Oz

I think I wish I was Australian.

The hostel we're at here in Cesky Crumlov has Australian managers (at least for now... they're traveling, and just took the job for a couple months to tide them over until they head to France), another Australian couple there, and a fifth Aussie guy.

And they are all so friendly it just about frightens me.

I've heard "Yeah, no worries, Darryl!" about a thousand times in the last two days. And every time, it makes me smile. They joke around, they smile constantly, they use words that, I'm sure, they are making up on the spot. They have nicknames for everyone, as well as for a good number of inanimate objects, too. They say things like "yeah, mate, I have to go for a run... had some sugar, need to burn it off!" that are just wildly entertaining. Really, if you're planning to just burn it off, why bother in the first place?

When we arrived, I was pissed off. There was supposed to be someone here to meet us when we arrived. There was a sign on the door saying that reception was open until 8, and, at 7:30, there was nobody there, except for a couple of girls staying in the hostel who, kindly, opened the door and let us in. The managers had left a phone number on the door that was, unfortunately, missing a number. Didn't work.

Once we got in, I dug around a little bit, and found a paper on a noteboard with the wifi key, so I logged on, got online, and found the right phone number. So I called, and there was no answer. I left a message. But would they get it? Would they be back? Who knows... at least we were inside. But I figured that between not being there, leaving a phone number that didn't work, and then not answering it when we did call them, these guys had a couple strikes against them in my book when we were to meet.

So when they arrived, I was ready to tangle. But I was almost immediately disarmed by the Shawn and Tamara greeting me like a long-lost friend, apologizing for the mix-up, clearly being mortified about leaving the wrong number, and then treating me like I was staying at their house. They had been bowling, with the other Aussies staying here. Within 30 seconds all was forgiven, I was ready to go for a drink with them, and silently bemoaning my lack of an accent.

Add that to the many other Australians I have known and loved in Geneva, and I think that I want to go there. Other than the heat and the bugs and the seemingly large number of animals, plants, and creepy-crawlies capable of killing you that are native to that big island, I have a humch it might be my kind of place.