I have discovered I have a tendency to look down while walking. I'm not sure when this originated, or why, but I simply walk with a downcast gaze, often lost in my thoughts. This is a habit I've been trying to break whilst down under. There is so much to see everywhere I go, that I feel I am severely limiting myself by stumbling around, eyes fixed to the floor, tangled in my own meandering thoughts. Instead, I've been trying to turn my gaze and my thoughts outwards. A simple 30 minutes walk down the bike path to the supermarket becomes a veritable laser light show of sights and sounds: I hear the thrumming of insects in the grass, sounding for all the world like the audible exhale of the earth. I watch the tall grasses ripple in the breeze and feel the warmth of the sun on my back, warming me through my t-shirt. I look at the ground under the shade of a gum tree, then stop and really look at it, noticing tiny lizards no longer than my littlest finger skating under and over the tangle of leaves on the ground. The breeze stirs my hair and dries the sweat on the back of my neck, as the tail of a snake disappears into the underbrush. A magpie eyes me suspiciously, then continues to awkwardly sidle up his branch, from which he will survey his domain and rain horrible screeches upon any and all who dare enter his kingdom. I continue on, over the precarious wooden bridge arcing over the creek, now brown and swollen from the torrential rains which have finally come, fourteen years late, to the parched countryside. I walk in silence, cresting the slight hill from which no civilization is visible, save for the paved path beneath my feet and the lights on the football field jutting upwards in the distance. I hear the sound of my own breathing, quiet amongst all the other sounds, as my footsteps disturb a small family of moths whose dusty wings buffet my face and body as they regroup and continue their loopy paths into the sky.
I know in a bit I will come back out to the main road. I will walk for a couple blocks, past the footy fields where the old shirtless man runs countless laps, slapping each goalpost as he passes it. He will acknowledge me with a grunt, I will raise a hand in greeting and walk on. Traffic will pick up, and I will invariably be honked at by passing vans, or cars full of teenage boys will scream out the window to watch me jump, startled. I will head up the hill, past the fast food restaurant, into the grocery store where I will dodge small children and their pursuing mothers, tired old people, and overworked cashiers. After making my purchases, I will head back down the hill, this time laden with shopping bags. The magic of my walk will be somewhat spoiled on the walk home, as my shopping bags bangs discordantly against my knees and the small hills become more difficult under my load. But I will still look up, up at the sky, up at the trees swaying gently in the ever present wind. I will still notice the dead tree jutting out of the center of the pond, upon which ten or twenty cranes have chosen to perch, hulking, warming their black feathers in the sunlight. I will still watch the caterpillars undertake the arduous journey across the path, determined in the face of the whirring wheels of passing cyclists. I will reflect, not upon my own passing faults and foibles, but upon how fortunate I am to be where I am, how blessed to watch these next few months stretch out before me, bursting with possibilities.
So I think the least I can do, in the face of all this beauty, is to look up.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
In which I am a cultural ambassador/circus freak
It is very interesting to be an American in Australia. As an educated, cultured American who doesn't spent all my time with a greasy wifebeater stretched over my potbelly in my doublewide cheering on "the game" (only 20%) it has been occasionally frustrating to feel as though I am personally responsible for all of the United States' faults and foibles. To listen to one of my floormates (who affectionately calls me Sarah Palin, thank you for that) tell it, I was Bush's right hand man in the days leading up to the Iraq War, gleefully tapping my fingers together evilly as we jointly planned Operation Iraqi Freedom. Or that must be how he sees it, because otherwise why would I be put on the spot for justifying our military involvement in the Middle East, despite being too young to vote in both 2000 and 2004 and never actualyl having my personal opinion consulted?
I find myself in an uncomfortable predicament: Do I renounce my homeland, denying it three times before the cock crows (whaddup obscure Biblical reference) in order to curry favor with the Australians, Candadians, Koreans, oh wait, every other nationality I have come into contact with, or do I stand my ground, taking a more defiant stance, crowing things like "We saved your asses in World War II" or simply flexing my biceps and chanting "USA! USA! USA!" In the end, I have chosen something of a middle ground. I won't reject my homeland. I am proud to be American. I appreciate all the opportunities growing up in the United States has given me, and I won't simply roll over and apologize for our faults until I'm blue in the face to appease my new friends. However, I will acknowledge the problems that exist in our country, and how they have unfortunately affected the rest of the world. I will explain that I believe we are taking steps to address these problems, that I proudly voted for Obama in 2008, that I support comprehensive health care legislation passed, and that I am among the majority of Americans who do believe we have strayed slightly off course in the past 10 years, but that I believe that we are slowly but surely getting back on course.
Another fun aspect of being an American in Australia is the circus freak aspect. For many of the Aussies I've met, I'm one of only a handful of Americans they've met, and the fact that I'm around all the time, available to answer questions is a constant source of amusement. For them. Being in a sorority has been a popular talking point amongst Aussies and they constantly ask if American universities are like how they are portrayed in the movies, especially greek life. "Like you really all just party all the time?" I pause, debating if I should enter into how Greek Life at GW is a little different from Greek Life as say, SMU, but eventually I decide to just roll with it. "Yeah, pretty much" I say nonchalantly. "And you get hazed and have to do all kinds of horrible things just to get in?" This is actually a question I have been asked several times. The first couple times I launched into a long explanation of how hazing really doesn't exist within my sorority and that while I understand that some organizations feel that it builds a better sister or brotherhood, I disagree. However, that's proved unsatisfactory to the Aussies and has led to numerous followup questions, so lately I launch into stories of what I have heard of other chapters at other schools doing, the more humiliating the better. Give the people what they want, right? Just tryna be popular over here. Another source of amusement is my American accent,especially when I use phrases that are popular here, like "How ya going?" or "I reckon." I don't have much of an ear for accents, but being here for almost three weeks has given me a couple phrases which I have developed a pretty good approximation of the Australian accents. These I will obligingly perform when requested, and the assembled Aussies will giggle or egg me on, as though reacting to a baby that has been taught a dirty word.
So I am adjusting to my new role as a stranger in a strange land. Occasionally, it is necessary to step in and explain that I do know who Victor Hugo is, and your mini biography of him isn't necessary. Or sometimes its simply a better use of cultural relations to exclaim "G'Day, mate!" in my best Aussie and listen to the giggles.
I find myself in an uncomfortable predicament: Do I renounce my homeland, denying it three times before the cock crows (whaddup obscure Biblical reference) in order to curry favor with the Australians, Candadians, Koreans, oh wait, every other nationality I have come into contact with, or do I stand my ground, taking a more defiant stance, crowing things like "We saved your asses in World War II" or simply flexing my biceps and chanting "USA! USA! USA!" In the end, I have chosen something of a middle ground. I won't reject my homeland. I am proud to be American. I appreciate all the opportunities growing up in the United States has given me, and I won't simply roll over and apologize for our faults until I'm blue in the face to appease my new friends. However, I will acknowledge the problems that exist in our country, and how they have unfortunately affected the rest of the world. I will explain that I believe we are taking steps to address these problems, that I proudly voted for Obama in 2008, that I support comprehensive health care legislation passed, and that I am among the majority of Americans who do believe we have strayed slightly off course in the past 10 years, but that I believe that we are slowly but surely getting back on course.
Another fun aspect of being an American in Australia is the circus freak aspect. For many of the Aussies I've met, I'm one of only a handful of Americans they've met, and the fact that I'm around all the time, available to answer questions is a constant source of amusement. For them. Being in a sorority has been a popular talking point amongst Aussies and they constantly ask if American universities are like how they are portrayed in the movies, especially greek life. "Like you really all just party all the time?" I pause, debating if I should enter into how Greek Life at GW is a little different from Greek Life as say, SMU, but eventually I decide to just roll with it. "Yeah, pretty much" I say nonchalantly. "And you get hazed and have to do all kinds of horrible things just to get in?" This is actually a question I have been asked several times. The first couple times I launched into a long explanation of how hazing really doesn't exist within my sorority and that while I understand that some organizations feel that it builds a better sister or brotherhood, I disagree. However, that's proved unsatisfactory to the Aussies and has led to numerous followup questions, so lately I launch into stories of what I have heard of other chapters at other schools doing, the more humiliating the better. Give the people what they want, right? Just tryna be popular over here. Another source of amusement is my American accent,especially when I use phrases that are popular here, like "How ya going?" or "I reckon." I don't have much of an ear for accents, but being here for almost three weeks has given me a couple phrases which I have developed a pretty good approximation of the Australian accents. These I will obligingly perform when requested, and the assembled Aussies will giggle or egg me on, as though reacting to a baby that has been taught a dirty word.
So I am adjusting to my new role as a stranger in a strange land. Occasionally, it is necessary to step in and explain that I do know who Victor Hugo is, and your mini biography of him isn't necessary. Or sometimes its simply a better use of cultural relations to exclaim "G'Day, mate!" in my best Aussie and listen to the giggles.
Monday, March 1, 2010
In which the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley
Before you wonder if I've perhaps suffered a mild seizure whilst titling this blog, let me put you at ease. It is a quote from "To a Mouse," a poem by the Scot poet Robert Burns, written after turning up the winter nest of a mouse while plowing. But Ellen, you are surely asking yourself now, I'm so happy to hear you didn't fall victim to an epileptic fit before telling us about your trip to Sydney, but what the hell are you talking about?
Well, much as the poor little mouse's comfortable dwelling was rent asunder by forces out of his control, our plans for our Sydney vacation didn't quite go according to plan.
We decided to head up to Sydney for Mardi Gras, the epic weekend of partying that traditionally occurs prior to the Christian tradition of Lent, which marks the time of reflection and self-denial prior to Easter. In Sydney however, the hedonism is brought to a new level through a combination of traditional Mardi Gras festivities with those associated with Pride Days showing support for the GLBT community. Basically, just an excuse to make the parties bigger, better, and even more fabulous. Nick, Kelsey and I decided to fly up on Wednesday night, stay with friends of mine (Thanks again Eliott and Torey!) for two days and then move on to stay with a friend of Nick for our final two nights, before flying out at 6:30 am on Sunday (yes, you read that correctly. in the morning).
We arrived in Coogee late Wednesday night and while Nick and Kelsey went to see what the city had to offer, I went down to the local bar with Eliott, where we ran into some GW people and Nikita and I took a toolish DG picture. The next day, after waking up early to conduct a rather important job interview in a sketchy internet cafe surrounded by strangers who now know all the valuable skills I would bring to a leadership position, we headed down to GORGEOUS Coogee beach, which the boys are lucky enough to live literally a block away from, and spent the day lying out on the sand. Ok well Kelsey and I lay out, Nick gave us twenty minutes, then retreated to the shade to read his science fiction novel. After a relaxing day, the boys headed off to a booze cruise and Nick and Kelsey and I hit the town. After an extra long goon pregame session which may or may not have featured a Britney Spears music video retrospective and Nick reenacting some choice cheerleading moves, we headed out to Oxford Street to see what the Mardi Gras crowd had to offer us.
The giddy mood was palpable and there were rainbow flags and revelers everywhere. We looked around for a little and then headed into the first club. It is at this point, gentle readers, that I must address a personal shortcoming of mine that emerged this weekend. I cannot keep up with the music at a gay bar. No one who knows me would ever use the word "coordinated" or "peppy" to describe me, and I am afraid both of these things were required. The music was at least three times faster than anything I have experienced and after bouncing myself around uncomfortable for a few songs, I finally settled for a rapid shuffle-step combo that somewhat mimicked my fellow party goers, who seemed unfazed by the machine-gun style bassline. After hitting up some more places and trying out some new pickup lines (What time is it? was met with mixed success), we headed home.
The next morning we woke up ready to head to our next crashpad in Bondi. Unfortunately, our crashpad was not ready for us, ie, our host had not been able to move in and could not provide accomodation, as she had none to offer. Undeterred, we packed up our belongings and headed down the hill to the local Macca's (that's McDonalds for you Yanks) to utilize their free wireless to plan our next move. The knowledge that we were homeless in a strange city on a strange continent should perhaps have been met with some consternation, but I'll admit to feeling some excitement. In my nearly two weeks in Australia, countless things have gone wrong. In fact, its safe to say that exactly nothing has gone exactly according to plan or been in any way shape or form what I expected. However, this powerlessness over my surroundings has been somewhat liberating. If I miss a tram that I desperately needed to get me somewhere by a certain time, no amount of complaining or stress is going to make it reverse and retrieve me. If I want to pout about it, I definitely can (and sometimes do), but the knowledge that there's nothing to do but wait has provided me with a surprising amount of relaxation.
After a bit of searching, we found three rooms in a hostel for Friday night, and decided that Saturday night would just be sleepless, as our flight out was at 6:30 the next morning. We checked in to our new room and met our 12 new roommates, who created us with a series of nods and grunts. After shoving our bags into a locker, we headed out to explore the city. Well, Nick and Kelsey had been before, and had seen all the sights, but they indulged me and dutifully tramped around to the tourist spots with me, obligingly posing for pictures every four steps. I'm happy to report that I enjoyed the sights of Sydney much more than I though I would. For some reason, I thought it would be unbearably humid and somewhat oppressive, full of towering skyscrapers. While it was full of skyscrapers, and could have been more temperate, the city itself is beautiful, with plenty of open green space. We walked through Hyde Park to get to the Botanical Gardens, which were gorgeous, and from there it was an easy walk to the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. The bridge was nothing spectacular, just...a bridge, but I suppose as bridges go it was a very nice one. I really like the Opera House, though. Nick and Kelsey both remarked that it was smaller than they had imagined it, but I really hadn't thought about the scale of it before. I love getting close to it and looking at the intricately tiled roof, and peering through the windows at the people enjoying their food at the gorgeous, but certainly overpriced adjoining restaurant.
From there we headed back to our hostel to rest up a little before venturing out for dinner and then enjoying a nice box of wine on the cockroach-infested roof of the hostel, while people on the luxury hotel balconies above us flicked cigarette butts at us.
Saturday we woke up and checked out of our hostel and headed to the home of a friend of Kelsey's, who had miraculously responded to a panicked facebook message we had sent the day before, asking for somewhere to store our luggage. After a stop off there we headed to historic Bondi Beach for lunch and a near-drowning incident before starting the night's festivities. We got back a little later than we wanted to and so were death-marched by Kelsey the several blocks (it felt like a hundred) to where the parade would go through.
A (self-proclaimed) veteran of the San Francisco Pride Day festivities, I was expecting to feel some sort of familiarity at Sydney's celebration. Other than being less than shocked when some of the BDSM floats came around, I don't think that Pride Days are something that someone becomes accustomed to. The number of people, costumes, and floats, the sheer time and energy that go into creating something so utterly frothy and full of frivolity is truly amazing. We spent the entire night wandering the streets of Sydney, simply swept up by the atmosphere.
We eventually headed "home" to pick up our luggage, caught a cab to the airport and somehow headed back to Melbourne. I spent all of Sunday in something of a stupor, exhausted to the point of insanity, but it was a truly wonderful experience, and I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Well, much as the poor little mouse's comfortable dwelling was rent asunder by forces out of his control, our plans for our Sydney vacation didn't quite go according to plan.
We decided to head up to Sydney for Mardi Gras, the epic weekend of partying that traditionally occurs prior to the Christian tradition of Lent, which marks the time of reflection and self-denial prior to Easter. In Sydney however, the hedonism is brought to a new level through a combination of traditional Mardi Gras festivities with those associated with Pride Days showing support for the GLBT community. Basically, just an excuse to make the parties bigger, better, and even more fabulous. Nick, Kelsey and I decided to fly up on Wednesday night, stay with friends of mine (Thanks again Eliott and Torey!) for two days and then move on to stay with a friend of Nick for our final two nights, before flying out at 6:30 am on Sunday (yes, you read that correctly. in the morning).
We arrived in Coogee late Wednesday night and while Nick and Kelsey went to see what the city had to offer, I went down to the local bar with Eliott, where we ran into some GW people and Nikita and I took a toolish DG picture. The next day, after waking up early to conduct a rather important job interview in a sketchy internet cafe surrounded by strangers who now know all the valuable skills I would bring to a leadership position, we headed down to GORGEOUS Coogee beach, which the boys are lucky enough to live literally a block away from, and spent the day lying out on the sand. Ok well Kelsey and I lay out, Nick gave us twenty minutes, then retreated to the shade to read his science fiction novel. After a relaxing day, the boys headed off to a booze cruise and Nick and Kelsey and I hit the town. After an extra long goon pregame session which may or may not have featured a Britney Spears music video retrospective and Nick reenacting some choice cheerleading moves, we headed out to Oxford Street to see what the Mardi Gras crowd had to offer us.
The giddy mood was palpable and there were rainbow flags and revelers everywhere. We looked around for a little and then headed into the first club. It is at this point, gentle readers, that I must address a personal shortcoming of mine that emerged this weekend. I cannot keep up with the music at a gay bar. No one who knows me would ever use the word "coordinated" or "peppy" to describe me, and I am afraid both of these things were required. The music was at least three times faster than anything I have experienced and after bouncing myself around uncomfortable for a few songs, I finally settled for a rapid shuffle-step combo that somewhat mimicked my fellow party goers, who seemed unfazed by the machine-gun style bassline. After hitting up some more places and trying out some new pickup lines (What time is it? was met with mixed success), we headed home.
The next morning we woke up ready to head to our next crashpad in Bondi. Unfortunately, our crashpad was not ready for us, ie, our host had not been able to move in and could not provide accomodation, as she had none to offer. Undeterred, we packed up our belongings and headed down the hill to the local Macca's (that's McDonalds for you Yanks) to utilize their free wireless to plan our next move. The knowledge that we were homeless in a strange city on a strange continent should perhaps have been met with some consternation, but I'll admit to feeling some excitement. In my nearly two weeks in Australia, countless things have gone wrong. In fact, its safe to say that exactly nothing has gone exactly according to plan or been in any way shape or form what I expected. However, this powerlessness over my surroundings has been somewhat liberating. If I miss a tram that I desperately needed to get me somewhere by a certain time, no amount of complaining or stress is going to make it reverse and retrieve me. If I want to pout about it, I definitely can (and sometimes do), but the knowledge that there's nothing to do but wait has provided me with a surprising amount of relaxation.
After a bit of searching, we found three rooms in a hostel for Friday night, and decided that Saturday night would just be sleepless, as our flight out was at 6:30 the next morning. We checked in to our new room and met our 12 new roommates, who created us with a series of nods and grunts. After shoving our bags into a locker, we headed out to explore the city. Well, Nick and Kelsey had been before, and had seen all the sights, but they indulged me and dutifully tramped around to the tourist spots with me, obligingly posing for pictures every four steps. I'm happy to report that I enjoyed the sights of Sydney much more than I though I would. For some reason, I thought it would be unbearably humid and somewhat oppressive, full of towering skyscrapers. While it was full of skyscrapers, and could have been more temperate, the city itself is beautiful, with plenty of open green space. We walked through Hyde Park to get to the Botanical Gardens, which were gorgeous, and from there it was an easy walk to the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. The bridge was nothing spectacular, just...a bridge, but I suppose as bridges go it was a very nice one. I really like the Opera House, though. Nick and Kelsey both remarked that it was smaller than they had imagined it, but I really hadn't thought about the scale of it before. I love getting close to it and looking at the intricately tiled roof, and peering through the windows at the people enjoying their food at the gorgeous, but certainly overpriced adjoining restaurant.
From there we headed back to our hostel to rest up a little before venturing out for dinner and then enjoying a nice box of wine on the cockroach-infested roof of the hostel, while people on the luxury hotel balconies above us flicked cigarette butts at us.
Saturday we woke up and checked out of our hostel and headed to the home of a friend of Kelsey's, who had miraculously responded to a panicked facebook message we had sent the day before, asking for somewhere to store our luggage. After a stop off there we headed to historic Bondi Beach for lunch and a near-drowning incident before starting the night's festivities. We got back a little later than we wanted to and so were death-marched by Kelsey the several blocks (it felt like a hundred) to where the parade would go through.
A (self-proclaimed) veteran of the San Francisco Pride Day festivities, I was expecting to feel some sort of familiarity at Sydney's celebration. Other than being less than shocked when some of the BDSM floats came around, I don't think that Pride Days are something that someone becomes accustomed to. The number of people, costumes, and floats, the sheer time and energy that go into creating something so utterly frothy and full of frivolity is truly amazing. We spent the entire night wandering the streets of Sydney, simply swept up by the atmosphere.
We eventually headed "home" to pick up our luggage, caught a cab to the airport and somehow headed back to Melbourne. I spent all of Sunday in something of a stupor, exhausted to the point of insanity, but it was a truly wonderful experience, and I would do it again in a heartbeat.
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