a friend, and then it comes as a surprise when you come up against the barrier that they have around their more private selves.

Along with the cultural pitfalls, I found that I did not always speak the same language, even though both Americans and Australians speak English. Pronunciation differences and differences in word usages meant that quite often I came up against a complete breakdown in communication. This was most worrying in public places, where I often found announcements over loudspeakers incomprehensible, and worried that I might be missing something I really should know.

Something that I found frustrating was the little “taken for granted” pieces of information which make everyday life smoother if you know them. A couple of times I had to ring an 800 number, which I did by dialling 800 to start, only to hear a recorded announcement that “your call could not be connected as dialled”. I was baffled, and checked and double checked the phone book to make sure I’d got the number right. Eventually my American friend told me that I should have dialled 1-800; it’s taken for granted that everybody knows this, so the “1” isn’t always included in the phone number as it’s printed in the phone book. How was I supposed to know that I needed to dial 1 first?

I was interested to note that my companion did not seem particularly “American” when she was alone with me, but when I saw her with a group of her friends, suddenly she seemed much more like them than I had expected. Like them, she tended to talk fairly loudly and certainly expansively, and the American accent seemed more noticeable. There seemed to be something indefinable that made them seem different to me than a group of Australians would have seemed.

Although I loved the time I spent in the US, in a way deep down I felt a sense of relief to be back in my own country and culture. In spite of the high, harsh sun and the hot weather, here I feel at ease. I don’t have to be on the alert all the time in case I do something wrong and offend somebody inadvertently; when I’m crossing a busy street I can take a risk because I’m reasonably sure that I can anticipate what any oncoming vehicles might be going to do; I can understand most public announcements, and I can pay for things in small change without even thinking about it. I know how to navigate my way through my days and through all my public encounters and necessary transactions without even thinking about it, because I have stored in my subconscious all the necessary pieces of information, even the unwritten and unspoken ones. Oh yes, and here I can tell which direction I’m going by where the sun is in the sky.

Plumbing, and History

How do I turn on the tap? Let me count the ways...
1. Pull the little lever towards me
2. Pull the little lever upwards
3. Press the little lever downwards.
4. Press a button, either obvious or concealed
5. Turn a handle
6. Hold my hands under the spout and hope something happens
... and I'm sure there are more I've missed. In Australia we more often just have simple handles which have to be turned, so I've been having a fun (and often confusing) time trying to work out just how to get the result I want, ie. a stream of water.

And then we come to toilet flushing. Sometimes there's a lever on the side of the cistern. Well, although I've never seen those before (we mostly have buttons set into the top of the cistern), they were easy enough to figure out. However, then we come to toilets in public places, which have myriads of flushing devices. Some have a lever at the back of the seat, which is easy because we have those at home. Some have a button in the wall, which we also have at home. One I was in had a foot pedal, which I've never come across anywhere else. Many, most disconcertingly, flush automatically, which I am not used to. They're fine if they wait until you've actually finished and stood up, but today I was in one which was a bit over eager, and flushed when I just moved sideways slightly. So now, whenever I go into a toilet which is new to me, I carefully suss out the flushing arrangements before I do anything else.

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I have a tendency to play the "tough guy", so although I will wear lots of layers and gloves when it's cold, I really don't like to wear a hat. However, the other day when we were at Harper's Ferry, it was much colder than either of us had expected, probably under 10°C. Luckily, I had taken a jacket which had a pair of gloves in the pocket, and S had included a hat for me, but I was reluctant to wear it, thinking that I would manage to be warm enough with just the jacket and gloves. However, she persuaded me, and I had to admit that it increased my comfort level.

We drove back from Harper's Ferry mostly in the dark, leaving there at around 5 pm so that we were faced with the commuters travelling home from work in or near DC. I was once again amazed at the sheer numbers of Americans on the road. For at least 40 miles there was a constant 3-lane-wide stream of headlights passing us.

Speaking of cars, something which has struck me quite forcibly since I've been here is the dearth of small cars (and older ones). Almost every vehicle I see is big, chunky, muscular, powerful looking, and fairly new and shiny. Where are all the young women and older women, who typically drive smaller cars in Australia? Where are the poor students, who can only afford to drive a 20 year old, rusty, beat-up 4 cylinder hatchback or small sedan? Where are the young guys, who like to drive large but old-and-being-souped-up sedans? Maybe none of these groups exist here in the US. Maybe everybody just wants and can afford to drive a large, powerful, status symbol car that says Look out, I'm coming and nobody is going to stand in my way.

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Today I visited Old Town Alexandria, in Virginia. (The states I've visited or passed through so far: Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, New York, Massachusetts, New Jersey, California, and I think Delaware briefly. That's pretty impressive for someone who comes from a country where it takes two days to drive through her home state). Anyway, I took the Metro to Alexandria, and wandered through the historic section, sort of following a walking tour guide and noting places of interest. Forgetting that it was November 11th, and not realising that there would be memorial services being held, I blundered into the Museum of Black History to find myself intruding on a service which seemed to be attended only by African Americans. Feeling very conspicuous, I quietly browsed through the brochures on display, discreetly used the bathroom, and snuck out again.

The Torpedo Factory Art Gallery was an interesting place and yes, it used to be a torpedo factory. Visitors can watch artists working in small individual studios in which they also display and sell their work. I was very impressed with one display of photos.

In a t-shirt shop I saw on display t-shirts with a photo of GWB and proclaiming his inauguration in 2005. They didn't waste any time putting those out.

Today I encountered yet another tap option: pull the knob upwards, after turning it left or right to adjust the water temperature. Weird. And in my previous post on this subject, I didn't even mention the many ways that shower taps work. On the subject of showers, it seems to be relatively uncommon here for the shower to be in a separate recess from the bath, but instead it's usually over the bath, meaning you have to climb in and out over the bath side, which can be dangerously slippery. In Australian hotels and motels you'd be likely to have only a shower and no bathtub, while in private homes, especially newer ones, bath and shower are separate from each other (but in the same room). And the main toilet in the house has its own room separate from the main bathroom, although ensuite bathrooms include a toilet.

Making Someone's Day at Harper's Ferry

We drove to Harper's Ferry yesterday. It was a perfect day to be there: there was hardly anyone else visiting, so we had peace, quiet and privacy, all precious commodities. It was a bit too cold for my taste when we first arrived, but after our picnic lunch we went for a walk alongside the river to warm up, then climbed the short but steep hill up to Jefferson's Rock, where we sat quietly in the sun for quite a while. In spite of the noise from the traffic on the busy highway just over the Shenandoah River, it was very peaceful up there.

The historic part of the town was of course very picturesque, and when the sun came out, its light on the few trees which still had gold coloured leaves was beautiful. The only shop we went into was a bookshop, where I think I made the young girl clerk's day by being from Australia. However, when she realised I wasn't a local she said to S, "Oh, is she not from here?" (Even though I'd been speaking in English about the coins I was trying to sort out to pay for my purchase).

Museums, and Metro Madness

On Monday I visited the National Air and Space Museum. I spent most of my time in the air section, because I just enjoy looking at old aeroplanes. I was particularly interested in the exhibit about Orville and Wilbur Wright. At school, we were really only told the bare facts, that they were the first people to fly a self propelled aircraft, at Kitty Hawk, for a few seconds. It was really interesting to read about their family life and how they had been encouraged to have enquiring minds right from childhood. There was also information about their different personalities, and a lot of detail (of course) about all the work that was behind that first momentous flight.

I also loved Amelia Earheart's red aeroplane. I would have loved to learn to fly, but finances and poor eyesight prevented it.

Wednesday I went to the Musuem of the American Indian. I had thought that just meant the North American Indian, but actually it included those of South American as well. There was a lot of stuff I was already aware of, about the decimation of whole populations by introduced diseases and about the exploitation and marginalisation of various tribes, but also a lot of information about the resiliency of many of the people and the preservation of their cultures. In some ways, they weren't treated quite as badly as the Australian Aborigines - mostly they weren't forced to work as slaves for the whites - but they certainly weren't treated well either.

On my way home yesterday I got embroiled in the aftermath of a 2 train collision in the subway. The train I was on, and all others on that line, had to be stopped at Dupont Circle and the passengers taken by shuttle bus a few stations up the line to reconnect with trains on the other side of the accident. However, one bus does not equal one 6-car train, so the numbers of people waiting for shuttle buses was huge. I was lucky in being on one of the earlier trains, and only had to wait about half an hour for a bus. However, the bus took more than half an hour to cover the distance the train would have travelled in about ten minutes, so it took me an hour and a half longer than usual to get home.

The crowds of people queuing for buses were amazingly good natured, and there was a lot of joking amongst the African Americans which kept most of us amused. I felt a bit nervous when I first realised my train was not going to take me all the way home, but I soon realised that nobody else knew what was going on either, so I adopted a policy of following the crowd which worked well.

Halloween

The evening was balmy, dark and mysterious, with the sounds of voices coming from various directions as we crackled through the mounds of dead leaves at the side of the road. Ahead we saw lights and the strange shapes of children in Halloween costumes: little devils, witches, fairies, a miniature footballer and an even smaller crocodile, a very tall Frankenstein. All carried large bags for collecting the treats which they knew would be handed out at any house they visited.

Through the darkness the lights from the houses gleamed through the trees, and at most front doors the light of a candle glowed dimly through a carved pumpkin face. A few homes were brightly lit with strings of orange lights, or had rows of lit up pumpkins along the sides of the driveway or up the steps to the front verandah, but a few had outdone themselves to create the Halloween atmosphere.

From one house, eerie sounds emanated, and although there weren't many lights on, we could see a dim light from the front room. Along with many other people, we crowded up the steps and into the house, but it took a while to be able to work our way to the main attraction. The room was filled with some kind of smoke and kids and adults jostled for position, but eventually we filtered through to the back corner where a grey haired figure with a white painted face and blood red lips was slowly raising itself to a sitting position in a coffin. This elderly man, whose own kids are now adults, has been recreating this scene since at least 1988.

A few houses further along the street, coloured lights outlined the arch over the gate and some other objects in the garden, beckoning us to investigate further. We found a body in a shallow grave just inside, and above us, on the verandah, a ghost illuminated with ultraviolet light. Along the verandah, a man-sized hairy monster with huge clawed hands sat in a chair, moving its head up and down, opening and closing its claws and giving out treats to any child brave enough to come close. We weren't sure if it was a real person, or a remote controlled robotic figure as the lady of the house claimed. Many of the plants in the garden were draped with enormous cobwebs, and carved pumpkins and other suitable accoutrements were dotted about.

At another house, many pumpkins decorated the verandah, while above the steps was a row of blinking lights in the shape of large eyeballs. Around the corner in the next street, we found what we thought at first was a party because of the loud music playing and the number of people moving around. However, large signs proclaimed it to be the "Garrett Traylir Park", and another sign directed us to the "Manigmint Offerse". In keeping with the "trailer trash" theme, guitar pickin' music was playing, accompanied by a real guitarist sitting on the steps, barrels of hooch were off to the side, and piles of laundry were piled up in front of the older man slouched in a chair. Meanwhile several people danced to the music.

Most other houses weren't so extravagant in their decorations, but nearly all displayed at least one carved and lit pumpkin, and without doubt, all had plenty of chocolate bars to give out as treats to everyone who came knocking.

Boston - October 26th - 29th

Tuesday:
We started out at 6:30 am in the dark. The roads were very crowded even at that early hour. It was basically city for the first couple of hours, but then we got out into slightly more open country, rolling, green in places. The autumn colours of all the trees were spectatular, green/gold/orange/red all mixed together in a patchwork effect. Boston's outskirts remind me a bit of Albany, hilly with winding roads and not well signposted. The drive, of about 565 miles, took about 10 and a quarter hours. S had to do all the driving because I foolishly didn't get an international driving permit before leaving home, and although my local motoring association website only said an international permit is recommended (not required) for the US, we didn't want to take any risks.

Wednesday:
Spent the day downtown. First we visited the Skywalk on the 50th floor of the Prudential building, which gave us an impressive view in all directions along with an interesting pre-recorded commentary (on personal headphones) which gave a short description and history of what we were seeing from each direction. Coming down again in the lift, I was struck by how loudly the other people in the lift were talking. I think the tone would have been more subdued in an Australian lift.

We're staying in a motel on the outskirts of Boston, not too far from a terminus of the T (subway system), and on our first foray into the city we were taken aback to discover that it costs $3 to get into the city, but only $1.25 to get back. We thought we were being ripped off, because none of the token machines were in operation and big notices informed us that the cash fare would be $3, but we've since learnt that that's just the way they work it here.

We got off at Copley Square, and even before heading off to the Skywalk we went into the Boston Public Library (because it has bathrooms!) and spent some time browsing around because it's such an amazingly beautiful building.

Later we walked on to the Public Gardens for lunch, where the very bold squirrels hung around begging for food. One climbed right up onto my backpack, which was on my lap, but wouldn't stay long enough for me to take a photo. From there we went over to Boston Common, where we really liked the Frog Pond and the Tadpole Playground. I couldn't work out why all the ponds and fountains were empty of water, and when I asked S was amused that she hadn't thought to tell me that they're drained for the winter well before the first frost is expected.

From there we retraced our steps until we reached Newbury St, which although it is full of shops didn't feel like a shopping area to me because all the shops are in what used to be houses so you don't get the shop fronts right on the footpath; they're usually up or down steps and inside what look like private doors. Everywhere there was a backdrop of turning leaves in all shades, and again I've been struck by how lush the vegetation is. I thought it might be a bit less so here than in the DC area because it's slightly warmer there. I think the train line is about the most attractive I've seen, simply because of the amount of greenery all along each side of it.

Boston, especially the central touristy part, seems very compact and walkable so far. We concentrated on the area to the south/west of Boston Common today, and we plan to visit the Freedom Trail and other north/eastern parts tomorrow or Friday.

Some of the architecture is similar to that of DC - heavy, solid, massive granite blocks, fairly austere and unadorned on the outside - but some is more similar to what I'm used to in Perth: red brick with ornamental flourishes in contrasting colours around windows and corners, and with more decoration on the outsides of the buildings.

Our motel is really nice: Near the reception area is a computer with free high speed internet access (which I'm using right now) as well as a breakfast area where we can get free breakfast of coffee, fruit juices, tea, bagels with cream cheese (I've never had bagels before - very nice) and sweet pastries, and in our room we have a self contained fully equipped kitchen with fridge, stove, microwave oven and even a dishwasher. There's often a bit of a queue for the computer but so far I've been able to get some time on it to check my emails every day.

Thursday:
A glorious, cold, clear, sunny day. We went to Minute Man Park, the historical site of Paul Revere's ride and the start of the Revolutionary War. We walked along part of the Battle Trail, noting markers of significant moments and places as we went, until we reached the Hartwell's Ale House or Tavern (I hope I've got the name right), where a couple of men dressed in period costume gave a talk about the war and the use of muskets, then showed us through the Tavern. It's the original building which until recently had been lived in and considerably modernised over the original materials, but has now been stripped back and restored to its original condition.

After sitting in the sun by the side of the trail to eat lunch, we drove to Walden Pond, walked around it and then sat basking in the sun watching all the other people also making the most of the perfect day. One particular tree was being extensively photographed because of its very startlingly red foliage. In spite of the cold, several kids were actually wearing bathers and going into the water, though we noticed they weren't spending too long in there.

I was amazed by the contrast of the sheer numbers of interstate and state highways intersecting and intermingling just minutes from beautiful woodland and the peaceful Walden Pond. Both Minute Man Park and Walden Pond were within about ten minutes' drive of our motel.

Friday:
Today we went back to Boston on the T and walked along the Freedom Trail, which is an approximately 2.5 mile long historical walk marked by a red line, mostly red bricks set into the footpath but sometimes red paint on the road, commemmorating the Revolutionary War. Due to the Boston Red Sox winning the World Series, we were somewhat hampered when we reached Government Centre by crowds gathered there to watch the lowering of the Red Sox flag. Everywhere in Boston all week we've seen signs both big and small congratulating the Sox.

As I found the other day, Boston is a very friendly and compact city in which to walk, with a lot of life taking place on the streets, including vendors selling souvenirs, t-shirts and food from carts. I had my first real American burrito (filled with rice, cheese, and black beans - very delicious) followed by a maple/walnut icecream. As we got into the North End, suddenly there was hardly any traffic, although there were cars parked nose to tail right along each side of the road. These were residents' cars, and there was practically no through traffic, which made walking much more pleasant.

Although the Freedom Trail is less than 3 miles long, we didn't get to the final section of, on the other side of the river, until mid afternoon, having begun at about 11:15, because we stopped so often to look at things and take photos. When we reached Bunker Hill and found people are allowed to climb the Bunker Hill Monument, which is a smaller replica of the Washington Monument, we at first thought we were too tired to try the climb, but we eventually decided we didn't want to miss the view from the top, so we climbed all 291 steps up and found it was well worth it. While we were up there still admiring the view, a family of husband, wife and son of about 12 arrived. The husband was in a really bad way and sat down on the floor gasping for breath for a few minutes, making me feel quite worried. Meanwhile I suddenly discovered that when I stood on the 3 ft wide grating in the middle of the floor I could see right down the central shaft to the bottom of the monument, and announced this fact out loud. Immediately the father told his son to stay away from there! The boy was already too scared to even look out of the windows.

After sitting down for a while to let our legs recover from the climb and descent, we walked the rest of the way to the end of the Trail and had a quick look at the USS Constitution Museum. If we'd been half an hour earlier we could have gone on board the USS Constitution itself, and I was disappointed that we missed it, but it had already been a full day and we were reasonably happy to just look at it from the wharf.

By this time it was after 5 pm, so we found our way back to the nearest T station (with difficulty - they've been renovating and the directions were less than clear) and managed to fight our way onto a very crowded train which just kept getting fuller and fuller for the next several stops until we finally cleared the city. We had to stand for about the first half of our trip, which would have been fine except that my legs and feet were quite sore by then.

The Metro

I made an abortive attempt to visit the National Air and Space Museum today. When I got to the Metro I found there were major delays. The train that was at the station when I got there was so crowded that people were almost hanging out the doors, and many more people were waiting on the platform. The next train was slightly less crowded, so I got onto it thinking I would have to stand up, but a very nice younger man gave me his seat. (He got off a couple of stations later so I didn't feel guilty about him standing for that short distance). After sitting at the station for several minutes, I had almost decided to get off, when we left. Meanwhile there had been an announcement that after the 3rd stop down the line, we could expect delays of up to 10 minutes at each station, which would have meant an approximately 25 minute trip would take probably an hour and a half. If I'd had a book with me, I might have just sat it out; after all, it was still only just after 10 am and I had all day, but I very shortsightedly didn't think to put a book in my bag, so I decided I couldn't be bothered with all the waiting around, and got off and came home again. I feel rather frustrated by my inability to work around the situation because of my lack of local knowledge. In my home city, I'd probably have managed to find a local bus to get me downtown, but here I didn't feel confident enough to try. I'm also conscious of being hampered by the fact that I'm not quite game enough to drive anywhere, even though there is a car at my disposal. Probably in an emergency I could do it, but not otherwise. Anyway, I'll definitely have to get to the Air and Space Museum another time, because it looks really interesting.

On the train I picked up a copy of the Express which somebody had left on the seat, in which I read an interesting advertisement headed "Tim for President". His major ideas seem to be: a. Eliminate all weapons of every kind fromt he world; b. Bring home all the troops so they can concentrate on protecting the US from terrorists and illegal aliens who are taking jobs from US citizens; c. A flat tax for everyone; d. A nationally sponsored health care system for everyone; e. Public servants, including Congressmen, should work for the America because they want to serve their country; f. All individuals will be judged by God when the time comes so there is no need for man to judge them here on earth; g. It must be up to the individual to decide if taking any drug is advantageous to their well being. The only drugs that must be forbidden are those that cause birth defects. I wonder if he'll get any votes. Actually, I don't know enough about how things work here to know if this is genuine or just a joke of some kind. I know nobody in Australia could try to become Prime Minister without first becoming the leader of a political party, then if that party got elected he (or she) would automatically be Prime Minister.