Eamon Sullivan
Swimmer
D.O.B. August 30, 1985
Single (?)
Thursday, March 29, 2007
March 30
Today is Friday- finally! It's been a bit of a long week, between getting on the wrong train and going an hour out of my way, to almost fainting in Anatomy Lab (not because the cadavers were disturbing, just so you know) to going out with Random #2 and Random #4, and the TOGA PARTY on Wednesday night... I think I will take the weekend to sleep. Turn my phone off and sit in front of the TV eating Mackers and drinking Corona. Maybe not at the same time. Do you suppose a cheeseburger, fries, etc would taste good with beer?
But, i think i am done drinking for a while. The toga party got a bit insane, and although I did behave myself, the night could have very easily hit out of control status. I mean, a bunch of people in sheets drinking res punch (basically Jungle Juice)... it's a recipe for disaster. I think Con was actually dancing on the pool table at one point, and what's worse, I almost got up there with him. Yes, I think i'd best lay off the sauce!
AUSTRALIANISMS:
"Reckon"- used an mazing amount. as in "I reckon it'll be okay if..." or "I reckon I should..."
sunnies- sunglasses
swimmers- swimming suit
fireies- firefighters
"Good on ya"- NOT as in "That looks good on ya". Actually, I'm not sure what this means...
No big plans for this weekend. Random #4 wants to go out tonight, and a group is going to the local club, 209, which i have yet to go to. Random #1 wants to get together as well, but I don't know if I can be bothered to take the train all the way to Epping to see him. I won't make him come to C'town, as it is the ghetto and totally not okay to visit.
Campbelltown is actually one of the poorer Sydney suburbs, with a fairly high crime rate and increasing rates of drug use and teen pregnancy. By the way, they did not put this in the brochure for the school.
Right. I have to go do research for a group project that's due in two weeks. Best get crackin' if I'm planning on passing! Good on ya, mate! (This is how they use this phrase. Sometimes. Apparently, it's appropriate in a variety of situations, but no clear rules have been established for its use.)
But, i think i am done drinking for a while. The toga party got a bit insane, and although I did behave myself, the night could have very easily hit out of control status. I mean, a bunch of people in sheets drinking res punch (basically Jungle Juice)... it's a recipe for disaster. I think Con was actually dancing on the pool table at one point, and what's worse, I almost got up there with him. Yes, I think i'd best lay off the sauce!
AUSTRALIANISMS:
"Reckon"- used an mazing amount. as in "I reckon it'll be okay if..." or "I reckon I should..."
sunnies- sunglasses
swimmers- swimming suit
fireies- firefighters
"Good on ya"- NOT as in "That looks good on ya". Actually, I'm not sure what this means...
No big plans for this weekend. Random #4 wants to go out tonight, and a group is going to the local club, 209, which i have yet to go to. Random #1 wants to get together as well, but I don't know if I can be bothered to take the train all the way to Epping to see him. I won't make him come to C'town, as it is the ghetto and totally not okay to visit.
Campbelltown is actually one of the poorer Sydney suburbs, with a fairly high crime rate and increasing rates of drug use and teen pregnancy. By the way, they did not put this in the brochure for the school.
Right. I have to go do research for a group project that's due in two weeks. Best get crackin' if I'm planning on passing! Good on ya, mate! (This is how they use this phrase. Sometimes. Apparently, it's appropriate in a variety of situations, but no clear rules have been established for its use.)
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Voting
Saturday was voting day. In Australia, elections are always held on weekends to ensure people do not have to take time off of work to vote. Voting is also compulsory; should an individual decide not to vote, they are fined massive amounts; voting is also preferential.
I am not entirely sure how I feel about this system of voting. You have to vote, which ensures you get a fair number of people who have no clue about anything casting votes. It also ensures that many people will become educated on important issues in order to ensure that they are educated voters.
Preferential voting is also a different concept. On the ballot, you number the candidates from one to five (let's say there are five) in order of preference. It is unclear how come this is form of voting was adopted over a majority or straight vote, or over a system like the one in place in America.
Note:
Smear campaigns are everywhere, not just the United States. Massive amounts of money are spent telling you who NOT to vote for.
I am not entirely sure how I feel about this system of voting. You have to vote, which ensures you get a fair number of people who have no clue about anything casting votes. It also ensures that many people will become educated on important issues in order to ensure that they are educated voters.
Preferential voting is also a different concept. On the ballot, you number the candidates from one to five (let's say there are five) in order of preference. It is unclear how come this is form of voting was adopted over a majority or straight vote, or over a system like the one in place in America.
Note:
Smear campaigns are everywhere, not just the United States. Massive amounts of money are spent telling you who NOT to vote for.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Last Weekend- Circumstances
Last weekend I went into the city with a bunch of internationals. This is the nice way of saying I was pretty much the only one whose first language is English, and the only one with a rough idea around the city. I say "rough" because anyone who knows me knows my sense of direction is fairly non-existant. My Internal GPS is permanently disabled. However, my incompitency is not the point of this story.
My friends and I decided to head to a German pub in Sydney called the Lauenbrau, which is quite popular and located just of Circular Quay in an area of town called the Rocks. The Rocks, by the way, is a fabulous historical district popular with tourists; it also has a fun street market on Saturdays.
I hit the pre-drinks fairly heavy because it is heaps expensive to buy alcohol when you go out in the city. It's just common sense that you get a bit drunk before you leave, then buy only enough to keep you riding the buzz. In any case, we arrived at the Lauenbrau safely and all of us together.
Once there, I recieved a text from Random #1 seeing if I was out that night. Naturally, I replied immediately with an invitiation to meet us at the German pub, if he could. He did, much to my delight. Being at the bar with a guy not only ensures you will not be hit on by creepers, but allows for the possiblity that he will buy you drinks and you will spend a minimal amount of money. God, I know that makes me sound like such a bad person, but really, I'm not! Try to see things from my perspective. I really was happy to see Random #1; he's super sweet and very fun to be around, if a bit on the shy side.
It wasn't very late when everyone started dancing, and because I now love to dance(!), we joined in. Shortly thereafter, I noticed my friends were nowhere to be found. Hmmm.... it was a bit sus, seeing as I'd met up with a guy at the bar and my mates disappeared. I'm sure Random #1 was a bit confused by this turn of events. See, if I had been him, i would have thought this girl (me) was an American trying to take advantage of him, which I totally was not. I mean, look at it from this perspective. Guy mets girl at bar. Guy buys girl drinks. Guy doesn't necessarily expect anything. Guy is aware girl lives about an hour away and will not be going home if she doesn't leave by the time the trains stop running. Girl's friends disappear.... you see where I'm going?
I don't know. Maybe he just thought it was his lucky night. But it wasn't. But now I'm gettin gahead of myself.
I called my friends amd yup, they'd left and were on the train. I guess I couldn't be too mad. They were very drunk and drunk people do stupid things all the time. Basically, they had gone to Mackers (McDonald's) and then forgotten I wasn't there, and caught a train home. Impressive, huh? Nice friends...
Random #1 was incredibly nice about it. I was all set to just catch the Night Rider home, but he wasn't comfortable letting me, a single, slightly intox girl ride alone. And he certainly didn't want to ride with me and then back to the city so....
I ended up back at his house. I want everyone to know I NEVER would have done this had I not be completely comfortable with him. HE ASSURED ME SHOUDL I BECOME UNCOMFORTABLE, HE WOULD PAY FOR A CAB TO TAKE ME HOME. For those of you who do not take cabs on a regular basis, that's about $150. And he assured me there was nothing implied.
Random #1 was a perfect gentleman. I slept, woke up in the morning and he and his flatmate put me on a train back to Campbelltown. About a million hours later, I finally arrived back on campus. Just in time to sleep for the rest of the day and refuse to go out that night.
So that's Crazy Night #2. This country is great for that! Hopefully an experience I won't repeat. Ever.
My friends and I decided to head to a German pub in Sydney called the Lauenbrau, which is quite popular and located just of Circular Quay in an area of town called the Rocks. The Rocks, by the way, is a fabulous historical district popular with tourists; it also has a fun street market on Saturdays.
I hit the pre-drinks fairly heavy because it is heaps expensive to buy alcohol when you go out in the city. It's just common sense that you get a bit drunk before you leave, then buy only enough to keep you riding the buzz. In any case, we arrived at the Lauenbrau safely and all of us together.
Once there, I recieved a text from Random #1 seeing if I was out that night. Naturally, I replied immediately with an invitiation to meet us at the German pub, if he could. He did, much to my delight. Being at the bar with a guy not only ensures you will not be hit on by creepers, but allows for the possiblity that he will buy you drinks and you will spend a minimal amount of money. God, I know that makes me sound like such a bad person, but really, I'm not! Try to see things from my perspective. I really was happy to see Random #1; he's super sweet and very fun to be around, if a bit on the shy side.
It wasn't very late when everyone started dancing, and because I now love to dance(!), we joined in. Shortly thereafter, I noticed my friends were nowhere to be found. Hmmm.... it was a bit sus, seeing as I'd met up with a guy at the bar and my mates disappeared. I'm sure Random #1 was a bit confused by this turn of events. See, if I had been him, i would have thought this girl (me) was an American trying to take advantage of him, which I totally was not. I mean, look at it from this perspective. Guy mets girl at bar. Guy buys girl drinks. Guy doesn't necessarily expect anything. Guy is aware girl lives about an hour away and will not be going home if she doesn't leave by the time the trains stop running. Girl's friends disappear.... you see where I'm going?
I don't know. Maybe he just thought it was his lucky night. But it wasn't. But now I'm gettin gahead of myself.
I called my friends amd yup, they'd left and were on the train. I guess I couldn't be too mad. They were very drunk and drunk people do stupid things all the time. Basically, they had gone to Mackers (McDonald's) and then forgotten I wasn't there, and caught a train home. Impressive, huh? Nice friends...
Random #1 was incredibly nice about it. I was all set to just catch the Night Rider home, but he wasn't comfortable letting me, a single, slightly intox girl ride alone. And he certainly didn't want to ride with me and then back to the city so....
I ended up back at his house. I want everyone to know I NEVER would have done this had I not be completely comfortable with him. HE ASSURED ME SHOUDL I BECOME UNCOMFORTABLE, HE WOULD PAY FOR A CAB TO TAKE ME HOME. For those of you who do not take cabs on a regular basis, that's about $150. And he assured me there was nothing implied.
Random #1 was a perfect gentleman. I slept, woke up in the morning and he and his flatmate put me on a train back to Campbelltown. About a million hours later, I finally arrived back on campus. Just in time to sleep for the rest of the day and refuse to go out that night.
So that's Crazy Night #2. This country is great for that! Hopefully an experience I won't repeat. Ever.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Aussie Slang
Aussies do not speak English.
Seriously. The slang is impossible. The language is so convaluted it's difficult to determine (especially if there has been any alcohol involved) if they are indeed speaking, or just making noises in the back of their throats. Incidentally, sometimes they ARE just making noises, but that usually means they are about to spew, so get out of the way!
Which brings me to my first point of Australian slang:
Spew- does not always mean "throw up". Gross things, things that are a little unpleasant, or anything you might not really want to do is "spewing'. For example: "You have to go to class today? Spewing."
FAIR DINKUM- seriously. Example: Someone tells a totally outrageous story, like they wrestled a croc in downtown sydney to save a group of nuns. You may reply "Fair dinkum?" in order to determine the truth of the story.
NO WORRIES- self-explanatory, I hope! i was just delighted to find out they actualy use this phrase!
HOOKING UP:
NOT the same as "hooking up" in the USA!!! Here, hooking up simply means kissing. PICKING UP is something you want to avoid, as it means here what hooking up means in the US. If that doesn't make sense, sorry!
The difference between the two was very confusing, and still is. It's a bit of a shock to hear people casually ask each other, "So did you hook up?" or to have them state "I saw you hooking up last night." Imagine, if you can, the number of awkward situations that can arise from misunderstanding "hooking up"
There are about a million more slang words and phrasess, but because I set out to write them down, I can no longer remember them! Watch for translations in the future.
I'm off to the library to do a bit of uni work. (and I'm not just saying that! I'm really going!)
So....
Take it easy!
Seriously. The slang is impossible. The language is so convaluted it's difficult to determine (especially if there has been any alcohol involved) if they are indeed speaking, or just making noises in the back of their throats. Incidentally, sometimes they ARE just making noises, but that usually means they are about to spew, so get out of the way!
Which brings me to my first point of Australian slang:
Spew- does not always mean "throw up". Gross things, things that are a little unpleasant, or anything you might not really want to do is "spewing'. For example: "You have to go to class today? Spewing."
FAIR DINKUM- seriously. Example: Someone tells a totally outrageous story, like they wrestled a croc in downtown sydney to save a group of nuns. You may reply "Fair dinkum?" in order to determine the truth of the story.
NO WORRIES- self-explanatory, I hope! i was just delighted to find out they actualy use this phrase!
HOOKING UP:
NOT the same as "hooking up" in the USA!!! Here, hooking up simply means kissing. PICKING UP is something you want to avoid, as it means here what hooking up means in the US. If that doesn't make sense, sorry!
The difference between the two was very confusing, and still is. It's a bit of a shock to hear people casually ask each other, "So did you hook up?" or to have them state "I saw you hooking up last night." Imagine, if you can, the number of awkward situations that can arise from misunderstanding "hooking up"
There are about a million more slang words and phrasess, but because I set out to write them down, I can no longer remember them! Watch for translations in the future.
I'm off to the library to do a bit of uni work. (and I'm not just saying that! I'm really going!)
So....
Take it easy!
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Body Image
March 19
The weather is getting colder, but it is still very much summer. I appreciate the days when I wake up and the sun is shining. There is a giant hole in the ozone directly over Sydney/Australia and although Aussies don’t really take pride in that fact, they do acknowledge it and are very conscious of global warming. In fact, if there’s one thing they love to talk about, it’s the weather. A simple comment like “Hot today” can evolve into an hour long discussion on the drought, global warming, Australian agriculture, and back to the unseasonably warm weather. If it should rain, it is an occurrence that can- and will- be talked about for weeks. Freak thunderstorms creating flash floods are a favorite topic, especially among locals, and the news always includes some water conservation tip, as well as a special government report on the current water situation (which apparently changes daily, if not hourly.)
My day today was spent largely in Uni. I had a tutorial/lecture that lasted three hours, then a two hour anatomy lab. I love anatomy, mostly because it’s so amazing. I look at the human body and think, “How could this have happened by chance?” It’s a good reminder that there’s something bigger than I am out there.
Last night I went on a date. Here’s the interesting thing about Aussie guys, and perhaps Aussie social acceptance as well. Back home, I am not considered to be particularly attractive; at least I have never felt particularly attractive or received a lot of male attention. In America, women are made to feel like they have to fit into a certain body type category, that skinny and almost painfully thin is the “right” way to look. I never realized how much this image has affected my self-image, as well as my perception of others until I arrived in Australia. Here, they are more accepting of varying body types. It is not only the “hot” girls who receive attention. Women are not objectified in the same way. Basically, here I am beautiful. I can finally really believe that about myself.
And receiving attention from guys is a little weird. I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. I mean, I’m enjoying, that’s for sure, but I’m never quite sure how it fits into who I am. I have always been the girl who gets put into “friends category.” Who is nice enough, but not dateable, and perhaps that’s my own fault. But the fact remains, I’ve gained a bit of confidence. I like being looked at by guys. I’m just not sure how to meld the half of me who avoided relationships, men, dating, and romance together with the girl who likes to drink, dance, flirt, and (possibly) date.
So last night’s date with Random #2 was really good. He’s an incredibly sweet guy, entirely too charming for his own good. I really enjoyed myself. I think I finally figured out that I can be myself, and if he/she/it doesn’t like me, it’s really not the end of the world. I can choose who I want my friends to be. I can choose who I hang out with. I don’t have to try to please everyone all the time. And, for God’s sake, I do NOT always have to be a social butterfly, happy, flitting, whatever. I can sit in my room and hate the world if I freaking want to! But that might be another story.
So the conflict remains between two Randoms. Random #1 is a 26 yr. old financial analyst who is incredibly sweet and respectful. Random #2 is about my age, incredibly attractive and a 2nd year carpenter. Everything in me says stick with the Financial analyst, but… I’m not going to lie. Random #2 and I have way more chemistry than Random #1 and I. (Someone remind me to tell the story of being left in the city by my mates and Random #1 taking care of me.) I think Random #1 knows there might not be a lot there, which is a bit disappointing for both of us. I don’t know. I’m probably just reading too much into this, as I always do!
Well, it’s a Tuesday night and Chaz’s birthday, so, naturally, I have to go help her celebrate. In Australia, you can drink when you are 18, so it’s a huge party night; twenty-one is the other big party. I think the celebrating of the 21st birthday is evidence that American culture is pervasive. I could talk for hours on that, so I’d best just not get started.
Love, Larissa
The weather is getting colder, but it is still very much summer. I appreciate the days when I wake up and the sun is shining. There is a giant hole in the ozone directly over Sydney/Australia and although Aussies don’t really take pride in that fact, they do acknowledge it and are very conscious of global warming. In fact, if there’s one thing they love to talk about, it’s the weather. A simple comment like “Hot today” can evolve into an hour long discussion on the drought, global warming, Australian agriculture, and back to the unseasonably warm weather. If it should rain, it is an occurrence that can- and will- be talked about for weeks. Freak thunderstorms creating flash floods are a favorite topic, especially among locals, and the news always includes some water conservation tip, as well as a special government report on the current water situation (which apparently changes daily, if not hourly.)
My day today was spent largely in Uni. I had a tutorial/lecture that lasted three hours, then a two hour anatomy lab. I love anatomy, mostly because it’s so amazing. I look at the human body and think, “How could this have happened by chance?” It’s a good reminder that there’s something bigger than I am out there.
Last night I went on a date. Here’s the interesting thing about Aussie guys, and perhaps Aussie social acceptance as well. Back home, I am not considered to be particularly attractive; at least I have never felt particularly attractive or received a lot of male attention. In America, women are made to feel like they have to fit into a certain body type category, that skinny and almost painfully thin is the “right” way to look. I never realized how much this image has affected my self-image, as well as my perception of others until I arrived in Australia. Here, they are more accepting of varying body types. It is not only the “hot” girls who receive attention. Women are not objectified in the same way. Basically, here I am beautiful. I can finally really believe that about myself.
And receiving attention from guys is a little weird. I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. I mean, I’m enjoying, that’s for sure, but I’m never quite sure how it fits into who I am. I have always been the girl who gets put into “friends category.” Who is nice enough, but not dateable, and perhaps that’s my own fault. But the fact remains, I’ve gained a bit of confidence. I like being looked at by guys. I’m just not sure how to meld the half of me who avoided relationships, men, dating, and romance together with the girl who likes to drink, dance, flirt, and (possibly) date.
So last night’s date with Random #2 was really good. He’s an incredibly sweet guy, entirely too charming for his own good. I really enjoyed myself. I think I finally figured out that I can be myself, and if he/she/it doesn’t like me, it’s really not the end of the world. I can choose who I want my friends to be. I can choose who I hang out with. I don’t have to try to please everyone all the time. And, for God’s sake, I do NOT always have to be a social butterfly, happy, flitting, whatever. I can sit in my room and hate the world if I freaking want to! But that might be another story.
So the conflict remains between two Randoms. Random #1 is a 26 yr. old financial analyst who is incredibly sweet and respectful. Random #2 is about my age, incredibly attractive and a 2nd year carpenter. Everything in me says stick with the Financial analyst, but… I’m not going to lie. Random #2 and I have way more chemistry than Random #1 and I. (Someone remind me to tell the story of being left in the city by my mates and Random #1 taking care of me.) I think Random #1 knows there might not be a lot there, which is a bit disappointing for both of us. I don’t know. I’m probably just reading too much into this, as I always do!
Well, it’s a Tuesday night and Chaz’s birthday, so, naturally, I have to go help her celebrate. In Australia, you can drink when you are 18, so it’s a huge party night; twenty-one is the other big party. I think the celebrating of the 21st birthday is evidence that American culture is pervasive. I could talk for hours on that, so I’d best just not get started.
Love, Larissa
Monday, March 19, 2007
Read! One Crazy Night
February 28, 2007
As far as I am concerned, Australia is a land of endless possibility. Here, I can be myself, and accept people will like or dislike me on that basis. At home, that is, in Montana, my actions are still governed by who I was and what I have done previously. Every decision I make is weighed against my past, high school, junior high, and the years preceding and coming after them.
Theoretically, i should feel like I have complete freedom from the person I have been in regards to the community I was living in. Seriously, I was constantly considering my actions in relationship to high school, and what my high school classmates would think of waht I was doing. I wondered if I made a bad decision, would the news get back to my family? Would my high school teachers and friends and classmates find out, and how would that affect my current reputation? For a lot of people, this seems unreasonable. Why should my past so strongly affect the perception of otehrs in regards to myself/ THis, however, was the reality of my life. Some, including myself, would say, Australia is a fresh start. But I find although I have left the community behind, I have brought my past and my character with. I didn't drink in Bozeman because I didn't want to get a reputation as an alcoholic, or do something I was going to regret; in Australia, I drink, but never to the point where I'm going to jeopardize my reputation or compromise my beliefs.
Concerns about my rep and about self control clearly didn't enter into my concious thought for an impacting amount last Friday night. Friday was a planned excursion to Sydney and a club called the Retro Hotel. For sixteen dollars, we rode the bus from Campbelltown to Sydney, entrance into the club, a bar tab, and food. I am very clearly white and very clearly Montanan, which automatically makes me incapable of creating movement even remotely resembling dancing, and therefore formed the hypothesis that if I were slightly inebriated, I might not care as much about my inability to dance. Thus, I determined to drink copious amount of beer very quickly until the bar tab ran out, then ride the buzz for the rest of the night. This plan was executed with ease and I found myself very drunk and dancing to very odd music by eight o' clock at night. By "very odd" music, I mean music that was clearly out-of-date in America, but popular in Australia. The name of the club (The Retro) also apparently gave them license to play old/retro music, including ACDC and Bruce Springstein. although "Jessie's Girl" is clearly one of the greatest songs of all time, it was never meant to be danced to. But there I was, rockin' like a hurricane, in the middle of the dance floor like a mad idiot.
At some point early in the night, I made contact with a UWS Alumni who happened to be at the bar and had heard that a group from UWS was there, and, I don't know, came over to see if there was anyone he knew there or something. Anyway, somehow I ended up talking to him, and then left to do a bit more drunken dancing.
At some point, I found myself on the dance floor with Mystery Man #1, the UWS Alum who had introduced himself earlier as Brett. Brett, despite being white, had some pretty good dance moves, and I ended up dancing with him. I was still very drunk, probably more drunk than I realized, and so when he went to kiss me, I didn't think about it, and just went ahead and kissed him back. Knowing we'd have to leave soon, I took this opportunity to remove myself and him from the dance floor and to talk. This lasted approximately thirty-six seconds until I decided it would probably just be best if we kept dancing, a plan I'm sure would have worked out very nicely had Marley not interrupted.
Marley had been there all night, mostly dancing with Caitlin. Caitlin is my housemate and Marley is fairly infatuated with her. Not that I can blame him. Caitlin is obviously very beautiful and has a great personality to add to it; she is friendly and fun and very interested in other people. Unfortunately for Marley, she is also extremely recently broken up with her boyfriend of three years. Yeah. Bit of an awkard position for all guys involved, and I do mean, all guys. Let's put it this way: The best way to get introduced to every singly guy in the club/room/campus/residence is to have a fabulously good looking roommate. That way, every guy will come up to you , introduce himself, and promptly ask about your roommate. Which automatically delegates you (that is, me) to position of friend or "connection." Ah well
Anyway. Marley comes up to me (and Brett, because he was dancing quite close to me) and says, "Caitlin's really sick, can you come outside?" It was like I became immediately sober. Okay, not immediately, but I did sober up enough to grab Brett's hand (the only indication I was still drunk, like I'd have had the courage to touch him sober?) and follow Marley outside.
Caitlin was sitting to the side of the building, head on her lap, with vomit all around her.
"Caitlin? It's Larissa. Are you okay?" I asked, as I knelt next to her. I knelt in her puke, but I was more concerned about her than what condition my jeans would be in tomorrow morning.
She mumbled, unable to reply in a coherent sentence. Marley hovered behind me and asked, "Do you think someone's spiked her drink?"
I'm pretty sure I rolled my eyes, having not considered it as a possibility, but also because Marley had mentioned this much too loud. Somewhere between the front door and finding Caitlin, I had sobered up an incredibly amount, and realized that although Caitlin couldn't or wouldn't answer me, she could understand everything we were saying. I wanted to be like, "C'mon Marley, would you mind walking away before you freak her out anymore?"
Within seconds, Caitlin had passed out completely. The bodyguards and security of the club were outside with us, and were also concerned someone had spike her drink, or that she'd been taking drugs in combination iwth drinking. The one good thing they did was mention laying her in a recovery position. Having instructed the people surrounding me as to how to do this, we made sure Caitlin was comfortable, and an RA (resident assistant) made the decision to call an ambulance.
While we were waiting for the ambulance, Caitlin's ex-boyfriend walked around the corner. The whole situation quickly gained an aura of "soap opera" as Brent stood there, next to Marley, the old boyfriend versus the possible new one. To make things more complicated, the RA who had phoned the ambulance and would be riding to the hospital was Marley's ex-girlfriend, Angie, who still has feelings for him.
Somewhere in the (slightly drunken) chaos that ensued, I became aware that Brett was still standing outside with me, which was a bit of a shock. I don't know how many guys who had just picked up a girl in a club would stand outside and wait around while she took care of her drunken friend; I'm pretty sure I told him to go back inside and have fun, but he stayed outside. I don't know if I'll actually hear form him again, but a very big part of me, or at least the little part of me that allows myself to consider guys, hopes i do hear from him.
Caitlin didn't spend long in the ER, just long enough to get fluids and regain consciousness. He drink hadn't been spiked; she had just overloaded her system with alcohol. In the meantime, I had spent a few tense hours in the ER with Brett, talking about meaningless things and taking walks. By this time, I was again feeling the effects of the drinks I'd had earlier. Marley and Angie waited together in the waiting room while Brent (Caitlin's ex) went back into the examination room with her.
Brett left at about two a.m. and the rest of us waited until about three and then left, with Caitlin, to catch a ride back to Campbelltown. Downtown Sydney at 3:00 a.m. on a Friday night is not something they put in the travel brochures for a reason. It's not the prettiest aspect of the city. Anyway, we caught the Night Rider (night bus) back to Campbelltown, an experience I hope never to repeat for two reasons: 1) the individuals who ride the Night Rider are not the cream of the crop. There were a few I was suspect to call human. 2) the driver had clearly been on shift too many hours when he started skipping roundabouts in favor of plowing straight through. The bumps kept everyone on the bus awake, but when the jolts are also waking up your driver... it's hard to see them as a good thing.
Friday night was the most eventful and interesting night of my life. Consider the drunken dancing, kissing randoms, love square, ER visit, late-night bus ride the experience of a lifetime and a "Welcome to Australia" I'm not likely to forget.
As far as I am concerned, Australia is a land of endless possibility. Here, I can be myself, and accept people will like or dislike me on that basis. At home, that is, in Montana, my actions are still governed by who I was and what I have done previously. Every decision I make is weighed against my past, high school, junior high, and the years preceding and coming after them.
Theoretically, i should feel like I have complete freedom from the person I have been in regards to the community I was living in. Seriously, I was constantly considering my actions in relationship to high school, and what my high school classmates would think of waht I was doing. I wondered if I made a bad decision, would the news get back to my family? Would my high school teachers and friends and classmates find out, and how would that affect my current reputation? For a lot of people, this seems unreasonable. Why should my past so strongly affect the perception of otehrs in regards to myself/ THis, however, was the reality of my life. Some, including myself, would say, Australia is a fresh start. But I find although I have left the community behind, I have brought my past and my character with. I didn't drink in Bozeman because I didn't want to get a reputation as an alcoholic, or do something I was going to regret; in Australia, I drink, but never to the point where I'm going to jeopardize my reputation or compromise my beliefs.
Concerns about my rep and about self control clearly didn't enter into my concious thought for an impacting amount last Friday night. Friday was a planned excursion to Sydney and a club called the Retro Hotel. For sixteen dollars, we rode the bus from Campbelltown to Sydney, entrance into the club, a bar tab, and food. I am very clearly white and very clearly Montanan, which automatically makes me incapable of creating movement even remotely resembling dancing, and therefore formed the hypothesis that if I were slightly inebriated, I might not care as much about my inability to dance. Thus, I determined to drink copious amount of beer very quickly until the bar tab ran out, then ride the buzz for the rest of the night. This plan was executed with ease and I found myself very drunk and dancing to very odd music by eight o' clock at night. By "very odd" music, I mean music that was clearly out-of-date in America, but popular in Australia. The name of the club (The Retro) also apparently gave them license to play old/retro music, including ACDC and Bruce Springstein. although "Jessie's Girl" is clearly one of the greatest songs of all time, it was never meant to be danced to. But there I was, rockin' like a hurricane, in the middle of the dance floor like a mad idiot.
At some point early in the night, I made contact with a UWS Alumni who happened to be at the bar and had heard that a group from UWS was there, and, I don't know, came over to see if there was anyone he knew there or something. Anyway, somehow I ended up talking to him, and then left to do a bit more drunken dancing.
At some point, I found myself on the dance floor with Mystery Man #1, the UWS Alum who had introduced himself earlier as Brett. Brett, despite being white, had some pretty good dance moves, and I ended up dancing with him. I was still very drunk, probably more drunk than I realized, and so when he went to kiss me, I didn't think about it, and just went ahead and kissed him back. Knowing we'd have to leave soon, I took this opportunity to remove myself and him from the dance floor and to talk. This lasted approximately thirty-six seconds until I decided it would probably just be best if we kept dancing, a plan I'm sure would have worked out very nicely had Marley not interrupted.
Marley had been there all night, mostly dancing with Caitlin. Caitlin is my housemate and Marley is fairly infatuated with her. Not that I can blame him. Caitlin is obviously very beautiful and has a great personality to add to it; she is friendly and fun and very interested in other people. Unfortunately for Marley, she is also extremely recently broken up with her boyfriend of three years. Yeah. Bit of an awkard position for all guys involved, and I do mean, all guys. Let's put it this way: The best way to get introduced to every singly guy in the club/room/campus/residence is to have a fabulously good looking roommate. That way, every guy will come up to you , introduce himself, and promptly ask about your roommate. Which automatically delegates you (that is, me) to position of friend or "connection." Ah well
Anyway. Marley comes up to me (and Brett, because he was dancing quite close to me) and says, "Caitlin's really sick, can you come outside?" It was like I became immediately sober. Okay, not immediately, but I did sober up enough to grab Brett's hand (the only indication I was still drunk, like I'd have had the courage to touch him sober?) and follow Marley outside.
Caitlin was sitting to the side of the building, head on her lap, with vomit all around her.
"Caitlin? It's Larissa. Are you okay?" I asked, as I knelt next to her. I knelt in her puke, but I was more concerned about her than what condition my jeans would be in tomorrow morning.
She mumbled, unable to reply in a coherent sentence. Marley hovered behind me and asked, "Do you think someone's spiked her drink?"
I'm pretty sure I rolled my eyes, having not considered it as a possibility, but also because Marley had mentioned this much too loud. Somewhere between the front door and finding Caitlin, I had sobered up an incredibly amount, and realized that although Caitlin couldn't or wouldn't answer me, she could understand everything we were saying. I wanted to be like, "C'mon Marley, would you mind walking away before you freak her out anymore?"
Within seconds, Caitlin had passed out completely. The bodyguards and security of the club were outside with us, and were also concerned someone had spike her drink, or that she'd been taking drugs in combination iwth drinking. The one good thing they did was mention laying her in a recovery position. Having instructed the people surrounding me as to how to do this, we made sure Caitlin was comfortable, and an RA (resident assistant) made the decision to call an ambulance.
While we were waiting for the ambulance, Caitlin's ex-boyfriend walked around the corner. The whole situation quickly gained an aura of "soap opera" as Brent stood there, next to Marley, the old boyfriend versus the possible new one. To make things more complicated, the RA who had phoned the ambulance and would be riding to the hospital was Marley's ex-girlfriend, Angie, who still has feelings for him.
Somewhere in the (slightly drunken) chaos that ensued, I became aware that Brett was still standing outside with me, which was a bit of a shock. I don't know how many guys who had just picked up a girl in a club would stand outside and wait around while she took care of her drunken friend; I'm pretty sure I told him to go back inside and have fun, but he stayed outside. I don't know if I'll actually hear form him again, but a very big part of me, or at least the little part of me that allows myself to consider guys, hopes i do hear from him.
Caitlin didn't spend long in the ER, just long enough to get fluids and regain consciousness. He drink hadn't been spiked; she had just overloaded her system with alcohol. In the meantime, I had spent a few tense hours in the ER with Brett, talking about meaningless things and taking walks. By this time, I was again feeling the effects of the drinks I'd had earlier. Marley and Angie waited together in the waiting room while Brent (Caitlin's ex) went back into the examination room with her.
Brett left at about two a.m. and the rest of us waited until about three and then left, with Caitlin, to catch a ride back to Campbelltown. Downtown Sydney at 3:00 a.m. on a Friday night is not something they put in the travel brochures for a reason. It's not the prettiest aspect of the city. Anyway, we caught the Night Rider (night bus) back to Campbelltown, an experience I hope never to repeat for two reasons: 1) the individuals who ride the Night Rider are not the cream of the crop. There were a few I was suspect to call human. 2) the driver had clearly been on shift too many hours when he started skipping roundabouts in favor of plowing straight through. The bumps kept everyone on the bus awake, but when the jolts are also waking up your driver... it's hard to see them as a good thing.
Friday night was the most eventful and interesting night of my life. Consider the drunken dancing, kissing randoms, love square, ER visit, late-night bus ride the experience of a lifetime and a "Welcome to Australia" I'm not likely to forget.
Cultural Differences
February 22, 2007
It’s been a week since I arrived in Australia and the newness, the whole “Oh my God! I’m actually in Australia!!!!” is starting to wear off and I’m starting to feel the cultural differences in a stronger and very different way.
When I first arrived, it was a novelty for myself and Aussies to compare the differences between our cultures; the cause was mutual curiosity, which, at this point, has all but dissipated and what is left is the American stereotype I occasionally fill.
For some reason, it’s totally bugging me tonight… I was playing poker in the common room with a bunch of people, including some guys I’d never met before. One may have been fairly attractive… but that’s not the point. The point is that I said some things while we were playing, usually something derogatory and/or rude toward another player that Americans would have considered either “trash talk” or funny. Australians are sarcastic, but the sarcasm is different somehow. It’s gentler, really, without any malice whatsoever, whereas Americans are usually sarcastic with the intention of making someone feel dumb. Both can be funny, but Australians don’t understand America sarcasm and I come across as a bitch. Not the best light.
And it doesn’t help that there’s this Canadian kid who is half way to driving me completely up the wall. He’s about my age, but young and doesn’t seem to have a real clear grasp on social situations. Or at least that’s my harsh interpretation. He talks about Canada all the time, says things like “Oh, if we were Knucks (whatever those are), we’d be winning,” and constantly berates America and me. Being nice to the socially retarded kid is expected, so I assume it’s common knowledge that no matter, how harsh or incorrect his comments are, I am not supposed to retaliate. I didn’t realize until now how frustrating anti-Americanism is. I am completely comfortable discussing politics, as long as the other person has some clue what is going on, or has a genuine interest in learning about American government. But talking with people who truly believe American stereotypes? There is no combating that, because no matter what I do, in some ways I fit those preconceived notions. I reason that culture defines those stereotypes, which in turn defines the situations I have been facing. Okay, so I’m probably making a bigger deal out of this than it actually is. I am a bit sleepy, probably a bit emotional….the usual.
During “O Week” (Residential Orientation Week), there is a different themed party every night. Basically, it’s an excuse to drink a LOT of alcohol every night, with the exception of tonight. Tonight was a night for recovery and activities that required mental exertion. Last night’s theme was “Beach Party” and a cloudy, slightly ill-planned one at that. My new roommates have finally moved in- Ben just showed up yesterday for good, and there were a ton of new people at the party. I had met been, incidentally, the morning after a late night of being very drunk and slightly ill (I think I may have bronchitis or pneumonia or at least allergies), so my voice was shot and I’d just climbed out of bed; it was close to noon. And there’s Ben, with his parents, and I’m looking- and sounding- like hell. But I don’t know if he remembers, so I’m working on letting my very bad first impression go. It’s almost too bad Ben is in the same unit as I am because it means he is completely off-limits. Unofficial Resident Code and Girl Code and Common Sense all state that it is a very bad idea to have any feelings other than sisterly ones for a roommate. Like I said, it’s a bit sad, because he’s very nice, reasonably attractive, and tall.
Australian men, or at least a lot of them, are a bit on the space-efficient side. Say I’m in the shopping center and I see a guy from down the aisle. I might check him out, find that’s he’s completely gorgeous in the stereotypical Australian male way, and then discover his head is about even with my shoulder. It’s a cruel trick Fate has played on women. Cruel indeed.
Last night’s Beach Party was supposed to run into the early morning, making their little “Boot Camp” that much more painful. I was awakened at six a.m., having been asleep for about four hours, to seemingly very drunk people banging on pots and pans and yelling.
I drew upon my previous experiences with intoxicated people to arrive at this conclusion: “They’re drunk and they think this is funny. If I ignore them, I will get back to sleep.”
I was very wrong in my assumptions. Apparently, the people who had lived on-campus before had devised a little “Boot Camp” for all the Newbies/ It involved a very inaccurate impersonation of a drill sergeant, which failed miserably mostly because the people yelling were still a bit drunk. But we “ran” up the hill and did jumping jacks and ran through mud, drank a shot of Tabasco sauce with tuna, and went down the slip ‘n’ slide just like we were supposed to. Actually, it was kind of fun. I’ve always heard of initiation ceremonies, but never been part of one. Apart from the complete demolition of my one pair of pajamas, the whole experience was enjoyable.
I spent the rest of my day trying to sleep, but mostly just doing stuff on the Internet. I actually went grocery shopping at Woolworth’s online store. The fact that this is available is great for two reasons:
1. They deliver your groceries, which means I don’t have to walk for fifteen minutes with heavy
Bags and melting ice cream.
2. I find grocery shopping in Australia hugely daunting.
Seriously, I went to buy food the other day and couldn’t find anything I needed, didn’t have enough time to convert things from liters and grams to units of measurement I understand, and, naturally, couldn’t find the proper brands and flavors of things. And things you’d find commonly in America, like tortillas, tortilla chips, granola, and ranch dressing, are incredibly difficult to find. I did find Ranch dressing though, so I was extremely (perhaps obnoxiously) excited.
I tried to take a nap and failed. Eventually, my roomies and I went on to the next activity, a pseudo- Amazing Race around Campbelltown. The game was fun, and we got free pizza afterwards. In a lot of ways, this week is like being at summer camp, with the exception of the alcohol. We never had alcohol at camp, especially church camp. Lots of activities and a lot of free food, which is great. I can’t afford to eat over here!
Tomorrow is MTV night. I have to go try downtown in a second-hand shop to see if I can maybe find a costume. I was thinking of going as Ozzy Osbourne, but can’t bring myself to get that discusting. So who will it be?
It’s been a week since I arrived in Australia and the newness, the whole “Oh my God! I’m actually in Australia!!!!” is starting to wear off and I’m starting to feel the cultural differences in a stronger and very different way.
When I first arrived, it was a novelty for myself and Aussies to compare the differences between our cultures; the cause was mutual curiosity, which, at this point, has all but dissipated and what is left is the American stereotype I occasionally fill.
For some reason, it’s totally bugging me tonight… I was playing poker in the common room with a bunch of people, including some guys I’d never met before. One may have been fairly attractive… but that’s not the point. The point is that I said some things while we were playing, usually something derogatory and/or rude toward another player that Americans would have considered either “trash talk” or funny. Australians are sarcastic, but the sarcasm is different somehow. It’s gentler, really, without any malice whatsoever, whereas Americans are usually sarcastic with the intention of making someone feel dumb. Both can be funny, but Australians don’t understand America sarcasm and I come across as a bitch. Not the best light.
And it doesn’t help that there’s this Canadian kid who is half way to driving me completely up the wall. He’s about my age, but young and doesn’t seem to have a real clear grasp on social situations. Or at least that’s my harsh interpretation. He talks about Canada all the time, says things like “Oh, if we were Knucks (whatever those are), we’d be winning,” and constantly berates America and me. Being nice to the socially retarded kid is expected, so I assume it’s common knowledge that no matter, how harsh or incorrect his comments are, I am not supposed to retaliate. I didn’t realize until now how frustrating anti-Americanism is. I am completely comfortable discussing politics, as long as the other person has some clue what is going on, or has a genuine interest in learning about American government. But talking with people who truly believe American stereotypes? There is no combating that, because no matter what I do, in some ways I fit those preconceived notions. I reason that culture defines those stereotypes, which in turn defines the situations I have been facing. Okay, so I’m probably making a bigger deal out of this than it actually is. I am a bit sleepy, probably a bit emotional….the usual.
During “O Week” (Residential Orientation Week), there is a different themed party every night. Basically, it’s an excuse to drink a LOT of alcohol every night, with the exception of tonight. Tonight was a night for recovery and activities that required mental exertion. Last night’s theme was “Beach Party” and a cloudy, slightly ill-planned one at that. My new roommates have finally moved in- Ben just showed up yesterday for good, and there were a ton of new people at the party. I had met been, incidentally, the morning after a late night of being very drunk and slightly ill (I think I may have bronchitis or pneumonia or at least allergies), so my voice was shot and I’d just climbed out of bed; it was close to noon. And there’s Ben, with his parents, and I’m looking- and sounding- like hell. But I don’t know if he remembers, so I’m working on letting my very bad first impression go. It’s almost too bad Ben is in the same unit as I am because it means he is completely off-limits. Unofficial Resident Code and Girl Code and Common Sense all state that it is a very bad idea to have any feelings other than sisterly ones for a roommate. Like I said, it’s a bit sad, because he’s very nice, reasonably attractive, and tall.
Australian men, or at least a lot of them, are a bit on the space-efficient side. Say I’m in the shopping center and I see a guy from down the aisle. I might check him out, find that’s he’s completely gorgeous in the stereotypical Australian male way, and then discover his head is about even with my shoulder. It’s a cruel trick Fate has played on women. Cruel indeed.
Last night’s Beach Party was supposed to run into the early morning, making their little “Boot Camp” that much more painful. I was awakened at six a.m., having been asleep for about four hours, to seemingly very drunk people banging on pots and pans and yelling.
I drew upon my previous experiences with intoxicated people to arrive at this conclusion: “They’re drunk and they think this is funny. If I ignore them, I will get back to sleep.”
I was very wrong in my assumptions. Apparently, the people who had lived on-campus before had devised a little “Boot Camp” for all the Newbies/ It involved a very inaccurate impersonation of a drill sergeant, which failed miserably mostly because the people yelling were still a bit drunk. But we “ran” up the hill and did jumping jacks and ran through mud, drank a shot of Tabasco sauce with tuna, and went down the slip ‘n’ slide just like we were supposed to. Actually, it was kind of fun. I’ve always heard of initiation ceremonies, but never been part of one. Apart from the complete demolition of my one pair of pajamas, the whole experience was enjoyable.
I spent the rest of my day trying to sleep, but mostly just doing stuff on the Internet. I actually went grocery shopping at Woolworth’s online store. The fact that this is available is great for two reasons:
1. They deliver your groceries, which means I don’t have to walk for fifteen minutes with heavy
Bags and melting ice cream.
2. I find grocery shopping in Australia hugely daunting.
Seriously, I went to buy food the other day and couldn’t find anything I needed, didn’t have enough time to convert things from liters and grams to units of measurement I understand, and, naturally, couldn’t find the proper brands and flavors of things. And things you’d find commonly in America, like tortillas, tortilla chips, granola, and ranch dressing, are incredibly difficult to find. I did find Ranch dressing though, so I was extremely (perhaps obnoxiously) excited.
I tried to take a nap and failed. Eventually, my roomies and I went on to the next activity, a pseudo- Amazing Race around Campbelltown. The game was fun, and we got free pizza afterwards. In a lot of ways, this week is like being at summer camp, with the exception of the alcohol. We never had alcohol at camp, especially church camp. Lots of activities and a lot of free food, which is great. I can’t afford to eat over here!
Tomorrow is MTV night. I have to go try downtown in a second-hand shop to see if I can maybe find a costume. I was thinking of going as Ozzy Osbourne, but can’t bring myself to get that discusting. So who will it be?
New Friends
February 19 (?)
The following is a brief description of the individuals whom I have met in Australia and who may or may not be playing a further role in my life.
Jana and Henning: German couple. Henning will be attending school and studying English while Jana will be living in Sydney for the next two months before returning to Germany. They arrived the same day I did and we rode the same shuttle from Sydney airport to Campbelltown. Elena and I wen tot Sydney yesterday to try and find an apartment for Jana, and to sight-see.
Elena: German exchange student from the same town as Jana and Henning, although they did not know each other before arriving in Australia. She is here studying English and Spanish, though just for the semester. Her English is not as good as Henning’s, but they are all intent upon teaching me at least some German.
Bianco, Mike, Renee (Donko), Kim: Campbelltown Student Residence Resident Assistants. I think there are a few more, but if I have met them, I can’t remember. They all seem really cool, very chill and PARTY ANIMALS! Which is apparently common here…. How will I ever adjust?
Abigail: Crazy, hilarious English-woman who arrived last night. We sat together at orientation and had a good time- she freaking cracks me up and it appears we have similar senses of humor, which is nice. It seems we have a lot in common, or at least enough to be good friends. I hope so; I truly like her. She is part of a party of four arriving from the same school in Britain. I like her because she is willing to discuss politics; not many people are terribly interested, it seems, in current political issues, international government, and other important issues. They do like to drink though. Think I may have mentioned that….
Batiste: Frenchman who is a complete stereotype! I mean, he’s nice, but his English is rudimentary and he looks like a stereotypical Frenchie. So funny. He is intent upon teaching me French. At this rate, I will end the year multi-lingual.
Kim Bastien: German who is at Bankstown. I sat with him on the bus ride back from Parramatta. I’m not going to lie: I found him very attractive, despite his name being Kim.
There are more people- I know there are- but I cannot write about everyone right now. My mind would explode and my fingers would cramp! But it is a start.
The following is a brief description of the individuals whom I have met in Australia and who may or may not be playing a further role in my life.
Jana and Henning: German couple. Henning will be attending school and studying English while Jana will be living in Sydney for the next two months before returning to Germany. They arrived the same day I did and we rode the same shuttle from Sydney airport to Campbelltown. Elena and I wen tot Sydney yesterday to try and find an apartment for Jana, and to sight-see.
Elena: German exchange student from the same town as Jana and Henning, although they did not know each other before arriving in Australia. She is here studying English and Spanish, though just for the semester. Her English is not as good as Henning’s, but they are all intent upon teaching me at least some German.
Bianco, Mike, Renee (Donko), Kim: Campbelltown Student Residence Resident Assistants. I think there are a few more, but if I have met them, I can’t remember. They all seem really cool, very chill and PARTY ANIMALS! Which is apparently common here…. How will I ever adjust?
Abigail: Crazy, hilarious English-woman who arrived last night. We sat together at orientation and had a good time- she freaking cracks me up and it appears we have similar senses of humor, which is nice. It seems we have a lot in common, or at least enough to be good friends. I hope so; I truly like her. She is part of a party of four arriving from the same school in Britain. I like her because she is willing to discuss politics; not many people are terribly interested, it seems, in current political issues, international government, and other important issues. They do like to drink though. Think I may have mentioned that….
Batiste: Frenchman who is a complete stereotype! I mean, he’s nice, but his English is rudimentary and he looks like a stereotypical Frenchie. So funny. He is intent upon teaching me French. At this rate, I will end the year multi-lingual.
Kim Bastien: German who is at Bankstown. I sat with him on the bus ride back from Parramatta. I’m not going to lie: I found him very attractive, despite his name being Kim.
There are more people- I know there are- but I cannot write about everyone right now. My mind would explode and my fingers would cramp! But it is a start.
February 14- Day 1 in Oz
February 14, 2007
What a full and strange few days it has been! Until a few minutes ago, I had no idea what time it was, or really even which day. Oh, obviously I had some idea it was Valentine’s Day, but the date is as unimportant as the time on the clock. I have not warn a watch in, well, years, but I have had no idea of time for almost two days, and it has given me the most wonderful sense of freedom. Who cares whether you are awake or asleep at two o’clock in the morning? Or five? Why does food have to be eaten around noon? When was noon? I have no idea; I’m pretty sure I didn’t eat though.
My flight was made up of three legs: Bozeman to Denver, Denver to San Francisco, San Fran to Sydney. The first leg of my journey was uneventful in ever sense. My luck, of couse, could not hold. There is something about flying and traveling that eliminates luck in even the luckiest people. There will always be a late flight, a cranky flight attendant, or a smelly companion. In my case, there were all three. But I’m still trying to get there.
We were late leaving Denver because the plane had to be de-iced. For all future pilots and flight crew, please remember that informing passengers that ice has accumulated on the wings of the plane is never a good way to instill confidence in them about the aircraft’s ability to fly. Apparently, howeve,r planes can fly once the ice is removed, with no lasting damage. But of course, it meant we were late flying into San Francisco.
NOTE TO PASSENGERS:
When flying, whether internationally or domestically, leave yourself at least TWO HOURS between connecting flights!!!! Although you may hate waiting around in airports and think layovers are th biggest waste of time in the world, a two hour period between flights eliminates most of the stress associated with late flights.
Please believe me when I say twenty minutes is NOT enough time to run from the domestic terminal of SFO to the international terminal. Naturally, it involves at least two walking sidewalks and a shuttle bus, if you do it right. If you do manage to miss the shuttle or are clueless as to its existence, you will invariably find yourself missing your next flight as you go through security for a second time.
Now, as I’ve said, I was late for my connecting flight to Sydney, which was traumatic not only because I truly desired to get to Sydney, but also because I had to use the restroom terribly bad. Needless to say, getting on my plane took precedence and it wasn’t ‘til we had leveled off about 37,000 miles above the closes real toilet that I realized I still had to go.
The plane was enormous, with an upper and lower decks and about a million chatty people. I finally found my seat in 51E, between a nice-looking woman in her fourties and a woman who reminded me (not so fondly) of my Aunt Mary Jo. One would think row 51 would place me at the back of the plane, but a good ten to fifteen rows were behind me. Ah, the hell of economy class. I was extremely relieved to discover my traveling companions were as normal as any Sydney Sider heading home and a middle-aged couple planning to cycle around New Zealand could be. I discovered, to my relief, my seatmates were not entirely odd, creepy or malodorous in any way. In fact, I believe they felt I was the annoying one.
The flight was most interesting because of my Fourteen Hour Crush. He was (is, I suppose he made it to Melbourne alright) Canadian, in his early twenties and named Calvin. Upon our first meeting, he was slightly intoxicated, as was pointed out to me by Canadian and future schoolmate) Derek. From the smell of it, I’d say he’d been drinking rum for a few hours. Calvin was fun and funny and goodness no, I did not DO anything with him. He was entertaining and it was nice to have someone around my own age to talk to. The problem was, the flight crew seemed to have a problem with passengers standing in one area for longer than five minutes. So continual conversation had to be continuously moving conversation.
I met Derek when I met Calvin. I was on my way to the bathroom after remembering my bladder was about to burst when I found myself face to face with a group of men. How one woman can be face to face with a group is linguistic inconsistency you will have to allow.
“Oh great,” I thought to myself as I peered through the dim lighting toward the circle, “just what I need: a group of creepy old men staring at me as I walk to the bathroom.”
Creepy old men they were not. Calvin and Derek and a middle-aged Australian they were. I stopped outside the circle.
“Did you need to use the restroom?” one asked.
I caught sight of him and once again forgot about my bladder. “No, just stretching my legs,” I decided instantly.
“Where’re you from?” He asked, leaning forward and breathing rum and coke into the already-stale plane air.
Thus began the Fourteen Hour Crush. It ended when I went to customs and he went the wrong direction to catch his connecting flight. Ah, love is a fickly mistress.
Here is a list and brief description of a select few who made an impression on me between the flight, customs, and getting to the school.
Flight Attendant #1: Had ridiculously, impossibly white teeth. Smiled a great amount and seemed to have taken more than his prescribed dose of happy pills. Mostly remember him because his teeth were so white, they glowed.
Brandon: tall African American from South Carolina heading to the University of Sydney without a clue where he is going to live, what he will be studying, or, I imagine, the school’s address. Stood in line with me for the first part of customs.
Van Driver: (This is his title, not his name.) This man met me at the airport and was ready to take me to Campbelltown campus, just as soon as the other students arrived. I had just stood in line for two hours at customs and he was making me wait. Fortunately, I was too in awe of his gorgeous Australian accent to be angry.
Blond Guy in Airport: walked by and said, after catching my eye: “You’ve been waiting quite a while, haven’t you?” My point being that Australians are very friendly. Either that, or he noticed I was checking him out and he couldn’t think of anything more interesting to say.
Eventually I did make it to Campbelltown campus, where I am staying. In the van with me were Elana, Henning and Jana, whom I no longer think about as individual entities but collectively as “The Germans” and Mi Ting. I settled into my room directly and am very happy with my accommodations.
I was expecting to have a single room, and I do, but I was expecting it to be of an unlivable size, much as most dorm rooms in the United States are. Instead, I found I have an ensuite, which simply means I have my own bathroom, as well as a room that is more than livable! Student residences are located in what are called townhouses, which really are townhouses. There are five bedrooms, two bathrooms, and occasionally, an ensuite in addition to a full kitchen, dining area, and living room. Really, they are quite spacious and nicely laid out. Each door has a lock and no one else can get into your room. Except the RA’s (resident assistants) in case you lock yourself out. Which I already have. I am hoping it’s the last time I do that. They are very nice about running over and opening doors, but it makes you feel like a bit of an idiot. And there are screens on the windows, so I can’t just climb through the window, like I would do at home.
I am compelled to write a great deal more, about everything, from the colors of the buildings, to the amazing amount of foliage, the humidity and heat, the sun. About the people, about the land, the sky, my hopes and dreams for tomorrow and the days to come. And I will, just not tonight.
Tonight I will go to bed entirely too early because I was awake entirely too early. Then tomorrow I will wake up and figure out what the hell I am supposed to do next.
What a full and strange few days it has been! Until a few minutes ago, I had no idea what time it was, or really even which day. Oh, obviously I had some idea it was Valentine’s Day, but the date is as unimportant as the time on the clock. I have not warn a watch in, well, years, but I have had no idea of time for almost two days, and it has given me the most wonderful sense of freedom. Who cares whether you are awake or asleep at two o’clock in the morning? Or five? Why does food have to be eaten around noon? When was noon? I have no idea; I’m pretty sure I didn’t eat though.
My flight was made up of three legs: Bozeman to Denver, Denver to San Francisco, San Fran to Sydney. The first leg of my journey was uneventful in ever sense. My luck, of couse, could not hold. There is something about flying and traveling that eliminates luck in even the luckiest people. There will always be a late flight, a cranky flight attendant, or a smelly companion. In my case, there were all three. But I’m still trying to get there.
We were late leaving Denver because the plane had to be de-iced. For all future pilots and flight crew, please remember that informing passengers that ice has accumulated on the wings of the plane is never a good way to instill confidence in them about the aircraft’s ability to fly. Apparently, howeve,r planes can fly once the ice is removed, with no lasting damage. But of course, it meant we were late flying into San Francisco.
NOTE TO PASSENGERS:
When flying, whether internationally or domestically, leave yourself at least TWO HOURS between connecting flights!!!! Although you may hate waiting around in airports and think layovers are th biggest waste of time in the world, a two hour period between flights eliminates most of the stress associated with late flights.
Please believe me when I say twenty minutes is NOT enough time to run from the domestic terminal of SFO to the international terminal. Naturally, it involves at least two walking sidewalks and a shuttle bus, if you do it right. If you do manage to miss the shuttle or are clueless as to its existence, you will invariably find yourself missing your next flight as you go through security for a second time.
Now, as I’ve said, I was late for my connecting flight to Sydney, which was traumatic not only because I truly desired to get to Sydney, but also because I had to use the restroom terribly bad. Needless to say, getting on my plane took precedence and it wasn’t ‘til we had leveled off about 37,000 miles above the closes real toilet that I realized I still had to go.
The plane was enormous, with an upper and lower decks and about a million chatty people. I finally found my seat in 51E, between a nice-looking woman in her fourties and a woman who reminded me (not so fondly) of my Aunt Mary Jo. One would think row 51 would place me at the back of the plane, but a good ten to fifteen rows were behind me. Ah, the hell of economy class. I was extremely relieved to discover my traveling companions were as normal as any Sydney Sider heading home and a middle-aged couple planning to cycle around New Zealand could be. I discovered, to my relief, my seatmates were not entirely odd, creepy or malodorous in any way. In fact, I believe they felt I was the annoying one.
The flight was most interesting because of my Fourteen Hour Crush. He was (is, I suppose he made it to Melbourne alright) Canadian, in his early twenties and named Calvin. Upon our first meeting, he was slightly intoxicated, as was pointed out to me by Canadian and future schoolmate) Derek. From the smell of it, I’d say he’d been drinking rum for a few hours. Calvin was fun and funny and goodness no, I did not DO anything with him. He was entertaining and it was nice to have someone around my own age to talk to. The problem was, the flight crew seemed to have a problem with passengers standing in one area for longer than five minutes. So continual conversation had to be continuously moving conversation.
I met Derek when I met Calvin. I was on my way to the bathroom after remembering my bladder was about to burst when I found myself face to face with a group of men. How one woman can be face to face with a group is linguistic inconsistency you will have to allow.
“Oh great,” I thought to myself as I peered through the dim lighting toward the circle, “just what I need: a group of creepy old men staring at me as I walk to the bathroom.”
Creepy old men they were not. Calvin and Derek and a middle-aged Australian they were. I stopped outside the circle.
“Did you need to use the restroom?” one asked.
I caught sight of him and once again forgot about my bladder. “No, just stretching my legs,” I decided instantly.
“Where’re you from?” He asked, leaning forward and breathing rum and coke into the already-stale plane air.
Thus began the Fourteen Hour Crush. It ended when I went to customs and he went the wrong direction to catch his connecting flight. Ah, love is a fickly mistress.
Here is a list and brief description of a select few who made an impression on me between the flight, customs, and getting to the school.
Flight Attendant #1: Had ridiculously, impossibly white teeth. Smiled a great amount and seemed to have taken more than his prescribed dose of happy pills. Mostly remember him because his teeth were so white, they glowed.
Brandon: tall African American from South Carolina heading to the University of Sydney without a clue where he is going to live, what he will be studying, or, I imagine, the school’s address. Stood in line with me for the first part of customs.
Van Driver: (This is his title, not his name.) This man met me at the airport and was ready to take me to Campbelltown campus, just as soon as the other students arrived. I had just stood in line for two hours at customs and he was making me wait. Fortunately, I was too in awe of his gorgeous Australian accent to be angry.
Blond Guy in Airport: walked by and said, after catching my eye: “You’ve been waiting quite a while, haven’t you?” My point being that Australians are very friendly. Either that, or he noticed I was checking him out and he couldn’t think of anything more interesting to say.
Eventually I did make it to Campbelltown campus, where I am staying. In the van with me were Elana, Henning and Jana, whom I no longer think about as individual entities but collectively as “The Germans” and Mi Ting. I settled into my room directly and am very happy with my accommodations.
I was expecting to have a single room, and I do, but I was expecting it to be of an unlivable size, much as most dorm rooms in the United States are. Instead, I found I have an ensuite, which simply means I have my own bathroom, as well as a room that is more than livable! Student residences are located in what are called townhouses, which really are townhouses. There are five bedrooms, two bathrooms, and occasionally, an ensuite in addition to a full kitchen, dining area, and living room. Really, they are quite spacious and nicely laid out. Each door has a lock and no one else can get into your room. Except the RA’s (resident assistants) in case you lock yourself out. Which I already have. I am hoping it’s the last time I do that. They are very nice about running over and opening doors, but it makes you feel like a bit of an idiot. And there are screens on the windows, so I can’t just climb through the window, like I would do at home.
I am compelled to write a great deal more, about everything, from the colors of the buildings, to the amazing amount of foliage, the humidity and heat, the sun. About the people, about the land, the sky, my hopes and dreams for tomorrow and the days to come. And I will, just not tonight.
Tonight I will go to bed entirely too early because I was awake entirely too early. Then tomorrow I will wake up and figure out what the hell I am supposed to do next.
February 12- On the Plane
My entire life has been reduced to two suitcases and two carry ons. It’s seems like so very few things, yet I have almost everything I will need. I say “almost: because I already know I forgot the USB connector cable for my digital camera and they confiscated my saline solution at security in Bozeman. Yup, turns out salt and water and other contact solutions are being used by terrorists to bring down planes. Such a simple thing, but who’d even consider it? It’s probably a good thing they took mine; I would hate to think I was endorsing terrorism and the demise of the United States by taking CONTACT SOLUTION on a plane. Also, the liquid constitution of my luggage was reduced to a quart sized zip lock bag. Not a whole lot of shampoo, conditioner, lotion, perfume and make-up come in 3 oz or smaller bottles, and very few women can actually manage to keep what they need under quart-sized quantities. I myself thew away shaving cream and anti-wrinkly spray stuff. Terrible loss.
By now the reality of my trip and the implications stemming from my decision are becoming very real. There is the primary concern that I will make it to San Fransisco in time to make it to my next flight (the one actually taking me to Sydney), whether that plane will actually make it there, and really, whether it will have been worth sitting cramped, for hours and hours and hours, on planes, to arrive in a country where I know no one and am, for the first time in my life, truly alone.
When I say “alone”, I don’t mean in the way leaving for college was “alone”. I mean it in being truly on my own; when I left for college, I moved from my parents house to my brother’s house. I have always had my family there, and although I understand they will always be there, thirteen thousand miles has a way of making family ties seem a bit stretched.
Want to know what my favorite question people have been asking me is? “Are you excited?”
Half the time I feel like telling them NO. You know, moving half-way across the world, changing everything about your life, from clothing to culture, isn’t really that big of a deal. You know, Australia just doesn’t really float my boat. I just felt like spending an enormous amount of money, changing schools, packing everything I own into two suitcases (okay, and several boxes in my parent’s house) and flying for almost twenty hours sounded just about average. Not exciting. Not stressful. Normal. Whatever.
By now the reality of my trip and the implications stemming from my decision are becoming very real. There is the primary concern that I will make it to San Fransisco in time to make it to my next flight (the one actually taking me to Sydney), whether that plane will actually make it there, and really, whether it will have been worth sitting cramped, for hours and hours and hours, on planes, to arrive in a country where I know no one and am, for the first time in my life, truly alone.
When I say “alone”, I don’t mean in the way leaving for college was “alone”. I mean it in being truly on my own; when I left for college, I moved from my parents house to my brother’s house. I have always had my family there, and although I understand they will always be there, thirteen thousand miles has a way of making family ties seem a bit stretched.
Want to know what my favorite question people have been asking me is? “Are you excited?”
Half the time I feel like telling them NO. You know, moving half-way across the world, changing everything about your life, from clothing to culture, isn’t really that big of a deal. You know, Australia just doesn’t really float my boat. I just felt like spending an enormous amount of money, changing schools, packing everything I own into two suitcases (okay, and several boxes in my parent’s house) and flying for almost twenty hours sounded just about average. Not exciting. Not stressful. Normal. Whatever.
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