The Life of a Backpacker - Living out of a Van

Day 2:

5:00am the next morning we are awakened by a loud pounding on the van. I wake up confused, unsure of where I am, and assumed it was JP knocking. Brett climbed over me and opened the door to be greeted by a security guard that informed us we had to move. Calvin started up Serpent Fire and told us we needed to be up this early anyway. We soon arrived at the top of a hill, looking at Byron Bay’s lighthouse in cold, damp, cloudy weather. Suddenly the sun began crawling up behind the clouds resting on the horizon to reveal a beautiful sunrise at the most eastern point in Australia. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to appreciate a sunrise at that hour, but after running down a long forest path out to the beach to jump into the ocean that was warmer than the air and watch the sun rise over us and reflect on the water encompassing us, I may need to reevaluate my views.

After awhile we took our time moseying back to the van where we immediately passed out for a few hours only to be awakened by some lunatic laying on his car horn for what must’ve been ten minutes. Calvin drove us back down into the town of Byron Bay where I think I could’ve made the move and stayed forever. Byron Bay is the coolest, most hippie surf town you’ve ever seen with the streets lined with beachy clothing stores, surf shops, unique jewelry, restaurants and outdoor bars.

We walked around and shopped for a little before renting out some surfboards for the day and heading down to the beach. The current was really strong with an awful riptide so Casey and I paddled out but did more lounging and talking about life than surfing.  The boys really "shredded the gnar" as they like to say, or at least did so to the best of their abilities. On our walk back we ran into a completely free barbeque where there was live music. Again, we were approached by drug dealers looking to sell us weed. I realize we might be looking a bit beat up and battered after only our second day of travel, but did we really appear like five stoners looking to get smoked up?

That night we all took full showers with shampoo and soap in one of those little beach rinse off showers. I have never felt so homeless in my life. Little did we know this would be our last opportunity to shower for five days. We then walked down to the "bottle shop" and bought a bag of goon that would be shared between us in our little home. We hit the town and headed straight to a big outdoor bar that just seemed to ooze this summertime vibe to be happy and carefree, dance to live music at the local open-air watering holes and soak in the essence of the town and each other. 

The Life of a Backpacker - The Beginning

“Don’t think, just do.” These are the words of my friend, Calvin, which echoed in my head as I locked myself away in my dorm room. I committed to leaving Thursday afternoon to fly out of Melbourne into Brisbane to back pack down the eastern coast of Australia to Sydney. I had three days to write three major essays, plan and give two oral presentations, write one philosophy assessment and seven other smaller assignments. There were five of us going on the camping trip: Casey, Calvin, Brett and JP, and they were depending on me to pull through and get my work done to be able to go. Was I insane? Absolutely. And in the latest, darkest hours of those three nights leading up to the trip I frequently experienced minor panic attacks in realizing there’s only so many hours in a day.

In order to calm this realization, I found myself writing out hour-by-hour how exactly I would be utilizing the next 72 hours, right down to breaks for meals. My schedule went a little something like this:

Monday –

9:00am – Wake up, breakfast

9:30-12:30 – Prints culture paper

12:30-12:45 – Lunch

12:45-2:45 – Travel Reporting paper

3:00-4:00 – Philosophy class

4:00-6:00 – Australian Idol class

6:00-6:30 – Dinner

6:30-10:45 – Australian Idol paper

10:45-11:00 – 15 minute break

11:00-2:00 – Print Cultures paper

Day 1:

Now I can’t say I followed this schedule perfectly, but I was damn determined. I was going on this camping trip, I just had to put myself through the ultimate test of discipline and self control first. Thursday morning rolled around and I had never been so sleep deprived or strung out in my life. I kept looking towards Thursday promising myself this would all be worth it and it would be the greatest reward. I didn’t finish everything I had to do, but I finished everything that absolutely had to be completed and sent in before we left. After sending out handfuls of emails, Casey and I frantically ran around tying up our loose ends and trying to pack and just about missed the shuttle.

The boys flew out first thing that morning, but Casey and I were on an afternoon flight because of a presentation she had to give that day, so we got on the only possible shuttle which would get us to the airport a dangerously close 45 minutes before our flight. Once on the shuttle I exhaled and tried to relax my sore, tense shoulders. Casey passed out almost immediately. We got to the airport 45 minutes before daprture as expected, however, we were dropped off at international and had to wander around different terminals until we got to our domestic flight terminal. What a relief to finally be on our way. I stepped up to the counter and almost immediately after looking at my ticket the man stated flatly,

“Check-in for the flight to Brisbane is closed, I’m sorry.” I stepped back,

“What do you mean check-in is closed?”

“Check in closes 45 minutes before the flight departure,” he responded to me. Casey came marching up from her desk a couple feet over,

“You mean to tell me that we’re here, our seats are open and empty on that flight right now, and you’re not going to let us on?” Casey asked, attitude flaring up in her voice.

“It’s company policy. I can put you on the next flight to Brisbane tomorrow morning for only $90 though!” The man offered, completely unwilling to try and help us out. We only spent $60 for the original flight, he wasn’t really doing anyone any favors.

I felt defeated. My eyes began to sting as I fought back the tears so easily forming from the lack of sleep that was all over my face. It was now or never, we couldn’t go all the way back to Monash just to come back to the airport in the morning. Especially since it’s a roadtrip, and by the time the night comes, the boys will have already moved on to our next stop of Byron Bay. I saw all my hard work becoming insignificant and the roadtrip slipping away.

“let’s go to another airline. Now.” I said to Casey. We hurried outside into the rain. I slipped in the street, ripped the kneee out of my pants and broke my shoe. Casey and I couldn’t help but laugh. Our flight took a quick turn for the better as we got on the next flight to Brisbane, telling the boys our flight was just delayed due to inclement weather. 

Not long after we landed we were picked up at our terminal in a multicolored, hollowed out classic rape van. I laughed instantly. Not quite what I was expecting, but it was sure to be an experience. I was so happy to finally have arrived that they could have picked me up on a bicycle. There were three seats in the front and the back was just one big bed. The “Rainbow Serpent,” or “Serpent Fire” as we would come to refer to it, would be our home for the next six days as we ventured down the coast of Australia with five recent best friends, and a life’s supply of peanut butter, jelly and white bread.

The van turned out to be manual, so my aspirations of driving a European style car in the right side seat on the left side of the road immediately vanished, and poor Calvin was really the only one that could drive stick shift. We stopped for gas about halfway to Byron Bay, with our homemade CDs blaring and all the windows down. Almost immediately a car pulled up alongside of us,

“Hey, where are you guys from?” A man in the driver seat called out to us. We all exchanged looks. “You guys trying to buy party drugs?” Just as I had expected.

“What kind of party drugs?” I asked, feeding into the stranger’s question.

“MDMA,” he responded.

“What the heck is that?” I asked the boys.

“Molly,” Calvin answered, which is another street name for the pure form of ecstasy.

“No thanks!” I called back to the man.

“What about weed? You guys looking for weed?” He called back to me. This van most certainly had a bulls eye on it and it was undeniably going to be a long trip.

As soon as we pulled away Calvin laughed,

“Speaking of weed,” he said fidgeting around for something in the front seat, “look what came with the camper,” and presented an already rolled joint of marijuana. I’m not sure if this was supposed to be a gift from the people we rented the van from or from the voyagers before us, but this van was getting more and more stereotypical by the second. Calvin chucked the joint out of the window, which in retrospect probably wasn’t the smartest choice for someone driving a rainbow hippie van, and then cranked up what would soon become our little adventure’s theme song,

“We don’t sleep when the sun goes down, we don’t waste no precious time…” These words blared through the one working speaker in the van as we pulled up to Arts Factory, which is the most hippie-inspired camping ground you could ever imagine. Campers can swing in seated hammocks by the lake, smoke at picnic tables around a campfire, and rest their head in tee-pees at night. The first man we encountered was wearing a tye-dye hooded shirt.

“Where are you guys coming in from?” He asked me through extremely slurred speech and glassy eyes.

“We’re from the US,” I answered.

“No, no,” he cut me short, “where are you coming from just now?”

“Oh, we just flew in to Brisbane today from Melbourne,” I corrected myself,

“No, where are you coming from in the last twenty minutes?” he pressed.

“Oh,” I said as I was starting to become confused, “we were just up at the Byron Bay lighthouse,” again correcting myself.

“What’s going on up there? Anything? Where are all the parties at tonight? Hey you guys have to go to this weed festival in Nimbin, it’s only twenty minutes away, you have to!” Here we go again, I thought. We chatted with this man for maybe another ten minutes in which time he repeated the same five things over and over again, always returning to how we have to go to Nimbin and the different sorts of weed events and competitions that go on there. We had bigger and better things on our agenda, however, and discussed our plan as we climbed into our van parked in Arts Factory’s lot to sleep for the night. JP reclined the drivers seat to sleep and the other four of us laid in the back sardine-style.

Walk like an Australian: the “Dos” and “Don’ts” of blending in

As my time in Australia gradually flies by faster and faster, I decided it might be a good idea to compile a list of how to walk, talk, drink, eat, and act like an Australian. Here's my "Dos" and "Donts"for blending in in Australia: 

Do – walk on the left side of the sidewalk. Cars drive on the left side, so naturally society also walks and passes people on the left side.

Don’t – assume cars will stop for you. Ever.  Cars have right of way and will often speed up if they see you trying to cross in front of them.

Do – Step out of your comfort zone. A lot of thrill seekers flock to Australia because of the many opportunities to partake in high-risk activity. My one friend Sarah went shark diving with her father when he came to visit. Most of my friends here have bungee jumped and several are going skydiving this weekend. It's a great place to bring out your adventurous side.

Don’t – believe in drop bears. Australians will frequently tell non-australians about these horrible creatures that look like possums with bushy tails that drop out of trees and attack people, going for their eyes first. I’ve lived here for three months and have been scared every time I hear rustling in the trees above me. I just found out last week they do not exist. It's one big nationally accepted prank on foreigners.

Don’t – get offended when someone asks if every high school is like what’s seen in Gossip Girl or if you’re a cast member of The Jersey Shore. I’ve been asked both, and the latter seems laughable because I am the polar opposite of an orange, gelled, steroid-popping, fist-pumping, Ed-Hardy-wearing Italian American, but you have to expect some silly questions like this on rare occasion.

Don’t – order a “light” beer. This is a rookie move made by many of us on our first night out in Australia. “Light” does not equal “better for you” in Australia like it does in the US, but rather “less alcohol content" (See: O’Doul’s).

Do – call the bathroom the toilets. I think it sounds crude and blunt, but it saves you from confusing a local when asking where the “restroom” is located.

Don’t - ask about Steve Irwin. He was more of an American thing and it would be as annoying as someone asking if you’re a fan of Jerry Springer.

Do – respond to “Aussie! Aussie! Aussie” with “Oi! Oi! Oi!” Always.

Don’t – refer to it as the outback. No one will have any idea where you’re going.

Don’t – order ketchup. Order “tomato sauce”

Do – Celebrate Anzac Day by going to the big footy game. Anzac Day is Australia's Veteran's Day. It's not the Queen's birthday, but I seemed to be the only one that caught that little bit of misinformation.

Don’t – respond to “How are you going?” by pointing in the direction you’re headed. Simply reply, “Good!"

Do – Drink cider if you’re a female. Apparently women in Australia rarely drink beer, so a woman doing so almost definitely pegs her as a foreigner.

Don’t – Eat peanut butter and jelly. I never knew this was an “American thing” until a group of Australians were repulsed by me eating this in our communal kitchen. It’s about as foreign and disgusting to them as vegemite on toast is to us.

Do – start saying “no worries” – a lot. You will never hear an Australian respond to “thank you” with “you’re welcome,” but rather, “It’s alright,” which kind of makes you feel like you’re putting them out, but most commonly, “no worries!”

Do – run from any and all spiders and snakes. Australia is home to the world’s top ten deadliest animals and besides jellyfish, almost all of these other creatures are insects and amphibians.

Don’t – Carry pepper spray. Going to school in Baltimore, I’ve always had pepper spray in my car, purse and desk drawer. Naturally, coming to Australia I brought my supply. I just found out last week that pepper spray is highly illegal here and has just been made alright for police to carry it. If you are found with pepper spray you can be arrested on the spot for possessing an illegal weapon. Good thing I carried it through three different Australian airport securities before finding this out.

Do – learn the drinking chants. Australians have tons of chants they will sing out in bars and pubs that either single a person out to drink or that promote everyone to drink together, but either way they’re of good nature, are a lot of fun, and, everyone knows and sings them all the time. Our all time favorite one goes: “Here’s to [insert target’s name] he/she’s true blue, he/she’s a pisspot through and through, he/she’s a bastard so they say, he/she tried to go to heaven but they went the other way, they went down! Down! Down!” – at which point “Down” will be repeated until the target’s drink has been finished.

Don’t – call it chugging, double-fisting or pre-gaming. Australian’s refer to these terms respectively as skulling, double-parking, and pre-drinking. Also, a case of beer is a "slab," a pitcher is a "jug,"and the liquor store is the "bottle shop"

Do – watch out for “swooping magpies” – these birds will literally dive bomb attack you if you have anything shiny on you.

Do – become a raging sports fanatic. Sports here are probably one of the biggest aspects of Australian culture and are thought of when defining the make up of the identity of Australia. Sports are used to bring society and the nation as a whole together, to celebrate and commemorate different holidays, and to ignite a sense of unity and community.

Don’t – be offended or taken off guard by the loose and common use of profanity. Swearing is extremely common and accepted in Australia, but it’s not in an angry way, it’s just incorporated in normal conversation. People will very nonchalantly and publicly refer to each other by the C-word, and my professors drop the F-bomb in most classes.

Do – Begin calling McDonald’s “Maccah’s” and Burger King "Hungry Jacks." Sidenote: I don't eat fast food in the states... It is divine here.

Do – incorporate words such as, dodgy, keen, and quintessential into your vocabulary. Also, the term, “Good as,” as in “You went to that concert? It was good as.” Good as what? I’m not so sure. Just say it.

I’m not saying lose yourself, your identity, nationality, heritage and culture by any means... I’m just saying by following these tips you can almost fully blend in as a local. Although maybe a local with a funny accent, of course.

Blue Fish – The Travel Bug Blues

Our group here in Australia has truly shared a lot with each other. We’ve shared stories, laughs, sheer terror, first time experiences, and the occasional illness. After our most recent adventure, we all seemed to have gotten sick together again. This time we’ve all been infected by the Travel Bug.

Two days after getting home from One Fish Two Fish I woke up feeling generally sad and as if I had an elephant sitting on my chest. I looked out the window and saw a solid sheet of heather gray skies and spitting weather that’s not quite raining, but just enough to irritate you. I climbed back into my still warm nest and went back to sleep for two more hours.

The next day I woke up to a phone call from my friend, Kathleen, literally interrupting a dream of us and our insane tour guide, Chappy, running around the streets of Cairns like Steve Irwin’s National Zoo had gotten out on the loose.

“Kath,” I grumbled through my spring break hoarse voice, “we’ve gotta plan another trip.”

Obviously everyone from home rolled their eyes when I told them we were all depressed that our ten day stay in paradise was behind us and we had nothing but two more months in boring old Australia to look forward to. Our whole group just had the best ten days of our lives together and we weren’t ready for our vacation from our vacation to be over.

Immediately plans started firing out. Completely irresponsible, sensational, once-in-a-lifetime plans. We wanted to put those white metal wings back on and fly. Ten of us committed to renting out two five-person campers to travel up the east coast of Australia for a week. We all agreed we could swing missing a week of school, rationalizing with the fact that it was so small in the grand scheme of things and would absolutely be worth it.

In the next few days the rest of us booked our flights to locations such as Bali, New Zealand, Fiji and Thailand for “Swot Week” – the week between classes and finals designated for studying. I’d be spending the week on a beach in Bali with ten of my best friends, hopefully getting $4 massages every day and riding elephants. Next, I impulsively decided to reroute my flight home with some of the girls, going from Bali to Perth for two days then traveling from Perth to New Zealand for a week since we have the time before our finals.

In this same time frame the idea of taking the world tour home came about. Immediately the research began and plans of summer classes and internships started flying out the window for this month long excursion. My one friend, Calvin, who seems to have the urge to travel worse than anyone right now, could sell garlic to a vampire and has me toying with the idea. I’m supposed to be spending my summer in Baltimore taking two classes. I’ve heard phrases anywhere from, “Well maybe I could get an internship during the school year,” to “I’ve already come to the realization I’m fully broke and in dept, what’s 1,800 more dollars,” to “If I graduate late, I graduate late.”

Yes, it’s true, this trip could absolutely change your life. In one month we would travel up to Vietnam, Thailand, through Southeast Asia, India, Turkey, Paris, London and Dublin. We would backpack, get the real, full, “roughing it” experience, and go to places and see sights we may never have the opportunity to again. I’m not looking to throw my future away, but I’d love to be eighty-years-old still talking about the time I spent my summer traveling the world with my newly formed family and how I was never the same. We’ve got the travel bug all right, and it’s the best illness I’ve ever come down with.

Red Fish – Adrenaline brings you closer

Go white water rafting. Check. Go scuba diving at the great barrier reef. Check. Go bungee jumping…. Well, we all have our limits.

There’s something to be said about spending every blessed second of every day with the same people. I thought the Great Ocean Road and the outback made our group become a family, but there’s a certain type of bond people develop when they’re experiencing things together that not only excite them but also terrify the living daylights out of them at the same time. One Fish Two Fish is booked through “Extreme Adventures” where they want to make sure your trips are not just vacations and a constant party, but also that you’re really getting your money's worth and are stepping out of your comfort zone and taking the trip from merely being a vacation to being a full blown adventurous experience.

The real adventures began at our final destination in Cairns where we stayed for three nights at Gilligan’s, one of the world’s most famous hostels. The first escapade thrown our way was white water rafting. I had never gone before, though I had always wanted the opportunity. The morning we were driving to go rafting I was much more nervous than I was anticipating which I realized was solely focused around the fear of the unknown – I had no idea what to expect.

Luckily I wasn’t alone. Our boats were made up of groups of seven plus the guide and one of my very good friends Jen, who was ready to jump out of a plane skydiving in two days, was so nervous to go white water rafting that she was actually in tears. We walked to our boat like we were walking to our funeral, hand in hand.

White water rafting was a blast and absolutely exhilarating, however, although I was fully enjoying it I never completely relaxed or felt entirely at ease. The biggest fear didn’t have to do with the rapids themselves, per say, but more the possibility of falling out and getting seriously hurt on the rocks. At one point when I finally decided to take charge and sit up front our boat almost immediately slammed into and got trapped between two rocks. Mase and I immediately lurched backwards onto everyone else in the boat. Our boat began to fill with rushing water as I floundered around in the middle trying to regain a stable seat. As our boat began to fold in half like a taco from the rapids pouring into our boat I went into full blown panic mode thinking I was trapped and drowning. Immediately I found a rock and began clinging to it and trying to pull myself on to it. That’s when I heard the angry shouts from our guide,

“For Fuck’s sake Missy, get back in the fucking boat!” I suddenly snapped out of my crazed survival mode instincts and regained my composure as we worked together to dislodge our boat from between the rocks.

The next night was the infamous “bungee jumping party.” Let me begin with the disclaimer that I would do a lot of horrible, unspeakable things before I’d ever want to inch up to a ledge, look down, then swan dive off of said ledge, falling to my death, only to be ripped back up into the air to repeat the whole process several times. I would go as far as to say bungee jumping sounds like my hell and I’m almost certain I’d black out from fear if someone forced me off that ledge. I walked into it knowing firmly I wasn’t going to jump, and there were about six of us that decided not to, meaning that we watched 54 of our good friends plunge 140 feet head first.

I wish that it’s something I could do. It looked absolutely terrifying and made me sick to my stomach to watch, but every single person came out of it with such different reactions, but they all had several things in common. Everyone was completely overwhelmed with so many emotions; shaking, often crying, smiling from ear to ear, and absolutely pumped out of their mind. The energy of the party was unlike anything I had ever experienced. As the night went on everyone just kept getting more and more supportive and excited for each other. If there’s one reason I regret not jumping it’s because I feel like I missed out on the bungee jumpers club and I wanted to be apart of that common bond. After everyone that wanted to had jumped, we all had one of the most amazing nights out together because everyone earlier was completely terrified and thrilled together and the after result was everyone collectively being completely high on life.

After an insane theme night spent on a double decker bus taking us around Cairns on a pub crawl, we woke up bright and early to head out to the Great Barrier Reef with reassurance from our guide, Chappy, that we’d be able to just pass out on the boat ride out to the reef. Oh, were we ever misled.

I’ve grown up on boats and have always felt the happiest and most at ease on, in or by the water. The deep ocean and I, though, have a shaky history. It’s not so much that I get seasick, it’s more of an uneasiness and a fear of the huge waves and flying airborn over them. I guess it comes back to hating the feeling of my stomach dropping.

The 60 of us walked onto the boat extremely exhausted and hungover and were immediately handed ginger tablets by the crew to help with nausea and were told it was mandatory to take them because the water was so rough today. I immediately became uncomfortable.

The water being “rough” was the understatement of the century. We were speeding through some Perfect Storm-style waves in a two story, rocky motorboat. Needless to say, I sat there for the two hour ride bracing myself by gripping a table, while 20 of my friends sat off the back of the boat with barf bags. We had quite the showing that morning.

Upon arrival we were assigned a number in which there would be four of us in a group and a guide for our dive. We all had to link arms, repel down an underwater ladder to where our guide would be waiting for us. Once at the bottom of the ladder under the boat we had to perform a series of tests to show we were ready to fully dive. The problem was, we were only about three feet under the water’s surface to do the tests and were therefore in the throws of the waves and strong current. We all had to grip the ladder with both hands in order to stay together.

This part of the dive was terrifying. I consider myself a good swimmer and I felt like I was drowning. I am grateful that I have scuba dived before this experience because I was able to talk myself through it. About one person in every group went right back up the ladder back to the safety of the boat. Scuba diving can make you feel claustrophobic and hanging out under the boat definitely did not help. Also, your breathing is so odd that if you begin thinking about it too much you can really freak yourself out. All of this coupled with the fact that you could hardly control your body in the current, I’m surprised more people didn’t head back.

The Great Barrier Reef was such an experience because together we shared great agony, fear, and then the memories of the truly awesome and beautiful reef. I saw so many exotic fish, a sea turtle up close, and a clam that had to be about four feet big that would close when you stuck your hand inside of it.

We look back on that day and laugh because of its extreme ups and downs, but it’s an experience I’ll cherish forever. All of these “extreme adventures” are things I will hold onto and tell my grandchildren someday. To be able to say I did the things that I did, all within a ten-day span is absolutely incredible. To push yourself and each other in a group and experience such fear and adrenaline rushes really brings you together. We all became so supportive and encouraging and really fed off of each other. I don’t regret my decision to not bungee jumping because I know I would’ve hated every second of it, but I do recognize that I often live my life a little too cautiously. It’s something I’m working on because I never want to feel like I’m missing out, so we can consider One Fish Two Fish the first step.

Two Fish – “See You in Paradise, MoFos”

When I close my eyes and go back, my stomach instantly clenches in that nostalgic, homesick feeling sort of way. It’s hard being 21-years-old and having an awful feeling that it just might be all down hill from here.

After spending twelve hours on an overnight bus not sleeping, but instead having a huge bus party that included the man we entrusted with our lives and safety, running around the bus stark naked, and plenty of pictures surfacing of people passed out with pineapples all over them, we arrived at a hostel and were told to drop our suitcases and pack a bag for three days. We quickly all stuffed some clothes into backpacks and followed Chappy down to a beautiful hotel and out onto its pier where three motorized balls of sunshine sat on the most transparent glassy ocean I’ve ever seen, beckoning for us to climb on board.

Chappy pushed past us in his homemade cutoff denim shorts, his oversized straw hat, toting his suitcase behind him ever so daintily. He nonchalantly shouted over his shoulder back to us,

“See you in paradise, MoFos!” before dipping down into our newest forms of transportation.

We took off in the three speedboats, whipping around, swerving in and out of one another, flying over waves as the shaggy seaweed colored mountains of the stunning Whitsunday islands with snow-like sand surrounded us. The boats jetted around, zigzagging about in the ocean until the mountains split, opening up to a beach, and suddenly the 60 of us were pulling up on water to our very own private and personal paradise called Long Island Resort. We actually had to climb down a ladder into the water to bring our bags up to our hotel. This couldn’t be real life; this trip was already exactly what I’d always hoped for in a spring break trip.

I hate ever appearing like a standard college student. Even more so, I hate appearing like a stereotypical American. Maybe even worse than that, I hate the hurricane of destruction that is all too common of the drunk American male college student. I guess what I’m trying to say is… this resort was way too nice for 60 college students and Extreme Adventures and the manager of the hotel should have known better. Extreme Adventures had been banned from this hotel for five years; our year was the first to return. It’s safe to say we will also be the last.

After dropping off our bags we all ran back to the boats which took us snorkeling around reefs where we all lazily floated on neon noodles and looked down at the rainbow sea of fish. From there the boats took us to our next stop where the captains took us up a long, winding path which led us right out to an overlook of the number six ranked most beautiful beach in the world, Whitehaven Beach.

To be honest, I’ve never seen anything quite like Whitehaven, and I’m completely floored that there are five beaches ranked above it. The sand is actually pure bleached-cotton white which Chappy informed me is because the sand is 98% silica. This is the sort of beach that’s photographed and printed on posters on a mass scale that have “paradise” written underneath, or that people will set as their computer screen backgrounds.  We were literally standing inside of one of those posters looking at what every picture and painting has always told us is the definition of paradise. We had arrived, and it only got sweeter when Chappy told us we were actually going onto the beach.

Once down on Whitehaven, which was completely deserted except for our crew, we all enjoyed lunch and goon down by the water. Almost immediately after dinner the goon race competitions began which involved all of us spinning in circles and running in a relay. Injuries were imminent and inevitable. Casey and I also came up with having goon sack tosses, similar to an egg toss, in honor of Easter being that day.

After a while we all piled back onto our boats and were delivered back to our hotel where we all spilled off, going to sleep in our rooms, in other people’s rooms and on the beach.

I woke up a couple hours later to the pumpkin sun setting on the water and wandered back to the hotel go to dinner, which was a strange scene to say the least. Some of our group managed to end up at day one’s dinner, half of the crew didn’t even make it to dinner, out of no where Calvin played beautiful classical music on the piano, someone threw an entire pig’s head on Chappy’s plate, the boys tried to take an entire cheesecake with them... It was only the first night in Long Island and the ruckus was already foreshadowing the hand delivery of trouble in paradise.

After a very short night at the hotel’s bar right on the beach, we woke up to a free day on Long Island. We moseyed on out to the beach and pool at our leisure. Tubing, kayaking and jet skiing was available to those looking for an action-packed day. The majority of our crew gathered more around the pool by the huge sound system and once again, the goon bags came out. We all just swam and danced and hung out in the pool all day, soaking up the ideal image of what a spring break should be, feeding off each other’s energy and attempting to get as bronzed as possible. 

In the late afternoon we gathered by the beach bar and covered our hands in an applesauce-like substance for the bird feeding. Suddenly, dozens and dozens of Kelly green parakeets flocked over to cover all of our arms and dance around on our heads. It was hilarious and kind of frightening at the same time, especially for Casey who has the biggest phobia of birds.

That night we all headed to the “discoteca” where the detrimental actions of the nighttime began. We pinned down one Canadian boy while people applied mascara on to his eyes. Phil walked around in a penguin suit the entire night. We all danced the night away. Chappy informed us that his mother, Fritha, is the gardener of the year in Australia, and that his middle name is “Tom.” Not Thomas, just Tom. But by the time the sun came up over the Whitsunday Islands, we were facing an $1,800 damage fee, the charges ranging from suntan lotion being put in all the locks on the doors to all the exit signs being knocked down, all of which could be traced back to two individuals.

We left first thing in the morning on a beautiful sailboat, $1,800 poorer, literally the Adam and Eve’s of the Whitsunday Islands ruining paradise for all future One Fish Two Fishers who will never experience Long Island Resort due to the perma-ban placed on Extreme Adventures. More than anything the damage, turmoil, ruckus, chaos and destruction caused reminds me of my Grandpop always saying,

“This is why we can’t have nice things.”

One Fish – A Loyola Tradition

“One Fish Two Fish will be the absolute most unbelievable ten days of your life. Plus, it’s kind of a Loyola tradition.” I have had several friends study abroad at Loyola’s Monash program that have all uttered variations of this same statement to me at different times between the time they came home and I departed for Australia. So, naturally, upon arriving in Melbourne all but four of us wrote our names down on the list and dropped our life savings to embark on what we hoped would soon be the best ten days of our lives.

Our adventure began with waking up at 3:30am to catch the airport shuttle at 4:00am to arrive at the airport by 5:00am for our flight at 7:00am. I don’t actually even remember a second of our flight, due to the fact that I was the walking dead, except when I was startled awake when we touched down in Brisbane. We spent most of our time in Brisbane sleeping, relaxing and mentally preparing for the days ahead of us, except for the boys who went out to the bars along with one of the girls in our group. Upon arrival back to her room she fell off her top bunk onto her face, then proceeded to step on a broken mug. Basically, the 25 of us rolled up to our meeting place in the morning with what looked like a crack head amongst us. That girl would soon be the first to have to donate to the "Sin Tin" for arriving to spring break already battered.

Chappy, our tour guide that we also had in Sydney, would be the man responsible for providing us with the so-called "time of our lives" for the next ten days. He greeted us at the bus station and almost immediately handed us a blown up kangaroo. We were instructed to sign the kangaroo, graffiti it and brainstorm names because later that night would be the sacred “naming of the roo.”

Our first stop was at Steve Irwin’s National zoo where we immediately all flocked to the kangaroo exhibite where you can actually walk amongst the kangaroos, pet and feed them. After that, my dreams came true when I was handed a koala bear that easily resembled a little grumpy grandpa. The koala smelled pleasantly like eucalyptus and gripped on to my arms firmly as I became his new tree and home for the next couple minutes. 

The Irwins also put on a crocodile show a couple times a year and we were lucky enough to catch one. Steve Irwin’s son looks like a miniature clone of him and his daughter, Bindy, seems to be the next up and coming celebrity Irwin with a whole line of Bindy merchandise available in the gift shop.

In knowing that One Fish Two Fish is a "Loyola tradition," you go into the trip having a vague idea of what is in store, the activities you'll be taking part in and will even recognize some places you visit from having seen pictures in the past. As soon as we left the zoo and boarded the bus the goon bags began to be passed around. We arrived to our hostel where we were guided uphill through the winding jungle-like woods until finally the trees and vines parted revealing the huge sand dunes of Rainbow Beach. The dunes sloped sharply downwards and looked like a sand version of a half-pipe for skiing.

Upon reaching the top of the dunes we suddenly had a birds-eye view overlooking the entire town. The sun was huge and dominating the sky and sank into the horizon faster than quicksand, all the while blowing the sunset we saw in the outback out of the water. The sky was aflame and filled with the honey glow that colored the rooftops and water below as Bon Iver softly serenaded the scene. The sunset, mood and overall ambience were so powerful that a lot of us became completely overwhelmed with inexplicable emotion. At that moment I broke from all feelings of stress, ill will, and worries and put my spring break face on.

Because of our absolute defacing of the roo on the bus it now appeared to be of both sexes, so we decided on the name Hermapharoo at the naming of the roo that night at dinner. This kangaroo would stand as our mascot, icon, symbol of our trip and would be taken care of and looked after as a very important member of our group. We had sangria and headed down to the beach where we made a huge campfire and took a dip in the ocean which was brilliantly illuminated by the full moon. In retrospect, this probably wasn’t the smartest move judging by the colossal waves that continuously kept taking group members down, however, everyone survived our first night.

On our second morning we all piled into ten-person off-roading ATVs after a delicious breakfast of pancakes that were both burnt and raw at the same time. The ATVs took us onto an open air ferry to Fraser Island, the world’s largest sand island, where they drove all through the forest and along the beach to take us to a huge fresh water lake. The island is named Fraser Island after Eliza Fraser who survived a ship wreck on the island and lived amongst the aboriginals. The water of the lake just about matched the sky in how blue it was but was also as clear as drinking water. We lounged in the warm lake and along the beach all day until we barbequed and boarded the bus for our overnight voyage north.

It also pains me to mention that our second day also marked the death of Hermapharoo. Three groups of 60 students left for One Fish Two Fish on three consecutive days, meaning we met up randomly at different points in the trip and there was always a sense of rivalry and minimal cross-group mingling. The heartless day one group seized and decapitated our trip mascot. We retaliated by slicing their roo into small pieces when we met up with them again two days later.

Home is Wherever I'm with You

"We fling ourselves halfway around the globe not to fall apart but to come together, to create new patterns of meaningfulness" - Eric Weiner

A lot of people travel and go abroad not only in a search for some huge amazing experience to see and accomplish things they never have before, but I think underneath all of that there’s a bigger, more important picture. I think most people have a moment when they’re just itching to get out of wherever it is in their life they’re currently feeling trapped or stuck. Everyone at one point or another, whether it's at rock bottom, out of boredom with their current life, or just dissatisfaction with themselves or their outcomes, feels the need to find themselves and what is important and meaningful to them. More than anything the desire to "get away" is associated with being able to free the mind and get back to our roots and our true selves. The urge to go see the world and really find yourself can become almost unbearable. People crave traveling the world for the sense of freedom, spontaneity, adventure, and most importantly: for the escape.

Maybe I can’t speak for everyone, but growing up in the suburbs of Philadelphia I was born with a feeling inside of me that could not be squelched that I needed to get away from the northeast and see just what there is to see; there had to be bigger and better places to live, there was so much I needed to see and do. I acted on these desires to abandon ship impulsively last summer when I was feeling at a breaking point. I was working at the same summer job I had had for three years. I felt stuck, drained and like my life was on repeat. All I needed and wanted was more stimulation and a change of scenery. So, extremely impulsively, I bought a ticket to Dallas with one of my best friends and took off for what ended up being one of the best weeks of my life.

After experiencing this taste of reckless spontaneity and adventure and knowing I was heading to Australia in the spring I had nothing but the highest of hopes for my next journey. Australia is all I could have ever imagined and more. The people are wonderful, the weather is mostly beautiful, I have had the opportunity to be a part of so many unbelievable and unforgettable experiences, I have made such amazing new best friends and I have seen some of the most surreal, stunning sights. That being said, I realize that until this point I was always certain I would flee the US, or at least the northeast, as soon as I possibly could. What I have come to find is that for every time any of us have sat back on the beach of some exotic island and said to ourselves, “I could be happy here,” we are lost in the moment of beauty and relaxation and haven’t fully thought through that statement. It is not a place that will produce happiness, it is our outlook, mindset, inner peace, and circumstances. I have been a true offender of thinking happiness was always waiting somewhere else; somewhere far away that was exciting, hot, and by the ocean. Perhaps this was always the dreamer in me, or perhaps it was an immature outlook. People associate vacations with escaping because in going to a new location you can literally leave all your worries and problems behind, release your stress and be whoever you want to be in this new place; essentially, you have the chance to completely start over. If everyone decided to up and move to their escape destinations, eventually the daily stressors of life and the reality of happiness would sink in and suddenly the escape would just become the next place everyone was looking to get away from. 

I am happier here in Australia than I have been maybe in my whole life, but when I look around I realize it’s so similar in so many ways that at any point I could very well be in the US. My happiness is a direct reflection of the revelations I have experienced, the personal growth I have achieved, the realizations of what I want and expect out of life, the recognition of and getting back to what’s important to me, and the attainment of peace of mind all in conjunction with a sense of freedom and adventure that has cultivated inside of me. Although I feel happiness is not location based, my isolation came at a necessary time in my life and has helped me to achieve improvements in my life and in myself. Although happiness might not be related to where you are in the world, if there is one thing I will take away from Australia permanently, it is a new appreciation for home and the familiar.

More than anything I love to travel because of the thrill of the unknown and of new experiences. I absolutely would love to live in Australia, but if that was based on a search for happiness and convincing myself that the place for me was anywhere but here, I’ve come to realize it would be time to reevaluate. You can only run from your realities for so long. I could very well be happy in Philadelphia; it’s where I have had some of the happiest and most memorable times of my life, because that’s where my life is. I could be happy anywhere, I realize now, if given time to adjust and recognize a new life.

I think everyone absolutely has to get out into the world to travel and step out of their comfort zone or safety bubble of home. There is too much to see. I’ve seen the opera houses in Sydney, JUST like in Finding Nemo. I’ve kissed one of the Three Sisters in the Blue Mountains. I’ve relaxed on the #6 most beautiful beach in the world. I’ve seen the Twelve Apostles along the Great Ocean Road. I’ve overlooked the entire lit up city of Melbourne from the highest point in the whole Southern Hemisphere. 

I guess what I’m saying is everyone does need to leave their roots, to see what is out there and what they’re missing, even if it's just to make sure and to be satisfied with where they are in life. We cannot escape our ways into happiness, but rather find ourselves and happiness is sure to follow. Everyone deserves the time to discover themselves and their happy place. Home and happiness should not be determined by where we are, but rather who we're with, what we're doing with our lives, our state of mind and our ability to change and help ourselves. I realize now home could be anywhere in the world as long as I had my friends and loved ones. But I think a lot of us will find that our happy place is exactly where we started, where our families did everything they could to establish a good, grounded life for us. And I realize I’m no longer running from that, even if I do end up living far, far away from the freezing winters of the Northeast. I at least now know the amazing adventures that are out there waiting for me and there can always be another journey, but also that I can always return home to Philadelphia, where it’s not always sunny, but that’s what it will always be to me: home.

The Outback: A Once in a Lifetime Experience, God-Willing

I have always viewed myself as a low-maintenance girl and relatively outdoorsy. I’ve gone on school trips in the past in which we lived in three outfits, showered minimally, ate slop food and slept in cabins. After staying within the urban life of Melbourne for months, finally, I was going to experience the side of Australia how I had always imagined: the outback. If the Great Ocean Road had such a reflective, overwhelming calming effect on me, the outback should be even more of an amazing, mind freeing, back-to-nature type of experience, I thought. Oh, how I was wrong.

We started our fourteen-hour voyage at 6:00am. Dozens of cranky creatures piled on to our coach bus as the sun came up. Call me crazy or ungrateful, but I have zero appreciation for a sunrise. I love a good sunset more than anything, but he idea of watching the sun come up makes me shudder, and all that a “good sunrise” means to me is that I have been forced out of my bed at an uncomfortably early hour. This small factor aside, I was soon back asleep and the bus proceeded towards the small, desolate town of Broken Hill. The ride wasn’t bad at all since it was split up by several stops for food and to walk around. Along with this, our witty bus rider kept us entertained by playing odd Australian songs with lyrics such as “Come to Australia, you might accidentally get killed.”

We crossed over the bridge, leaving the city life and familiar behind in our state of Victoria and soon crossed into the state of New South Wales which our driver announced over the speaker in an eerie, foreboding voice, while using the echoing effect on his microphone. Little did I know, his use of this echoing effect every time he uttered the words “New South Wales” would seem entirely appropriate by the time we would be crossing over that bridge returning into Victoria.

During the bus ride our teacher, Rob, walked around assigning everyone to rooms for the next three nights. Lindsey, Casey, Mase, Sarah and I snatched up the five-person room as soon as he came to us. Upon arrival at the dusty, mustard painted, cat-lady-smelling hostel every room was called out one by one, given keys, and pointed down the same hallway. When our room was called the hostel owner smiled and said, “Let me show you to ‘Flat 5’,” and proceeded to lead us out of the hostel into an alley where there was a door to the right which would soon be our new home. Little did we know we had several unexpected roommates to share our “flat” with: Cockroaches. And lots of them. Who knew those suckers were invincible? I’ve heard they can withstand a nuclear bomb, but we fully demolished one of them three times before giving up on the zombie-roach. Everyone was quickly losing their cool, declaring that they were finding somewhere else to sleep, and I sensed a growing vibe of chaos and panic amongst us. I tried to diffuse the situation,

“Guys, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Cockroaches come out in the night in the dark. It’s only when you turn the lights on that they all scatter. Let’s just sleep with the lights on. They’ll never come out in the first place, problem solved.” Everyone looked at each other and nodded silently, put on their pajamas, climbed into our bunk beds and left the lights on. And this is how our sleeping conditions stayed without question for the next three nights.

We started our first day with the “amazing race” which was a scavenger hunt around the small historic town of Broken Hill in 90-degree dry heat. It started off as pretty fun and competitive but three hours and seven realizations we were lost later, everyone was suddenly drenched in sweat, hungry, and getting increasingly bitter and agitated. Everyone also began appreciating my off-color Deliverance references less and less. After the amazing race, instead of having a little lunch to balance out the tense mood swing of the group, we went to the Royal Flying Doctors Museum which is quite possibly the most random thing you could ever take a group of students to see. Everyone agreed our teacher sat back and thought, “Let me see, what’s there to do in this town?” and then proceeded to take us to each of these offered activities. A movie and museum about the history of the medical doctors that fly to transport people to the hospital, though entirely irrelevant to our entire trip, was quite different and interesting and has popped up periodically since then.

 

After our education on pilot doctors, we soon continued on to an old mine. Broken Hill was historically a miner’s town, built solely for the convenience of the people working in the mines living nearby their work. It explains why we drove for hours through nothing but empty fields before stumbling on a town surrounded by no other form of life for miles upon miles. At the mine we were given the history lesson before our group suited up and traveled down into the cool, damp, dark mine where we traveled deep into the earth with flashlights strapped to our helmets. I enjoyed this new, fun and very unusual experience, especially for seeing my friends in this odd environment, and at the very least it gave everyone some hilarious pictures to walk away with.

After leaving the mine we trekked up the trail of a big hill to see the aboriginal rock formations at the peak and watch the sun set over the valleys while listening to music, drinking wine, and alternating between talking and sitting peacefully in silence. Nothing but miles of green hills dotted with trees and shrubbery laid before us and the warm syrupy-colored haze fell over the landscape perfectly. It was picturesque and serene and the connection with the magnificence of nature and the relaxation that ensues was exactly what everyone needed after our long day. On the walk back down the trail, one girl commented on the flies being pretty bad. Our teacher, sporting a fly net, snorted, “This is nothing.”

The next day we were taken to the highest point in Broken Hill – a huge mound created completely from mine rubbish where there is a memorial constructed for the miners that have died throughout the years. It was beautifully, thoughtfully and symbolically designed which surprised me a little to find such an elaborate memorial in such a small, remote town. The memorial progressively got smaller as you walked through it to represent the actual structure of the mines and incorporated wooden planks which would hold up the tunnels of the mine. The platform on which the tribute is built is in the shape of a cross. The memorial is very solemn and thoughtful, as it has listed every person that died in the Broken Hill mines, the youngest being only 12-years-old. It also details how every miner died which varied anywhere from electrocution to diseases caused by the mines to being crushed to death.

Following the memorial, we were then lucky enough to complete a bucket list activity of mine: we rode camels! It was comical yet a little insulting to hear the loud belts of grumbles and moans that sounded like straight complaining filtering from the mouth of every camel as they lifted us so much higher into the air than you’d ever expect. I’m not quite sure how camels were ever used as a form of transportation because it is an extremely bumping and full-body jostling experience. It was during our camel rides that we first began to notice the serious pick up in the previously noted fly situation.

            

   Rob, for some reason, took us to see an   aboriginal sheep shearing after our camel rides. I was interested since I had never seen anything like it and also because a local boy approached us in Broken Hill’s one watering hole solely to tell us his kiwi cousin “holds the world record for sheep shearing – 850 in one hour.” However, after approximately five minutes, I was one of about 15 people that left in tears from the traumatizing and brutal sheep shearing. I became a vegetarian moments later. Probably equally as upsetting as witnessing a sheep hop three fences to escape while his buddy is bleeding out and being dragged around by his hind legs, though, was the fact that Rob wasn’t kidding; the flies the night before really weren’t anything.

I don’t think I have ever felt more tormented in my entire life than when we started our trek through a swampy path to some mystery surprise destination. From head to toe every single one of us was covered in flies constantly. We all carried branches, smacking them on either sides of our neck in a continuous rhythm to try and keep the flies away from our faces. It was something you’ve seen at some point in a documentary on tribes in developing countries or maybe even on Survivor. These flies were not content with landing on your shirt, no; they felt the need to fly into your eyes, nose, mouth, and most annoyingly, your ears. You could feel them running all over your legs and arms at any given moment like a long hair attached to a limb you can’t quite find but you can feel its constant presence.

 

By the end of our walk, no one was speaking. It was ninety degrees and I felt like the flies had become some sick form of torture. We were all expecting this long walk to open up to some huge beautiful waterfall or something that made our endured agony worthwhile but instead, the grand finale was half of a stone wall. I wanted to punch someone, especially looking at our teacher grinning from behind his fly net. Why wasn’t a fly net on the “recommended things to pack” list he provided us with?

The worst part about our swamp walk was knowing we had to turn around and do it all over again. Once we exited our swamp excursion, we were then pointed up a huge hill – no, more like a small mountain – to where we were promised the most unbelievable sunset of our lives. As we marched through thigh-high dead grass towards our uphill climb, we never once halted our branch swatting. If you continued the motion you could keep the flies away from your face enough. Rob, who was sitting this round out in the air conditioned dining area at the base, shouted after us to make sure we keep a constant eye out for any snakes because they would be Eastern Brown Snakes, the second most deadliest snake in the world, and we should do nothing but run if we see one. Thank you for your words of wisdom, Rob, see you in a few.

With the fly prevention technique working relatively well and no sightings of lethal snakes, everything was finally beginning to look up. Suddenly, however, there was the sound of tumbling rocks and a thud behind me followed by a string of swearing. I looked back to see Mase on the ground clutching her shin. My EMT training completely took over as I hurried over to her to investigate her injuries. Mase was already in tears and I grimaced when I saw the very deep gash in her shin. I called over to Casey and Kathleen to go run and grab the other chaperone, Dave, because we were in need of first aid.

I didn’t want to scare Mase so I kept telling her that it was totally fine, but I was pretty sure I could see bone. Someone call the Royal Flying Doctors, this was a serious wound and I was fairly certain Mase was in need of stitches. I continued keeping calm and telling Mase it was okay and wasn’t that bad at all. And maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad if Dave was certified in first aid, or possibly even just common sense, but he had experience in neither of these areas evidently and handed me one finger band-aid. The worst and most disturbing part of the injury was the fact that the flies immediately swarmed to the blood like a dead body. I needed multiple hands acting as a fan around Mase’s wound while I cleaned the cut and made a makeshift bandage from what our first aid kit had to offer. If anyone stopped fanning the wound at any point, it was instantly filled with one straight sheet of flies. This aside, our impromptu mountain hospital session was a success and would do until we returned back to the base.

Our mini crisis had been diverted just in time to see a truly amazing sunset. It was nothing less than remarkable and easily captured first place in most extraordinary sunset I’ve ever seen. We could look down the mountain over a wide range of what everyone has always imagined the outback to look like. The sky was on fire with a golden mix of oranges, yellows and reds which was casted all over the mountain, the valley below and on each of us. Suddenly the flies, cockroaches, heat, and battle scars seemed petty and small and the splendor of the deep, dirty outback unleashed its fullest potential of natural beauty.

We spent the remainder of the night huddled around a campfire and gazing up at the most stars I’ve ever seen in my entire life. In the morning we again partook in a bucket list activity and spent the day in the desert, but the newly uplifted tone had been set for the remainder of the trip. We left the outback, hopefully forever, but we will always look back and laugh at the progression of seemingly disastrous circumstances to the deeper appreciation of the natural essence of Australia and we’ll know it was nothing short of an experience.

The Bittersweet Return of Dorm Life

I remember being a freshman at Loyola, living with a roommate in Hammerman, one of Loyola’s four dormitory-style housing. When you’re living with thirty girls in one hall, you become insta-friends and you develop an oddly close bond you can’t fully explain. Freshman year was filled with excitement and new experiences and was one of the most fun and best years of my life. I made lifelong best friends, ate a hot pocket just about every day, showered with flip flops on, never once used the kitchen on the first floor, slept in a bunk bed, was sexiled, snuck alcohol into our room in backpacks and water bottles, was woken up at two in the morning several times by fire drills and found it nearly impossible to study since there was always something to do and someone to talk to.

Although I reflect on my days as a “Hammerman Hunny” with nostalgia, I’ve always said that since I’ve upgraded to a more normal, apartment lifestyle, I could never go back to living like that. That is, of course, until I wheeled my two suitcases into my coffin of a new home in the Monash dorm, Howitt Hall.

My cage came equipped with putty brick walls that looked so cold and bare, a two-by-four ground space carpeted by a lovely speckled carpet embellished with stains, a decent sized closet, a nice desk, your standard twin size bed, and a big window overlooking the most scenic dumpster in the parking lot. I shuddered as I looked at my twenty-year-old wool comforter that looked like a lice breeding ground. There are nineteen of us on every floor; several are international students, some are RAs and senior residents, and the rest are freshmen. Being 21-years-old this has been especially odd to me that one of my neighbors is only 17, and that I’m actually older than my RA. By the first night in Howitt, I learned that my next-door-neighbor, Sammy, is a freshman from England who luckily got placed in a huge senior resident room. This obviously translated to mean it would be the pregame room for every freshman in our entire building. Immediately I knew I would not be getting much sleep or studying accomplished.

Sammy’s room has settled down since we first moved in, but I’ve become good friends with Sammy and several of the Australian freshmen. Australian freshmen don’t seem like the freshmen to which we’ve grown accustomed, though. The typical American freshman is almost always pretty wild and lives up their new sense of freedom to the fullest. They often embarrass themselves pretty regularly by not knowing where they are, acting foolish when they go out, drinking like the world supply of alcohol is running out, and just being pretty obnoxious since they’re used to being a top dog senior in high school. That might all sound a bit harsh, but I can say these things because I am not an exception by any means. I often cringe by my immature behavior and actions that came along with learning how to be a college student. Maybe it’s due to the Australian drinking age being 18, so the kids here are already used to being able to go to bars. Or perhaps it’s the fact that many Australians go to boarding school for high school. Either way, it never even crosses my mind that the Australians I spend a lot of my time with are three-year-younger freshmen and often I find myself thinking that a lot of them are much more mature and responsible than I am.

One main difference I’ve found about Australian freshmen dorm life is everyone makes super fancy meals. They all form cooking groups in which a different person cooks for everyone in the group one night of the week. I walk in to the kitchen to toast my bread to make a PB&J, which they find repulsive, and they’re literally cooking lamb. I don’t think I cooked anything that wasn’t frozen and microwave ready when I was a freshman and I know I’m not the minority in this aspect.

One thing I love about staying in the halls is the sense of community and pride. Every Sunday night Howitt has “supper” which means everyone comes downstairs at 9:00pm for different kinds of dessert and ice cream. Wednesday nights everyone comes downstairs at 8:00pm for hot chocolate, coffee and tea. The halls will also host several events such as dinners, barbeques, themed parties and boat cruises for that hall only. At Loyola they isolate the freshmen and hold freshmen only events, whereas at Monash it’s more a sense of inner-hall isolation. The halls compete daily against each other in just about every sport you can think of. Netball is especially big. I still haven’t really figured this sport out yet but it looks like basketball with a big cone instead of a net and everyone files out of the halls to either be a spectator or to play and represent their hall.

Of course with the positives of being thrown back into dorm life also comes the negatives. It is quite possible that the walls of Howitt are actually constructed out of paper and air which means you hear every conversation, argument, alarm, and phone ringing within a fifty foot radius. The boy next door to me blares jazz music at all hours of the day and practices his clarinet regularly. One night someone knocked on Sammy’s door every five minutes between the hours of 2:00am-3:30am. Not only was I extremely freaked out, I also was subjected to the nightly interruptions I was once accustomed to as a freshman. In addition, every floor has a washer and dryer, however, your clothes need to be run through the dryer at least three times, meaning that doing your laundry is an all day event. And if one more person takes my damp clothes out of the dryer we're going to have some hall drama. Dorms universally always have the handful of horrible human beings that are food thieves that will scavenge in the communal fridge, and Howitt is no exception to this. I also don’t think I’ll ever become accustomed to a boy walking out of the shower in a towel while I’m brushing my teeth in our co-ed bathroom.

Another thing you learn pretty quickly living in dorms is to always lock your door at night. One late night my friend Casey and I were sitting in the study trying to finish up some work when a girl, we later found out to be named Pauline, came down and told us a naked drunk girl had just climbed into bed with her. When Casey and I went upstairs to try to help the situation this naked out of control wildebeest wrapped in Pauline’s comforter popped out and came barreling down the hall at us before disappearing with impressive speed up the stairs. Another girl had a drunk boy come into her room solely to relieve himself on her radiator. And yet another boy woke up to a drunk boy standing over him. Oh, the exciting tales of dorm life.

All in all I have become quite fond of my little closet of a room. As long as I keep it clean and in order, it’s really all the space I’d ever need. Although there are tiny annoyances, interruptions and distractions, they usually just add to the experience and make good stories. It has helped me to make friends and branch out, feel the sense of community and belonging that I need being so far from home and it really brings me back to the days of being young, stupid and free.