Over-indulging in "O Week"

I’m usually quite refined, or at least I’d like to think so. All of you know me: I’m the planner, the safe kid, the early one. I’m the responsible 20 year-old (almost 21, despite its irrelevance here), the one who calls when I should, goes to (most) every class, eats healthy, and sends prompt birthday cards. “O Week” here at Janet Clarke Hall, though, has seemed to transform me into the type of 17 year-old Aussie “fresher” who has just arrived at Uni: eager, fresh-faced, and willing to please the upper-classmen. There’s just one problem: I am not a 17 year-old Australian child who has just been dropped off at JCH by Mum and Dad for their first week of college. I am a 20 (21!) year old American student, a third year in university at home...who has been treated like a 17 year old all week.

Popularly known as “O Week” (probably for legal reasons), this is merely a euphemism. Try “hazing,” try “hell,” try “a whole lot of obscene awkwardness” or perhaps try “the most grotesque fun I’ve ever had." As there are only two of us American students living in Janet Clarke Hall this semester, Shelly and I were required to go through the orientation (or initiation) into the college’s traditions by participating in O Week with all of the “freshers.” We were not given special status despite our third year level...in fact, Shelly and I are both OLDER than the leaders of O Week themselves. This age discrepancy made it more than difficult to comply when they demand we get down on our knees on a street corner outside of a pub, twirling fake lassos and shouting “YEEHAW!” O Week is meant to unite the incoming freshman class, to ban the barriers of awkwardness, to create hysterical and uncomfortable memories to serve as the building blocks of “fresher” fellowship for the next four years. The requirements of O Week are such things as serenading mannequins in busy shops, building human pyramids on the lawn of the State Library, stealing goods from fast food restaurants, begging outside of banks, waltzing with old men in bookstores, partaking in the compulsory and continuous chugging of myriad beverages, and the cherry on top: dancing our choreographed fresher dance to “Good Girls Go Bad” on the corner of Bourke and Swanston in central Melbourne. Of course, there are other (less illegal) activities for us to enjoy throughout the week, including a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in the botanical gardens, Arvo (afternoon) tea on the rooftop, and ice skating.

All in all, it has been a spectacularly unique experience (although getting sprayed in the face with water guns for 30 minutes was less than ideal). I love my new Aussie friends despite the age gap-they are shockingly mature for their age, and I know it will be a great semester living with them here at JCH. I’m proud to say that I have successfully survived O Week thus far, although four more full days of proceedings are still upon me. The pub crawl tonight will be a true test of my strength (sorry Mom and Dad). Wish me luck!

Princes Park vs. Princess Suite

In a recent email, my sister Kirsten asked me if I’ve been learning anything on my “study” abroad sojourn thus far. That’s an interesting question, considering I’ve been on “Christmas Break” since December 17^th and, more recently in the past 11 days, on “summer vacation” in the southern hemisphere. Okay so maybe I haven’t been plowing through Tolstoy like I’d planned, and perhaps I’ve neglected to think any thoughts in Spanish for quite some time now. In fact, I may or may not have been actively avoiding any and all conversations with academic roots for a while. Is that a crime? Sue me.

I have, however, learned that riding a bike in Australia without a helmet is illegal (love it, Dad?); that I am a ‘vego’; that, although toilets do not, contrary to popular belief, flush the opposite way down here, locks, keys, latches, and doors all apply themselves in the opposite direction than I’m accustomed; that Aussies will never, under any circumstance, say “you’re welcome,” but only “hey, no worries!”; that I must always, always remember to look RIGHT (not left!) before crossing the street or I will certainly lift my foot to what is sure to be a painful, fatal death by motor vehicle sooner rather than later; that Princes Park is a perfect place to run four miles, but the Princess Suite IS a nicer place to sleep. I guess it would be a legitimate claim to say that this whole study abroad “thing” isn’t just about studying, but that learning happens unavoidably every time you set foot on that tram to explore the unknown.

More importantly, I have learned in eleven days that, with the shocking power and presence of anonymity comes immense pressure and potential. To be given the opportunity to recreate yourself entirely, in a new country, a new continent, a thriving metropolis, amidst 11,000 international exchange students, 30 IES students, 45,000 University of Melbourne students-how does one decide who to be, who to become? I have learned that I am faced with this decision, this self-questioning, every day as I inevitably meet more and more new faces. I wonder which of these faces will become a constant presence in my four remaining months here, and, subsequently, I wonder which faces will dissolve in my memory, like the vapor from this heat wave sizzling out of the black pavement. What is that quote, the one I have framed in the Princess Suite at home? “You don’t need to find yourself, you need to create yourself.” Something along those lines. Isn’t that a nice idea, that we don’t need to rely on endless soul-searching to “find” the person we are “supposed” to be-but, rather, we truly have the power, the anonymity that comes with each new day, each new face, each step onto a Yarra Tram, to define ourselves on our own terms, to learn ourselves inside and out, to learn about the person we want to be. Well, until next time, I guess I’ll be creating myself and learning about myself to the best of my ability during O-Week at Janet Clarke, and I suggest that you all go out and create yourselves today. How about it?

Bonding, blisters & BYO

Occasionally there come days in your life that you recognize as special even while they’re still unfolding. You ask yourself to remember it, to soak it up and store away the benevolent feeling so that you may call upon it in the future, perhaps on a less than remarkable day, to enjoy the memory of a day that was truly special even while it remained a partial mystery. Something about that day had an essence, a quality that made it so recognizably extraordinary. Friday the 12th was one such day for me. After a frankly unnecessary meeting with our orientation leaders Chay and Liz from IES, Maddie, Kara, Kelly, and I set out on what was assumed to be a quick stroll through the nearby part of the University of Melbourne (or Uni Melb or Melbourne Uni...however, we’re still American enough to use the formal nomenclature for our schoolio). Our amble through academia quickly became an ultimate quest. Our map-reading abilities took us from campus down to Queen Victoria’s Market-a spectacle the likes of La Boqueria in Barcelona or Ann Arbor’s Kerrytown farmer’s market. We each snagged a 40-cent fresh peach and meandered by the vendors offering fish, bread, cheese, and produce. We settled on warm goat cheese sandwiches for lunch (“settled” is probably a misleading term, it’s not like you had to twist my arm to eat something gooey and warm or anything, really, involving cheese and bread). We also enjoyed seeing the clothing and souvenir booths. Our trusty map then took us from the market down famous Elizabeth street to Flinders Street Station (trains & trams) and Federation Square, a wacky architectural feat that doesn’t seem to serve a worthwhile purpose, save for its funky façade. We rejoiced at having gotten ourselves to the true heart of the city and patted ourselves on the back further when we reached the banks of the wonderful Yarra River. To one side, you can see the Melbourne Cricket Grounds and Melbourne Park (if only Serena were still wandering around down under) and to the other you see skyscrapers far and wide, including the Eureka Skydeck (tallest building in the southern hemisphere that we ascended with our orientation groups--think Sears Tower for ideas of the view of Melbourne that the height affords). I digress. It was nearing four by this point and we decided to turn our “stroll” back toward the Miami Hotel, or, “home.” I have made this walk sound like a piece of funfetti cake: easy, with no surprises and no skill required. Wrong. Our flip-flopped feet were feeling it by this time and we struggled to complete the more-than-a-mile return to North Melbourne. All in all, this stroll turned out to be a 9-miler once we google mapped our precise route. Impressed? We were, too. With 9 miles of exercise under our belts, we delighted at the prospect of pasta for dinner, but not before we visited the grocery store to purchase two $4 bottles of wine. Let me make this easy for you: each bottle roughly cost two dollars in American money. I bet you’re licking your lips right now imagining the taste of those bad boys. The purpose of this, of course, brings me to explain B.Y.O (which does not, confusingly enough, or shall I say thankfully enough, stand for Brigham Young Outback...wouldn’t want Mormons running around Melbourne, now, would we?) Bring Your Own truly means what it promises, that you may bring your own drinks to willing restaurants, allowing us poor college students to have a drink or two that doesn’t break the bank-or, in this four dollar case, that doesn’t even make a noticeable dent on the ATM receipt. I digress further. Anyway, at dinner we looked back upon the day we’d had and this is when I got the feeling that I described at the beginning of this too long tumble of thoughts. We felt so utterly free all day, walking to no one’s drum beat but our own, with no schedules, no disagreements, nothing to do but soak it all in and enjoy the truly special ambience of Australia. While we were walking, I knew we were seeing such famous sights that my guidebooks had warned me of but, looking back on it all over my bowl of penne pesto, I relished in the perfect unity of friends, sunshine, and a stress-free sightseeing tour. It’s hard to believe I only met these three girls less than a week ago-they have become such comfortable friendships and I will be more than lucky if they remain a presence in my study abroad experience. All in all, a day for the books or, in this case, a day for the blogs. Cheers.

"The First 48"

As far as I'm concerned, United Airlines deserves a gold star, a gatorade, or perhaps even a Nobel Prize. They managed to take me from Minneapolis to Phoenix to Kona to Los Angeles to Sydney to Melbourne: safely, on time, and with luggage in tact. Upon arrival in Melbourne we were taken to the Miami Hotel. Contrary to what their own self-image seems to be telling them, this is not, in fact, a "hotel." My roommate, Maddie, and I were shown to a 4x4 room and, don't worry, the bathrooms are down the hall, to be shared with ALL of the patrons. She is from Minneapolis so we quickly ran down the list of our favorite restaurants in Uptown and the go-to stores at Mall of America. On Tuesday night, Maddie and I, along with our new friends Kara (from Loyola), Kelly (from Colorado), and Ellen (from San Francisco) went to pizza near our ho(s)tel and enjoyed uncovering the small world connections that link all of us together. We relished the summer twilight and then headed "home" to crash.

Wednesday morning we drove two hours to Anglesea on the Great Ocean Road (think of the ESPN flashes of ocean that were shown during the Australian Open....that promptly became my reality). We pulled into Eumeralla Scout Camp and had a few jokes about becoming boy scouts during orientation. Although I did not get the chance to properly relive the glory of my Halloween costume, we did have quite a few adventures. Our afternoon surf-lessons were part terrifying and part the-best-thing-that-I've-ever-done. We spent, oh, a good five minutes on the shore and they threw us into the storming waves. It was a cloudy, foggy day and our wetsuits kept us comfortable as we nervously struggled to find the comfortable transition between hopping on the board with "chicken wing" arms to attempting to gain an upright stance, like a "hood ornament" (our wacky instructor enjoyed his analogies, that's for sure). I got rocked a few times by some big waves but we all emerged content with our newfound surfing skills.

After leaving the beach, we side tracked the bus route to see Bells Beach, the home of scenes from the movie Point Break. We also stumbled upon a field of kangaroos-they are quite adorable and quite abundant-I'm wondering if the thrill of seeing them will ever go away. Glad to be back at camp, we chowed on lasagna and bread and went to sleep petrified of Huntsman spiders that we'd seen lurking. Our fears were revived early in the morning when we woke to a cabin mate leaping out of bed, a Huntsman the size of my fist lingering all too closely on the curtain of her window. We quickly packed and got OUT of there-We spent our morning on a ropes course and had a blast leaping from ropes and climbing through tires and balancing on beams.

We're newly arrived again at the Miami "Hotel," showering and enjoying a spider-free existence. Once this thunderstorm subsides, we're off in search of a reasonably priced dinner and I'm sure we'll crash early again. Tomorrow holds meetings and cell-phone purchase. Well, in true Aussie fashion, g'day mates.