If you were to ask someone to describe me in five words, "nice" would probably not make that list. It's not that I don't do nice things, or that I'm never nice. It's just that I don't think it's one of my top qualities that endear me to others. But here, in Australia, I am surrounded by nice people. They are everywhere and you know what? I kind of love it.

I've been in Sydney for a little over two weeks, and I still walk around like a suspicious wife trying to catch my husband cheating on me. I'm just waiting to see Australians do something mean. Maybe I lived in NYC too long, maybe I'm a cynic, maybe I have trust issues or really, maybe all three are true — but I just can't get over how friendly everyone is here.

When I landed at the airport and wheeled my free (!) luggage cart to the cab line I noticed that people climbed into the passenger seat of the taxis when they were by themselves — a seat that in Manhattan is reserved either for the cab driver's random collection of crap or for the fourth passenger who wasn't quick enough to jump in the back. After getting over the inherent snobby princess inside me and sitting in the front with my chatty driver I arrived at my friend Hannah's apartment complex. I had two huge suitcases with two carry-ons and no method of getting them through her complex until a woman came by and offered to help roll my bags. She got ahead of me for a little while (Australians are very athletic. And I was jet-lagged. And I'm a lazy ass.) so I quickened my pace to try to catch up with her — convinced she would sneak out a back way with all of my beloved clothes. But no, she actually delivered them directly to Hannah's front door and walked away with a wave, a smile and a "Cheers!"

I noticed many other testaments of friendliness in Sydney that first day I walked around. The sign at the Royal Botanic Gardens instructs visitors to "Please walk on the grass". The TVs in the subway stations display a scrolling list of destinations next to each train to avoid confusion. The mannequins at the mall have smaller boobs, which granted might not be purposefully friendly but still makes one feel nice and busty in comparison.

And the people of Australia are just a delight. I'm not even the kind of person who uses words like "delight" but it really is the perfect adjective to describe them. They use abbreviations whenever possible and let me tell you — you haven't lived until you've heard a tall muscular grown man say he's off to "brekkie" (short for breakfast) with a straight face. I dare you not to burst into laughter everytime you hear that term used in all seriousness.

Now, I'm starting to even annoy myself with my simple delight (shit there's that word again — what is happening to me?) at this country that has welcomed me with open arms. So hopefully the joy that overwhelmed me when I first heard someone say "Hi skippah" (not kidding — I stopped in the middle of a busy sidewalk and clapped while jumping up and down. Like a five-year-old. And P.S. they DO actually say g'day mate) will die down so I can become a bearable person again. Apologies.

Picture caption: These are my temporary flatmates Hannah, Lach, Tom and Nina. Hannah is my NY friend graciously hosting Nina and I in her room and Lach and Tom are the poor Aussie guys who have to deal with us blaring Miley Cyrus and taking over their place with heels and makeup. They are troopers.