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.

Not That

In light of my most recent post about the food I've found to enjoy in Australia, I thought it might be important to include those foods that are in fact awful. Since I've learned what I do really like to eat here, it seems to only be fair to mention what I’d skip altogether if I could do it over. Consider it my own personal warning.

1. Fairy bread – I still haven't been able to fully understand what it is about bread, not even toast, being heavily buttered then covered in rainbow sprinkles, also known as “100’s and 1,000’s,” that's supposed to seem enticing, but the Australians are crazy about it.

2. Vegemite – extremely salty, dark brown, yeast extract on my toast for breakfast? No thanks.

3. American Candy Bars – they all seem just a little off. The Twix, for instance, tastes like it's been left over since Halloween.

4. Chicken from Asian restaurants – I am going to start with the disclaimer that I am VERY picky when it comes to chicken, but any chicken dish I’ve gotten from an Asian style restaurant here I have ended up skipping the chicken part entirely. I think it may be more customary to use other parts of the chicken that we aren’t used to eating, but it almost always appears grayish in color with a funny, unpleasant taste.

5. Licorice sticks – they take a long chewy licorice type candy and stuff it with an uncomplimentary chewier taffy that you might mistake for bubblegum at first. They’re way too sweet and weird tasting and will just leave you with an upset stomach.

6. Deep fried shells of shellfish – we peel the shells off of shrimp for a reason, why would I want to eat it once it’s battered and deep-fried?

All of that being said, there's a couple things the jury’s still out on:

1. The sushi – the sushi here is served hotdog style in one long roll. One thing I found particularly odd is that the tuna rolls have cooked tuna fish in them and you will also find sushi rolls with different ingredients than we’re used to in the US such as teriyaki chicken. I actually really like these different variations they have, however, the seaweed is wrapped on the outside, so I usually take that part off. This makes an absolute mess out of the sushi, but I find it makes it taste a great deal better.

2. The pizza – it’s not awful, but it’s not particularly good generally. What I do appreciate is the wide variety of toppings available.

3. Kangaroo - if prepared correctly it can be pretty good. It’s a little chewy and can have a funny aftertaste, but not bad. I first encountered kangaroo at a welcome party for the international students where it was mass prepared on skewers and it tasted like human flesh. Beware the preparation, it's crucial.

4. Meat Pies – Expect to experience third degree burns in your mouth from the liquid based filler of these pies being fully trapped within a flakey crust and heating up to a molten lava. Twenty minutes after getting the meat pie when it has finally reached a semi-safe eating temperature, they can be decently good, but whether or not it’s worth the price of a peeling mouth, I’m not so sure.

I should also mention there are a couple things that differ pretty greatly than what we have in the US, so here are some things to look out for:

1. The coffee – it’s not like ours. If you want just regular coffee you have to specify just straight black coffee, which is referred to as a “long black.” If you just order a coffee you’re going to get it made pretty much half coffee, half cream and a lot of sugar. I’ve also completely given up on trying to order an iced coffee. The first time I got a hot coffee with two ice cubes in it and the second time I got a coffee with ice cream in it. Also, the coffee is so much stronger than ours, so the little Dixie cups that are the smalls are that tiny for good reason.

2. Eggs and Milk NOT in the refrigerated section – It’s totally okay! When I first saw milk and eggs casually placed on racks in the cereal aisle I thought someone was definitely getting fired later that day. They have a very highly pasteurized milk that can last up to nine months without refrigeration, but must be drank within seven days after opening. As for the eggs, my Australian friend Jordi made a very good point to me: when a hen lays an egg, it’s not cold. When the eggs are being transported, they’re not kept cold. They’re only refrigerated once they get to our supermarkets – so it’s completely fine and normal.

Eat This

“You’re going to Melbourne? Good luck with the food.” This was a phrase I had gotten used to hearing after people would find out I was going to Australia. Being the food lover that I am, this phrase worried me a little bit, but I figured I would be fine and that I’m most likely less picky than them.

I like to think of myself as an adventurous eater, and will never be the person at dinner saying the chicken was too dry, or the green beans were mushy. It’s not that I have low standards for food; I just rarely have a bad meal. Since I’ve gotten to Australia, however… I’ve had my share of pretty bad meals. One particularly traumatizing experience involved some sort of fried rice at the mall and the almost immediate projectile vomiting that occurred in the public restroom moments later. I will say though, it’s not all bad. At all. I think there’s a huge exaggeration when people complain about the food and it’s more the person’s lack of effort to be open-minded and recognize that things are going to be different here. It’s more a matter of figuring out what’s good, what you like and what to look for. That being said, here’s a list of foods you have to try while in Australia:

1. Tim Tams and other Non-American candy bars - Tim Tams are Australia’s gift to Earth. It’s a chocolate covered graham cracker-like biscuit and comes in different flavors such as caramel filled, mint, white chocolate and double chocolate coated. Australians like to bite off the ends and drink hot drinks through them and then eat the Tim Tams. I’ve heard you simply haven’t lived until you’ve tried eating Tim Tams in this manner. Cadbury chocolate is as prominent here as Hershey’s is in the US and it’s divine. I’m a Hershey’s girl at heart, but Cadbury chocolate is a fair competitor.

2. Toasties - Australians absolutely love grilled cheese type sandwiches. They have these flat metal sandwich presses here called toasty makers and they use them to make sandwiches such as grilled ham and cheese. Every one I’ve tried has been awesome.

3. BBQ food – They absolutely love barbequing here. I have free lunch from barbeques on the quad multiple times a week. When the US has barbeques, we’re expecting hotdogs and hamburgers, but the standard here is sausages served on a piece of white bread. I’ve never been a sausage person, but they’re really good here. And the free factor probably helps, too.

4. Wedges – These deep freid half mooned French fries are great absolutely everywhere you find them. They’re often served with sweet chili sauce and sour cream, which when mixed together is perfect, a mayonnaise based sauce called aioli, or, my favorite, “wedgachos” style which has salsa, melted cheese and sour cream on top.

5. Anything with pumpkin in it – If there is something Australia does right, it’s pumpkin. It’s not an ingredient we frequently find in our foods in the US, but it’s very common here especially paired with feta cheese, spinach and pine nuts. I’ve seen these ingredients thrown together on pizza, on fish burgers, and the best pasta I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.

6. Fish and chips – Stands and restaurants specializing in battered and deep fried barramundi, similar to cod in the US, with a side of “chips” aka French fries can be found every couple of blocks in Australia. I don’t know how hard it is to get deep fried anything wrong, however, it’s something you have to try at least once while here. Everyone has loved it.

7. Potatoes on a stick - I don’t know what the real name of these things are, but the best way I can explain this is taking a potato, cutting it into a spiral, putting it on a skewer, deep frying it then seasoning it with cheddar cheese or perri-perri. I can only imagine how awful these artery cloggers are for you, but they’re so worth it.

8. Maccahs aka McDonald’s – I know, I KNOW. We come all this way just to eat an awful American chain of fast food? I don’t eat it at home but it’s SO good here. Apparently the reason for this is because they use fresh Australian beef and a law just passed that requires them to cook your food after you have ordered. Stop judging me.

I must say I have found that a lot of the food you will find in Australia is pretty bad for you. It might explain why Australia has surpassed the US and now holds the gleaming title of fattest nation in the world. You will find a deep fried theme almost everywhere, but a lot of these devilish foods have to be tried at least once. Living in Australia, just like anywhere, you quickly learn what you like and don’t like, and once you’ve figured it out, the foods pretty good after all.