“What really stood out was the people. Australians were remarkably friendly. I never had a bad interaction. I’m talkative, and sometimes it felt like Australians out‑talked me—everyone wants to tell you their story. People would just come up and start chatting.”
“Sydney strikes a great balance between an old‑school English sense of community and modern American‑style capitalism. You don’t lack for anything. And, bluntly, much of the service workforce are recent immigrants—often Vietnamese, Indonesian, Japanese, Filipino, Nepalese. That’s not a bad mix in terms of people who honor what it means to be a guest and a citizen, with a strong sense of decency about how to behave. It makes for a functional, warm city.”
“The fourth quarter, the one that frustrated me most, are people who behave like expats. They’re generally from Sydney, Melbourne, or Adelaide—white, left-leaning—who’ve moved recently because it’s an arts community. They’re drawn by the beauty of the landscape (which is gorgeous), the Aboriginal art scene, and government money. They’re building cafés and restaurants, a little community. They’re well intentioned, but completely cut off from Aboriginal people.
There’s one café where they all go—wonderful place: fresh‑baked bread, good coffee, opens at 6 a.m.; it feels like Sydney. Aboriginal artwork on the walls. Really nice. But there are no Aboriginal customers. None. In a city that’s effectively two‑thirds Aboriginal, that’s hard to pull off, but they do—because it’s just not inviting.”
American globetrotter and wandering ethnographer Chris Arnade recently spent time in Australia.
He wrote some beautiful and insightful pieces on what he saw. You can read them here: First impressions of Sydney, Sydney, the suburban paradise, Twenty seven hours on the Aussie dog, Alice Springs, Townsville, and crossing the Australian outback, Final thoughts on Australia.
I thought I’d grab him for a good ol’ chin wag about his experiences.
TL;DR – Expecting to find it too bougie and unwalkable, he instead fell for Sydney’s friendliness, safety, and civic infrastructure—calling it one of his favorite cities. Townsville felt “more American than America”: redneck, provincial, but deeply hospitable. The 27-hour bus to Alice Springs revealed the vast, harsh emptiness of the Outback and the resilience of Aboriginal survival. Alice Springs itself laid bare Australia’s hardest problem: a fractured coexistence between Aboriginal communities, white bureaucrats, idealistic newcomers, and migrant workers. Melbourne left him cold. His verdict: Australia upended his expectations, and he’s coming back for more.
Listen in and transcript below.
Edited for clarity.
Introduction
Misha Saul
Chris Arnade, I’m really pleased to be speaking with you today. You’re just back from a whirlwind tour of Australia. We caught up while you were here. You’ve written some beautiful pieces about your experience—maybe more coming—and I thought I’d talk to you while it’s fresh. To kick off, for listeners: what’s the 30‑second synopsis of who you are and what you’re about?
My sense is you were a finance guy who had a road‑to‑Damascus conversion, became the “McDonald’s guy” documenting working‑class life in the U.S., and now you’re the “walking around the world” guy.
Chris Arnade
That’s pretty much it. I was in finance for 20 years as a bond trader—at Salomon Brothers from ’92 after a PhD in physics, one of the “rocket scientists.” I stepped out of the industry around 2010–2012.
For the last ~15 years I’ve been doing what I call “path pop ethnography”: going into communities many people live in but few elites or academics visit except to study them, and writing about what I see. I spent ten years doing that across the U.S.A book came out of that after I predicted Trump would win in 2016.
Tired of U.S. politics, for the last five years (with a COVID break) I’ve been doing similar work around the world. My gimmick now is walking—I avoid cars. I’ll fly to get somewhere, but once there I walk.
I’d never really been curious about Australia—didn’t have the “Australia bug.” It didn’t seem walkable for what I do: the weather isn’t ideal for 200‑mile walks, the density isn’t right, and it felt a bit too bougie. I also hate traveling in August because of U.S. heat and European crowds. Then I realized Greyhound runs a bus network in Australia, so I decided to spend a month walking and busing around to update my mental picture of the place.
Misha Saul
Could you sketch the overall journey?
Chris Arnade
Roughly 12 days in Sydney (which turned out to be the 12 wettest days in Sydney’s history), then I flew to Townsville for four or five days. From Townsville I took a 27‑hour bus to Alice Springs and stayed five days, then flew to Melbourne for another five days, and finally one last day in Sydney before leaving.
Sydney
Misha Saul
You wrote a charming piece on Sydney. What were your impressions?
Chris Arnade
I try not to research much beforehand—that’s intentional so I don’t go in with strong biases. I assumed Sydney wouldn’t appeal to me because I don’t like cities that feel too comfortable. But I absolutely loved it—possibly one of my favorite cities in the world. It completely upended my expectations despite the weather.
I called it a “suburban city,” and it is. Once you’re out of the center there’s sprawl in a good sense—a federation of small neighborhoods, especially as you go west. Because of the rain, my routine was to ride the metro south or west, hop off when the rain broke, walk until it started again, then get back on. I usually like to take a distant stop and walk all the way back to the center, but couldn’t because of the weather and because Sydney is pretty diffuse—long blocks, a patchwork of suburbs.
What really stood out was the people. Australians were remarkably friendly. I never had a bad interaction. I’m talkative, and sometimes it felt like Australians out‑talked me—everyone wants to tell you their story. People would just come up and start chatting.
As an American, I also noticed the lack of crime and disorder you often see in the U.S. Sydney works at a functional level: not much trash, visible homelessness, or public drug use. People told me to visit certain neighborhoods with “bad” reputations. I did; they weren’t as clean or benign as others, but still not bad by U.S. standards.
Misha Saul
Even in those suburbs, you can probably leave a laptop at a café while you go to the bathroom. It’s high‑trust across the board.
Chris Arnade
Only one neighborhood felt like I shouldn’t leave a laptop at a table: Lakemba (is that how you pronounce it?). It’s a Muslim area, and there was a bit of hostility in the air—not dramatic, just a tension. I’m generally fine in Muslim neighborhoods and Muslim countries, but that intensity only lasted a couple of blocks. Two streets over it felt much more benign. It was really just the High Street that felt a bit dodgy. I’m used to being a visible outsider and can tell when something’s off; that day I didn’t push my luck starting conversations.
Misha Saul
You’ve described people as friendly. Where did you see that, and how did the Lakemba tension manifest?
Chris Arnade
Before Lakemba I walked through a predominantly Greek neighborhood—I’m forgetting the name; their club has a bulldog mascot. I got off there and people immediately came up to talk. I went into a café—serving the local Greek community—and ended up sitting with about ten people on what I think was a Sunday. We talked for 45 minutes about when they came to Australia, mostly in the ’40s and ’50s, took pictures, joked—it was free‑flowing.
In Lakemba I tried starting a few conversations and got curt replies—no interest in talking. I’d say “as‑salāmu ʿalaykum,” get a brief response, but no engagement. When I took out my camera, people clearly felt uncomfortable. You can tell when folks aren’t cool with you hanging around. I spent about half an hour on the High Street, then left for the side streets.
Misha Saul
You said Sydney might be your favorite city. What changed your mind? What were the standout qualities?
Chris Arnade
First, the setting is gorgeous. I likened it to the child of L.A. and London—the best of both. From L.A., it has the suburban feel and the stunning natural setting. I’m not a big nature person, but on one clear day I walked from the airport to Bondi and along the coast—about 13 miles—passing roughly 15 public‑access beaches. That’s rare in the U.S. The civic infrastructure—lifeguards, public bathrooms, facilities that don’t feel dodgy—is extraordinary. In the U.S., those would get torn apart in a few years. I wouldn’t mind paying taxes there; the government provides real amenities. The bus and metro system were excellent. I don’t take cabs or Ubers and got around entirely by bus when needed. The city gives back.
There’s also a wonderful café culture. I stayed in Paddington, a bit more upscale than my usual. With days of torrential rain, I was effectively sequestered in a small café—Cafe Five Ways. Not exceptional in itself, but by the time I left for Townsville I knew the regulars; they wanted to know when I’d be back. I knew the staff and their stories. Two of them gave me friends to look up in Alice Springs. That kind of friendliness could have happened at any of a dozen cafés in the neighborhood. It’s not common in many cities; it’s relatively rare now.
Sydney strikes a great balance between an old‑school English sense of community and modern American‑style capitalism. You don’t lack for anything. And, bluntly, much of the service workforce are recent immigrants—often Vietnamese, Indonesian, Japanese, Filipino, Nepalese. That’s not a bad mix in terms of people who honor what it means to be a guest and a citizen, with a strong sense of decency about how to behave. It makes for a functional, warm city.
Misha Saul
Tyler Cowen asked me about this in our last conversation. I’ve noticed the differences in immigration between the UK, the US, and Australia: the details matter, and geography is destiny. Our immigrants are different. We’re weighted toward Asian immigrants because of our geography. The US shares a border with Latin America and gets many migrants from there.
Chris Arnade
Being an island helps. You also have a very conservative immigration policy by English‑speaking world standards. I think the US is fortunate to have Mexican immigrants. I want to be clear about my views—
Misha Saul
My wife’s Mexican, so I can’t disagree.
Chris Arnade
I’m very pro–Mexican American in terms of what they’ve brought to the US. They’re a strong immigrant group when they arrive legally. Your ability to seal your borders and your points system are good—even if it’s gamed. I spend a lot of time talking to immigrants—Filipinos, Indonesians—the people working in the cafés where I stay. They’re not native Australians, and they’re exactly the kind of people you want as citizens. You should be allowed to say that.
Misha Saul
Australians do say that. I think Australians are generally proud of our immigration mix. Immigrants tend to love Australia, and Australia integrates them well over decades—that’s the general consensus.
Chris Arnade
Another point: you haven’t had the same influx. Pace matters in immigration. The ideal pace brings in enough people each year that they want to be there and feel an obligation to the country. Citizenship should be a big deal; you’re building a culture. In a system where resources are shared—taxes, health care, public utilities—you need to know who you’re sharing with. You can’t hold a purely libertarian view of individual freedom and at the same time a socialist view of politics; those are incoherent. Since most systems share resources, you have to care about whom you let in.
For example, on my last two nights before going home, I got stuck in a hotel because of a marathon. The front‑desk woman, about 24 or 25, was Indonesian and studying. She came from very little, was the only one in her family to test into advanced schools, and was working very hard. Australia should be proud to have her.
Misha Saul
What a blessing. I’m welling up with emotion hearing that. It’s a privilege for us to have someone who loves this country and is working hard to improve her life and Australia.
Chris Arnade
That’s who you want. Will she succeed? I don’t know; she has obligations in Indonesia that could pull her back. But Australia is fortunate to have her. Overall, you have a smart immigration policy—even if the day‑to‑day details don’t always feel that way.
Townsville
Misha Saul
Let’s get to Alice Springs and Townsville. Describe your trip and what you saw.
Chris Arnade
When we spoke in person, I was about to leave for Townsville and Alice Springs. Everyone told me not to go—that both places were “shitholes.” I’ve noticed that in the English‑speaking world outside the US, if you ask about another town, people often just call it a “shithole.” I started keeping notes; almost none of them had been there. It was all hearsay: “Alice Springs is a shithole; Townsville is a shithole.”
Misha Saul
Melbourne.
Chris Arnade
I’d ask, “Have you been?” “Oh, no—why would I?” I kept a little notepad. The final tally was about 100 people saying the Outback in general—Queensland and the Northern Territory—were shitholes, and maybe five had actually been. I arrived in Townsville with that in mind.
Misha Saul
Did the five who had been there also call it a shithole, or something else?
Chris Arnade
Yeah. That should have been evidence enough, but anyway—when I got off the plane in Townsville, I immediately felt something very different. The US has a lot of internal diversity—Portland is different from New York, Chicago from New York—but Townsville is so different from Sydney in a way I hadn’t expected. It felt like the redneck panhandle of Florida where I grew up. In some ways it felt more American than America—a cartoonish version of the South: monster trucks, the aerating carburetors for going underwater when people don’t even go underwater. It also felt extraordinarily provincial, like being isolated in a town of 30,000–100,000. At 7:30 p.m., I’d turn a corner and the town would be empty—a ghost town except for a few blocks. It felt like the middle of nowhere.
Another difference: Sydney is full of symbolic gestures toward the Aborigines. On my first clear day I walked over the Sydney Bridge and saw a massive flag that didn’t look familiar—the Aboriginal flag, I believe.
Misha Saul
Just to clarify: Indigenous Australians describe their communities as nations or tribes, and there are hundreds across Australia. The flag you saw was invented in the 1970s to symbolise Aboriginal Australia as a whole, so it’s a bit unclear where it sits in the broader scheme.
Chris Arnade
Yes. We can get to that later, but there are many symbolic gestures acknowledging that we’re a nation of colonial settlers who have stolen this country.
Misha Saul
Specifically, what gave you that impression in Sydney? Where did you see this sense permeating?
Chris Arnade
Land acknowledgements, posters, signs, flags. There’s a lot of conversation. At the airport there’s messaging, and there’s a lot of Aboriginal artwork—the look of it. But there are no Aboriginal people—none. In Townsville there were; maybe around a tenth of the city.
It reminded me of the US conversation about minorities: elites in the Northeast talk about racist white Southerners, yet Southern towns are integrated—30–40% black, 60% white—while many Northeastern communities are 98% white. Townsville felt similar. In a few bars, “redneck” Aussies were drinking with Aboriginal people as friends, part of the community in a way I didn’t see in Sydney. I don’t remember seeing Aboriginal flags there. It felt more straightforward: the country has Aboriginal people—here they are. Some used to work offshore and are now part of town life.
The first Aboriginal person I spoke to in Australia was a rugby league Cowboys supporter, just another guy having a drink before the game. We didn’t talk about him being Aboriginal—that’s not what you do. But when he learned I was going to Alice Springs, he told me not to go; he said it was dangerous, with kids fighting with machetes. Had he been to Alice Springs? No.
So to be told by an Aboriginal guy in a Cowboys rugby shirt—and his stepson—not to go to Alice Springs because it’s a “shithole,” and not to go after dark or you could get sliced up by a machete—thanks. But people had said similar things about Townsville, and it was safe. I walked all over.
Misha Saul
Queensland is probably self-described as the Florida of Australia. Each part of Australia is different, and Queensland has had a different relationship with its Aboriginal communities. It’s known for being a bit more “redneck,” if I can use that term.
Chris Arnade
Yeah, it’s very redneck‑y. It felt like they imported US culture and turned it up to 15—Americans keep it at 10. That includes immense friendliness. One difference: in Townsville, being a redneck includes not wearing shoes; you wouldn’t see that in the US.
Chris Arnade
I don’t know why people go barefoot and hop into their 4x4s barefoot.
Misha Saul
It’s such an Australian thing—especially beachside. It’s a very laid‑back, beachy culture. I had a friend who grew up in Townsville; she described a very relaxed life, running around barefoot. There’s something very Australian about that.
Chris Arnade
By day two I was thinking, “Why don’t more people live here?” It’s a great place. By day five I was feeling that, first, I’d intentionally chosen the best possible weather in Townsville. But there was a real sense of isolation. If you have family and community it’s different, but there’s a provincialism—more lonely and, in some sense, desolate than a U.S. town of equal size. It’s not just small‑town; everything is far away. It’s physically beautiful, though.
As a Florida boy, here’s where I push back: I would not get in that water. You’ve got sharks and crocodiles—the visible threats—and several jellyfish that can kill you unless you get doused in vinegar within 2½ minutes. That’s not a risk‑reward trade I’m taking.
Misha Saul
Two and a half minutes is a long time.
Chris Arnade
That’s what the defenders of the beach told me.
Misha Saul
It’s also very Australian to risk it.
I’ll defend the beach—and the laddish culture. There’s a thread of that through our history: Australians have been brave, fierce fighters in wars, and also the type to give the hard surf a crack—going out when there are sharks and so on. It runs through the culture.
Chris Arnade
That’s true in Florida too. I grew up among people who used to wrestle alligators. But jellyfish are no joke—I can’t wrestle a jellyfish. It’s an unfair fighter.
Misha Saul
I’m sure it’s the same in Florida.
So after Townsville you went to Alice Springs?
Chris Arnade
Yeah. I took a bus to Alice Springs, and that trip was the highlight of my time in Australia. I bus all over the U.S.—Greyhound is one way to see a large, not‑very‑visible demographic. I was curious who’d be on the bus: leaving Townsville at 6 a.m., into Mount Isa at 6 p.m., then Tennant Creek at 1 a.m., transfer, and into Alice Springs around 5–7 a.m.
It was who I expected: two or three people with vouchers from the correctional institute to get home—standard in the U.S. too. Nice guys, kept to themselves. One large family returning from visiting relatives in the Solomon Islands. Two or three women going back to Mount Isa after coming into town for personal reasons—caring for children or seeing relatives. The bus was about half to two‑thirds Aboriginal, then me and one dour German backpacker who looked completely out of his element. I called him Hans in my head and preferred the imaginary screenplay I was writing about him.
Misha Saul
Twenties?
Chris Arnade
I think he was about 35. No idea why he was on the bus, and I didn’t want to know—I preferred the screenplay.
People say, “I spent a month in Australia,” fly around, and come to the great insight that the Outback is really empty. It is—truly empty in a way words can’t convey.
Misha Saul
It’s really big, and it’s really empty.
Chris Arnade
It helps you understand Australia: how big, desolate, and harsh it is. It also gave me huge respect for Aboriginal tribes—surviving there for 65,000 years.
I had a naïve plan to hop Greyhound dot‑to‑dot, city to city. We’d pass through “dots” that were four homes and a tin‑shack bar—nothing more.
I brought books for the 27 hours and never opened one. I just looked out the window, fascinated, and talked to people—watching landscapes change as you get further from water. All I could think about was the colonial explorers: they found lush tropical coast, thought they’d hit the jackpot, then marched inland. They must have gone insane.
Misha Saul
Many did. They went looking for an inland sea; many never made it. Sometimes Aboriginal people helped them; sometimes they didn’t. There are horrific stories. And convicts escaping, trying to make their way north to China—endless tales of people not making it.
Chris Arnade
It’s almost trolling because it’s so beautiful—stark beauty that just doesn’t end.
Misha Saul
Patrick White’s Voss is about that—going inland and experiencing the desolation and beauty.
Chris Arnade
I started it before I came and didn’t get more than 15–20 pages. I’ve tried before. I want to like it, but…
Misha Saul
I didn’t love it either. I’ll get in trouble with the literary set, but still.
Chris Arnade
There’s only one bus a week from Townsville to Alice Springs. I’d planned to stay a few days in Mount Isa—I wish I’d pulled that off. The town looked interesting. We had a two‑hour stop while the bus took a break. It felt like an anachronism: a working‑class industrial city that looked the part—dusty people, smokestacks—like it actually produces things.
The Outback provides a big economic boost to Australia: within that vast territory is valuable rock. It’s flyover country in that sense—and people fly over it for a reason. I’m not saying they shouldn’t.
Misha Saul
I’d recommend driving through the Pilbara in WA—mining and iron‑ore country. Vast distances, shockingly beautiful. If you get near or onto a mine, you see mind‑boggling enterprises with huge vehicles. The ports have fleets of enormous ships. From the industrial side to the natural beauty, it’s completely shocking. It’s a culture shock if you’re coming from Melbourne or Sydney—different from your Townsville–Alice Springs experience. Anyway, I interrupted.
Chris Arnade
No, that’s right. Your description captures my frustration as a writer: how many different words can you use for “enormous”?
Misha Saul
It’s just so vast.
It reminds me of the Eastern Front. I’ve been on a WWII Eastern Front binge. German accounts describe endless Russian fields—the vastness crushing them underfoot. They knew Russia was big in theory, but the scale was shocking. And you’re right: how many ways can you describe that? It’s relentless.
Chris Arnade
Exactly. And couple that with the harshness—you know if you’re stranded overnight it won’t be fun. It feels aggressive even while majestically beautiful—like a siren drawing you in before it crushes you.
From there I spent 2½ hours at the Tennant Creek BP around 1:00–3:00 a.m.—a happening place at that hour. That should have been the appetiser for Alice Springs, but up to then everyone’s dire predictions had been wrong. Nothing was a shithole; I didn’t feel a threat of violence.
At that BP I knew exactly what was going on—like in poor black neighborhoods in the U.S. where I work. I go into drug traps; I write about drugs and addiction. Lots of furtive, open deals; mayhem and chaos, but friendly. No aggression toward me or anyone else. If you know how to operate in these communities, it’s fine. Don’t jam a camera in someone’s face asking if they’re a drug dealer; don’t do anything dumb.
I got to Alice Springs the next morning, after riding with a drug dealer who sold grog to Aboriginal people on the no‑grog list. Nice guy. But in Alice Springs—people weren’t wrong. It’s a shithole—of majestic landscapes and wonderful people—but still a shithole. I spent five days trying not to become too cynical about it.
Alice Springs
Misha Saul
Describe that—what do you mean by not becoming cynical? What did you see?
Chris Arnade
I think I wrote that there are four groups in Alice Springs. Roughly a quarter are “drunk Aboriginals”; another quarter are “idle Aboriginals.” Then there are the bureaucrats and government employees tasked with keeping the town functional—construction workers, police, plumbers. It’s a town of about 50,000, a regional hub with auto dealers, gas stations—just a normal town.
The fourth quarter, the one that frustrated me most, are people who behave like expats. They’re generally from Sydney, Melbourne, or Adelaide—white, left-leaning—who’ve moved recently because it’s an arts community. They’re drawn by the beauty of the landscape (which is gorgeous), the Aboriginal art scene, and government money. They’re building cafés and restaurants, a little community. They’re well intentioned, but completely cut off from Aboriginal people.
There’s one café where they all go—wonderful place: fresh‑baked bread, good coffee, opens at 6 a.m.; it feels like Sydney. Aboriginal artwork on the walls. Really nice. But there are no Aboriginal customers. None. In a city that’s effectively two‑thirds Aboriginal, that’s hard to pull off, but they do—because it’s just not inviting.
I’d go from there to the McDonald’s, where the Aboriginal people were. I’d hang out most of the day with locals—Raiders fans talking NFL, Tupac—just normal people doing normal things. Then I’d walk by the “grog holes,” the bars aimed at Aboriginal customers. Nasty places: open early in the morning, close at 6:00 p.m., usually a queue to get in. They check IDs for people on the no‑drink list—banned for two weeks or a month.
What struck me was that these places—bad scenes—are literally across the street from the City Council office. That’s where I met a lot of candidates; it was election week. They talked about problems with “disenfranchised communities,” never using the word “Aboriginal,” though that’s clearly who they meant—“recent issues with youth” running around causing problems. I wanted to ask, “Can you say the word Aboriginal?” But they wouldn’t. And across the street, 30 yards away, people were getting hammered in the grog hole. The disconnect from reality is complete.
I want to be clear: I have a lot of respect for the Aboriginal community. I got along great with them. The problems they face are immense; the whole situation is a complete shitshow. I respect where they come from and how they’re trying to deal with it in the modern world. It depressed me because it feels intractable. Throwing more money at it isn’t the solution; it may make things worse.
Misha Saul
My take is that every country has its derangements—deep, intractable problems that probably can’t be solved. The more intractable, the fancier the delusions and discourse. This one produces the strangest, most deluded national conversations—endless, relentless, disconnected from reality—with odd second‑ and third‑order effects that are hard to discuss publicly. In private, people say the same thing. It’s a very strange subject in Australia, and it’s interesting to hear your take.
Chris Arnade
I enjoyed spending time with native Australians far more than with the government bureaucrats tasked with solving the problem. They’re normal people: they talk about music and sports, not politics all the time. They want to live their lives and do the best they can.
I traditionally come from the left and have moved right over the past ten years, but I still believe in looking at the larger context. It’s not enough to say to Aboriginal people, “You have agency; just get your life together and stop drinking.” For 50–65,000 years they lived a nomadic hunter‑gatherer life—about as different from the modern world as you can get. Asking them to give that up is like telling a deeply religious person, “You can be part of our club, but you have to drop that religion.” Would you tell an Orthodox Jew that to be part of the modern world they must stop believing?
In many ways, that’s what the West—secular society—has said to Aboriginal people: to be part of modern Australia, the Sydney or Melbourne world, you have to give up everything you came from. That’s really hard, and we’re talking about five, six, seven generations of—
Misha Saul
I completely agree. There are sympathetic lenses like the one you offered. Some academics in Sydney or Melbourne would argue it wasn’t nomadic for 65,000 years, they’d try to draw a false equivalence in terms of civilisation. But as a sympathetic view of a difficult predicament, many Australians feel that way. There’s a lot of goodwill and recognition that things are tough and that there are ways to do better.
Chris Arnade
That doesn’t mean throwing money at the problem is a solution; in my view it’s making things worse. One cynical point I could have written more about: there are no Aboriginal people working in Alice Springs in visible jobs. You might see them in community outreach programs, but bartenders, construction workers—no. The security guards are all South Sudanese. About 500 South Sudanese have come over the last seven to ten years. They’re the security guards.
Misha Saul
I wonder why—if you’re migrating to this country, why go there?
Chris Arnade
They were brought as refugees; most are Christians, the minority in South Sudan who are not Muslim. They’ve been put into security jobs in places with lots of Aboriginal people—the local mall with a food court where many older folks and kids hang out.
I spent a lot of time talking to the South Sudanese guards. They talk about Aboriginal people very bluntly—words I won’t repeat. They don’t like them. “We come here and they call us brothers. We’re not brothers; we work hard and we don’t drink.” Some have a sympathetic view—changing cultures is hard—but there’s a strong sense of resentment. Depending on tribe, some Aboriginal people receive annual payments—perhaps from mineral or land rights. The guards see people getting large handouts and, in their view, spending days in the mall or outside drinking. Meanwhile, the South Sudanese police them, work hard, and try to be good community members. There’s a lot of tension.
The reason for hiring South Sudanese security is about skin color and optics. If white officers had to police Aboriginal people, it would make for worse PR than using another black person. That’s the calculation.
Misha Saul
It’s amazing. I get the optics, but a South Sudanese person has as much in common with an Aboriginal person as we do with a South Sudanese person. They’re different peoples from different places. The skin‑color thing is—
Chris Arnade
The South Sudanese say the same thing. Alice Springs—the “shithole” moniker is unfair. It’s a fascinating, interesting place, but depressing. If you’re going to take in the beauty of Australia, you might choose another location. Physically it’s gorgeous—the surrounding area.
To get to my hotel, I walked 2.5 miles each way every day. I intentionally stayed far out of town to see the stars—I’m an astronomy geek. I had to walk past a long park along a dry riverbed. Signs say it’s a sacred site for the—I’m going to screw this up—the Ammirati tribe, or Ramadi tribe.
Chris Arnade
The signs clearly say “No grog” and “No camping.” They use the word “grog,” not “beer” or “alcohol.” The signs are very prominent. It’s a beautiful dry riverbed that serves as a park running the length of the city, and I had to walk it to get into town. I repeatedly saw local Aboriginal people drinking and camping about 20 yards from one of those signs. That was frustrating. Forget the police—whether they enforce it or not—because the sign states this is a local tribal sacred site. Violating it breaks tribal law, which, in my view, is a higher law than the secular Australian government, yet they had no problem ignoring it. To me, that’s the erosion of tradition: by their own standards they shouldn’t be drinking or camping there, and they know it.
I’ve read enough history to know that when two very different cultures meet—especially when one is far more technologically advanced and powerful—you get these problems. They’ve been playing out there for 100 or 200 years; it’s been festering.
On my flight home, I thought: maybe this “steady state” isn’t a bad solution, because there may be no solution. Most of the Aboriginal people I spoke to seemed OK—happy and content. They receive enough money not to be entirely poor and, to some degree, can keep one foot in tradition and another in the modern world. You can see that as failure in both or success in both, depending on your perspective. When I was there, I tended to see failure in both, but maybe it’s the right compromise.
Melbourne
Misha Saul
So you left Alice Springs to go to Melbourne, correct?
Chris Arnade
That’s correct.
Misha Saul
Were you there long enough to form any views or observations?
Chris Arnade
By that point I was burned out. I liked Melbourne but not as much as Sydney. It’s denser; my analogy was that Melbourne felt more like New York City, while Sydney felt like LA. I think Sydney does a better version of LA than Melbourne does of New York. Melbourne has a great café culture and equally amazing Asian food, but nothing felt special compared with Sydney’s natural beauty. As an American, we do “Melbourne” OK too; we don’t do “Sydney.” So Sydney was more appealing to me. That’s personal taste. Everything I praised about Sydney you could probably say about Melbourne, but for me it didn’t click.
Misha Saul
It’s very hard to compete with Sydney’s natural beauty, but Melbourne does some things excellently. Over a couple of days it can be hit or miss. Don’t make me defend Melbourne.
Chris Arnade
I wrote about Alice Springs, Townsville, my bus trip, and two pieces about Sydney. I have no real interest in writing about Melbourne; nothing inspired me there.
Misha Saul
I grew up in Adelaide, which is different altogether. Maybe next time check out Adelaide or other cities and let us know what you think. Are you coming back?
Chris Arnade
Yes. I have my next trip planned. I do early exploratory trips before committing to a larger one. I’m going to come back for two months, again in winter because of the heat. My plan is to take the bus from Brisbane to Mount Isa and stay there for a while, then go up to Katherine, from Katherine to Broome, and from Broome to Perth by bus.
Misha Saul
Are you going to stop at Darwin?
Chris Arnade
Yes, I’ll go to Darwin. To me, Katherine and Darwin are the same.
Misha Saul
I haven’t been to either. One day.
Chris Arnade
That’s not uncommon for Australians.
Misha Saul
Australians are surprisingly well traveled internationally but mixed domestically—partly because it’s expensive and takes a long time. If you’re going to spend, you may as well go to Asia, Europe, or the US.
Chris Arnade
You told me that before I went to Townsville, and now I completely understand. I thought you were deranged then, but now I can put you in the—
Misha Saul
No, you’re right, I am deranged—but for other reasons.
Awesome. Chris, I appreciate you sharing those perspectives. I’m excited for you to come to Australia; we’ll try to hang out when you’re here next. Anything else before we finish—any final impressions?
Chris Arnade
One thing: I generally don’t read about a place before going; that’s intentional. I love reading about it after. I like novels—fiction from the country. If your listeners have suggestions, I’m picky: I prefer writers who’ve walked the walk. I’d love a work about the culture clash that doesn’t over-romanticize either group.
Misha Saul
Hmm.
Chris Arnade
The tendency is either to idealize Aboriginal people as uniquely insightful or to dismiss them as backward. Neither is true.
Misha Saul
I think Boss has some real portraits of Aboriginal Australians—from trackers to others. I’d suggest Tim Winton—less on Aboriginal folk, more on working-class exploration. Richard Flanagan is excellent; less on that, though he addresses working-class Australia, especially from Tasmania. The unsung literary hero of Australia is probably its historical writing: Robert Hughes, Geoffrey Blainey, John Molony, and others have written beautiful histories. I couldn’t recommend them enough.
Chris Arnade
You sent me one before; now that I have a better sense of the place, I’d love to look again. Thanks for the opportunity to talk. Quick summary: I’ve never been more wrong about a place going in than I was about Australia. It’s humbling.
Misha Saul
We feel blessed. We think we live in the best country in the world—endless riches, a beautiful climate, wonderful people. We’ve managed to build a high-functioning polity on this strange island corner of the world. Despite every place having its issues, Australians overall feel blessed.
Chris Arnade
You should. You should. That's a lesson.
Misha Saul
Thanks, Chris. We really appreciate it.
