Issue link: https://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/856465
T he tourists no longer have to flag me down; I walk right up to their car. I use gestures, or gently tap on the window to get their attention. "Can I help you with directions?" I ask. They quickly set aside their crumpled maps or cell phones and we make eye contact. Most often from China (I know, because I ask them) and managing a language barrier, we figure it out as I keep my three yapping, enthusiastic dogs at bay. "Back to 17-Mile Drive," they say, or, "To the ocean, please." My house is located near a "Y" in the road that often leads tourists off track, and after a recent trip abroad, I'm now happier than ever to help them reach their destination. Our family took an overseas trip early this summer. Five of us tra- versed the east coast of Australia and then headed to Fiji for a week. While gone, I reflected on what it means to be an ambassador for one's home country. My last trip to Australia was in 1989, where I stayed for a few weeks with the man who is now my husband. Back then, Scott had a blossoming career as a profes- sional basketball player. We'd been pals since high school, and I slept on his couch, watched his games, and took busses every- where to explore—on a student's budget. Taxi cabs were far out of my affordability. The locals were gregarious and proud. But, back then, the amazing homogeneity of the Australian culture grated on me. Aboriginals, as well as newer residents who had a lot of melanin in their skin, weren't yet welcomed into society. Angry phrases such as "Wogs Go Home!" were spray painted in public transit tunnels, rude warnings to immi- grants of Italian and Greek descent. But the Aussies I'd meet— the bus drivers and the food servers—regaled visitors with tales of love for their country. They'd direct me to the best local pub, even invite me over for a backyard "barbie" and a beer. We could afford taxi cabs this time around, and from the moment we left the Sydney airport, I could see how much 28 years' time had changed Australia's ethnic fabric. Dramatically. On numerous taxi and Uber rides in the three biggest cities, we were driven, every time but one, by recent immigrants. They came across as indifferent, even critical of their adopted country. I felt like my family was walking into a cozy home over a worn-out welcome mat. We, of course, met countless new arrivals who were also kind and welcoming. But it made me think about how I interact with the busloads of visitors who walk (and sometimes crowd) the very streets and shores of our local neighborhoods. Before landing in Fiji, many Aussies said, "You will never meet more loving people." They were right. "Bula!" or welcome, was literally shouted at us the second we deplaned, and hearing that special word never waned until we boarded the plane to leave. Locals who heard our American voices would make a point to walk over to us and thank us for flying the 11 hours to experience their country. Greetings, handshakes, and help were offered whether in a bustling town, or calm resort. Sharply split population-wise (roughly 60% Native Fijian, called iTaukei and 40% Indian descent) the Fijians revere those who visit, therefore enhancing their economy. But they also adore each other. When I asked our taxi driv- er—a practicing Muslim—if there was tension between mem- bers of his faith and the many Hindus and Christians, he laughed, almost in disbelief. "No! Never! We are one country, one people. We all get along. We all respect each other—always!" It was the most emphatic he'd been in the two days we rode with him. Our holiday ended, and it was great to be home. Despite the obvious jet lag, I harnessed three of our dogs and set out for a long, leisurely walk. I spotted the usual; a parked car just across from my house, a large map obscuring a head, being turned on the vertical and then back to the horizontal. I shushed the dogs, and gently tapped on the window. "Can I help you get back to 17-Mile Drive, or maybe get to the ocean?" A wave of relief washed over four faces, with many nods and thanks following. I had renewed understanding about being an ambassador—for Pebble Beach, for Monterey County, for this country. Dina Eastwood is a former news anchor at KSBW TV, past host of "Candid Camera" and has starred on a reality show on the E! Network. She is a writer, editor and yogini. She resides on the Monterey Peninsula with her daughter, Morgan. BEHIND THE SPOTLIGHT D I N A E A S T W O O D T to their car. I use gestures, or gently tap on the window to get their attention. crumpled maps or cell phones and we make eye contact. Most often from China (I know, because When I asked our taxi driver — a practicing Muslim — if there was tension between mem- bers of his faith and the many Hindus and Christians, he laughed, almost in disbelief. T he tourists no longer have to On numerous taxi and Uber rides in the three biggest cities, T Hometown Ambassador 54 C A R M E L M A G A Z I N E • S U M M E R / F A L L 2 0 1 7