An american author weighs in on the laid-back aussie nature.

I thank the customs agent who has graciously allowed me to enter Australia.

“No worries,” he says.

This stops me for a second. It sounds as if he is absolving me from some sin rather than simply responding to my perfunctory gratitude.

In the cab, I ask the driver to take me to the W Sydney Hotel.

“That’s all right,” he says. “No worries.” I begin to suspect a pattern.

In fact, everyone I come across in Australia spouts the “no worries” mantra as if it were required by law. The phrase certainly gives the impression of being oh-so-laid-back, just like Australians are supposed to be, but I wondered if the stereotype was true, or if Aussies weren’t really Type-A-obsessive-compulsive-over-achievers. Maybe this cheery calm was just something trotted out for foreigners. I imagined Australians in their homes, sniping viciously at one another about dirty socks on the floor and crusty dishes in the sink.

Alas, after having spent two weeks in the country, I have concluded that the “no worries” attitude is not a farce, but rather, most of the time anyway, a way of life.

The first big test of the “no worries” attitude was at Harry’s Cafe de Wheels on Woolloomooloo Wharf (where most of the clientele, including myself, seemed exceptionally inebriated). I ordered a chicken and cheese pie, but became concerned when the clerk wielded a mammoth squeeze bottle and began to douse my pie with gelatinous white glop.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying not to grimace. “What’s that?”

“It’s the cheese, mate,” he said with a patient smile.

“That’s the cheese? Oh, no. No, I can’t eat cheese out of a bottle.”

“No worries,” he said. He dumped the pie in the bin and gave me another one, sans scary liquid cheese.

At Sydney’s stunning opera house the next night, I saw Rigoletto on opening night. My amazing seat was so close to the stage, I could see the pores on Rigoletto’s face, but the subtitles, which were flashed above the stage, were nearly impossible to read. Time and again, I swung my face upward, contorting my neck in an effort to decipher them. At one point, I accidentally head-butted the lovely woman to my left who bore a strong resemblance to Cherie Blair.

“I’m so sorry!” I whispered.

She glanced at me beatifically. “No worries.”

At Cargo Bar for post-opera drinks, I also noticed that the bartenders were unfailingly cheerful and able to take 10 drink orders at once, all the while, giving me a “no worries, mate” response when I didn’t have quite enough cash to cover the round. In the States, if you place a drink order of more than three cocktails at a time, the bartenders will often shoot you dagger looks and make you wait while they search for pen and paper.

The most extreme example of the laid-back Aussie way came when I decided to take a few friends skydiving. When I’ve jumped in the US, a two-hour training session is required, replete with video footage of someone being hauled away in an ambulance, as well as ominous warnings about how you may die a painful, albeit quick, death. But at Sydney Skydiving Centre, we were suited up and inside the plane within fifteen minutes of arriving there.

“Isn’t there anything else I should know?” I heard one of my buddies say to his tandem master after receiving a two-minute in-flight lesson on how to freefall from 14,000 feet.

“Ah, no worries,” the tandem master said.

A few short seconds later, my friend was hurtling out the yawning mouth of the plane.

The only area I discovered where Australians were decidedly not laid-back was politics. Everyone had an opinion about the potential war with Iraq, and, being an American, everyone decided to tell me that opinion. Whether I was shopping at Rundle Mall in Adelaide or having lunch at Iceberg Café in Bondi, the Australians I came across weighed in with their thoughts. One man I met in a pub in Paddington was particularly vociferous, becoming more and more agitated as he described the vendetta that George W was allegedly carrying for his father. He railed on about knowing your enemies; he huffed and puffed about North Korea being a bigger threat. At one point, as he accused all Americans of being oil-hungry mongers, his face turned a deep purple and his words reached the shriek level.

But suddenly he stopped. “Sorry,” he said blinking, his face returning to a normal color. “I was getting a bit carried away.”

I smiled and patted his hand. “No worries,” I said.

I was starting to get the hang of it.

**Laura Caldwell is an Adjunct Professor at Loyola University Chicago School of Law and contributing editor of Lake Magazine. She is also acting as the Editor in Chief of a new medical/legal text book.

Laura is the author of Burning the Map (Red Dress Ink) which is available in bookstores everywhere. Her second book A Clean Slate will be published by Red Dress Ink in December 2003.**

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The word is out…

The Sydney Writers’ Festival (May 19-25), will feature an all-star line-up of 150 writers from Australia and the world. Most of the festival unfolds at Wharf 4/5 Hickson Road, Walsh Bay with these writers already lined up: Janette Turner Hospital, Iain Banks, Augusten Burroughs, Robert Dessaix, Jackie French, Louis Nowra and Mandy Sayers. For more information, visit the festival website at www.swf.org.au

Jonathan Franzen, acclaimed author of The Corrections and the man who is thought to have influenced Oprah Winfrey’s decision to close down the Book Club after he declined to appear on her show, will tour Australia in May to coincide with the re-release of his first two novels, The Twenty-Seventh City and Strong Motion.

London-based Puberty Blues author, Cathy Lette, has left Macmillan and signed up with Simon & Schuster.

In an interview about her first book, The Man with the Dancing Eyes, we learn that English model and grand-daughter of writer Roald Dahl, Sophie Dahl, is a serious book collector. “I think that if you really love a book, there’s nothing nicer than to have a first edition of it,” says Dahl, whose collection includes a first edition of Lolita, inscribed by Graham Greene.

JK Rowling has told her publishers that she won’t make any decisions about publicity for her new book, due out in June, until after the birth of her second child in March. Not that the wizard author has to do much to sell books – according to AC Nielsen, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone was the number one selling title for 2001. The Prisoner of Azkaban took the number one best – selling title and the number one children’s title for 2002. Rowling also claimed second place with Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. The same survey reveals that more than 34 million books were sold in Australia in 2002, with a total value of $681million. Over the Christmas season, book sales were up by 3.2% and the number one non-fiction book in 2002 was The Guinness World Records, followed by Almost French and Billy by Pamela Stephenson

. Already in London, savage price wars are breaking out over the new Harry Potter, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, with Amazon and W.H. Smith offering half-price deals on pre-ordered copies.

Almost French fans will be disappointed to hear that its author, Sarah Turnbull, is not planning a sequel to her best-seller. Instead, she is working on a book with an historical theme. Meanwhile, the fantastic sales of her debut book are financing some much-needed renovations on her modest Parisian apartment.

Lots of book-related movies coming out and with them, the fervent hope that they’ll boost sales. There’s The Hours, based on Mrs Dalloway, Finding Fish, based on an autobiography of the same name. The Charles Dickens classic, Nicholas Nickleby, has also been made into a movie starring Jamie Bell (Billy Elliott) and Juliet Stevenson, as has White Oleander, starring Michelle Pfeiffer. Ernesto Che Guevara’s The Motorcycle Diaries are being re-issued to tie-in with the film produced by Robert Redford. And Sex and the City screenwriter, Jenny Bicks, is developing a half-hour sitcom based on Jennifer Weiner’s best-selling Good in Bed.

In TV land, we can also expect companion volumes for 24, Cold Feet and ER and a “tell all” about the making of Coronation Street!

A book about the man who was almost certainly the first serial killer in American history has been auctioned for a six-figure sum in the US. The murderer killed seven women in Austin, Texas during 1885. His crimes were so notorious that when Jack the Ripper terrorised London three years later, it was believed he might have moved there. Just like the Ripper, the Texan killer was never caught.

A title that caught my eye when it was released here, Walter the Farting Dog, was such a strong seller in the US that the publisher has asked for two more books from its creators. Can’t wait.

The inaugural Norfolk Island Writers’ and Readers’ Festival will be held from July 19-26. Norfolk Jet is the festival sponsor, and resident and best-selling author, Dr Colleen McCullough is the official patron. Guest authors include Bradley Trevor Greive (Blue Day Book), John Marsden, Di Morrissey, Robert G.Barrett, Stuart Harrison and Sorrel Wilby (also a Norfolk island resident). Barry Crocker, who will be launching his autobiography, and Toni Lamond will both perform.

Now children as young as three will be able to enjoy Stephen King’s brand of terror. “I’ll try not to scare them … well, not too much,” said King of his new audience. The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, which follows a nine-year-old girl on a terror-filled trek through the wilderness and was originally published in 1999, will be turned into a pop-up book.

Mel Brooks has been signed up to write a memoir. “I just can’t wait to read my book,” says the Oscar/Emmy/Grammy/Tony award winner, whose anecdotal book will cover five decades spent in show business.

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