"But when do we get to hold a koala"

It seems that with every country where the opportunity to study abroad exists, there is a stereotypical study abroad picture that goes along with it. If you know someone who's studied abroad before there is a 100 percent chance that the evidence of their travels is preserved in their past Facebook defaults. You just may have to do some creepin' to get there, but you'll find it. Know someone who's currently studying abroad? Guarantee they've got one defaulted right now.

 See if they're in Italy it'll be the classic look-at-me-I'm-so-strong-the-fate-of-Italy-relies-on-me-to-hold-up-the-leaning-tower-of-Pisa-Pic. That or it's a picture in front of the Colosseum or them enjoying a plate of spaghetti and meatballs made by their home-stay mom.

If they're in London it'll be the  iconic phonebooth pic or capturing the time they harassed those guards with the weird hats.

In Ireland it'll be their first Guinness at a pub, and in Thailand they'll be riding an elephant.

And of course Australia is not immune to this stereotypical abroad picture epidemic. I'm guilty of about three of them already. So allow me to introduce them to you:

First there's the holding a koala one. No picture screams "I was in Australia" louder than this one. The posing next to a kangaroo one is a close second  but doesn't make the statement with quite the same intensity. Personally, I haven't been fortunate to secure one of these..yet. But it looks like this:

We all went to the Healesville Sanctuary, a wildlife preserve, a couple weeks go with this vision of us hopping around with kangaroos, running free with the dingos and climbing trees with koalas. Our cameras were charged and ready to secure that we'd capture the standstill moment where we held one of them and could prove to all our friends and family miles away back in the states that we in fact Australia, we were immersed in the culture, and we were hanging out with koalas. Such was not the case. After about fifteen minutes of running straight for the koalas and preparing ourselves for this iconic moment it was destroyed by a fence, a cage, and a couple of over-sized koalas who I'm not even sure I had the strength to hold and could just as easily have been dead. So scratch that off the list for now. Instead,in an attempt to rectify our disappointment this is about as close as we got to a koala that day.

Reenacting the koala mating position as so graciously explained by the sign. Perhaps a new classic?

So since not being able to secure a koala interaction pic, simultaneously means not securing a kangaroo one, we'll go with the next best thing...posing with a kangaroo sign!

                                     
                                     







Lest we forget the crowd-pleasing goon chugging picture:

 which comes in all sorts of variations, so get creative kids!

 But now, moving away from the animals and alcohol and into the realm of serious, deep, self-reflection inducing sterotypical aussie pics is the "gazing off into the horizon and expressing how insignificant and small you are in the world in comparison to the magnitude of the aesthetic life-changing scenery before you  by outstretching your arms into the distance" picture. You wasted your time in Australia if you didn't get one of these:

                                                

And your currently staring at my take on this one as you read my blog.
As for now I can admit, yes I am a shameless tourist and during the remainder of my stay in the land down under I will continue my relentless pursuit of capturing every iconic, and sometimes sterotypically touristy moment that comes along my way. And you will have to physically drag me back to America if I don't get one with a koala.

The Land of No Worries

The unavoidable, inescapable, omnipotent, inherently-implanted Australian ideology that serves as the universal acceptable answer to every potential problem, issue, or dilemma in this country are a simple two words: No worries.
Seriously. It's everywhere. 

I started keeping track of the situations where I've received a "No Worries" whereas in New York I'd receive a WHAT THE F#*! BRO!?!?!

1. I slammed open my door to get out into the hallway and barely missed completely smacking a girl in the face by hardly an inch -- would have left one hell of a bruise. Upon profusely apologizing, she shrugged it off with a No Worries!

2.  I was in a rush to buy colored socks for a themed party. After almost failing in my vigorous search up and down the mall for a green knee-high sock, I came across a sent-from-the-gods sock booth that sold every length, color, material and style of sock imaginable. So of course I had to be the most indecisive person in the world and sift through the innumerable socks for way too long, all the while harassing the poor lady who worked there; "No this is the wrong color green," "Do you have anything with a bow on it," "Why would I pay eighteen dollars for neon green tights I'm only gonna wear once in my life," "Do you have anything less halloween-ey?" This doesn't fly in New York. Patience such as the one exhibited by the sock lady does not exist in New York. But when I finally decided on a pair with two minutes to catch my bus and was struggling to figure out the right amount of coins I needed to pay for them, she took notice, said No Worries! and took whatever amount I had procured from the abyss in my bag. Pretty sure I was a solid seventy cents short.

3.  Dumb American questions. Too many times have I been confronted with Australian slang and needed it translated for me "What's take-a-way is that like to-go?" "What's the difference between a flat white and a long black," and upon entering a fine wine store demanded to know "where's the goon?" And public transportations has lead to questions that have needed a solid five minute response "Where do we get off at?" "What zone are we in?" "Does this take us to the beach?"All explanations whether fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes all ended with a genuine No Worries!

4. And the last one I'll reveal was when I was hurtling down the stairs about to be late for my twelve-o-clock lecture, and almost completely took out the innocent cleaning lady who was carrying a vacuum up the stairs. Once again after apologizing for endangering someone's life it was settled with a No Worries!

Too many of my friends from home have threatened to shun me if I come back to the states with an Aussie accent. Such a situation seems highly unlikely thanks to my domineering New York one. And as far as the slang goes, I've refrained from calling any of my friends "mate," assimilating "keen" into everyday language, referring to the first meal of the day as "brekkie" or replacing what with "ehhhh?"

I've even, through much self-control, maintained that McDonalds is in fact McDonalds, and not this alleged "Mackers" (pronounced MACKAHHSSSS!)

But this no worries thing is like a virus. An infestation causing nothing more than a carefree attitude and a laid-back outlook on life. So why fight it?

Truth is I can't. I'm a goner. I want it tattooed on me (don't tell my dad). For further evidential support of this claim here's Exhibit A: (Don't let the fabulously-tacky Australian flag fanny packs avert your eyes from the best ten dollars I've ever spent.)

I cannot even begin to describe the scene we caused when we discovered that gem. You'd have thought we were crippled old ladies who'd discovered the fountain of youth. Of course this defining and monumental moment was documented thanks to the gift shop cashier guy who, in all honesty, may have been more excited about our purchase than we were as he provided us with an ample amount of accessories to complete our obnoxious tourist look:

The boomerangs and hats? All his idea.

We look like absolute idiots. But we were the happiest idiots in the world.

 No worries!

37 hours to form a dysfunctional family

It started with a ukulele. That and some seventh-grade-cliche icebreaker along with our tyrannical raid of the airport duty-free shop (because what better way to bond with each other than  debating over what tax-less liquor would best serve our economic and social interests) but after 37 hours of traveling alongside each other (maybe you can blame cabin fever) the dysfunctional family that was the Loyola Melbourne Study Abroad Group was formed .

After all, it was in the airport as I waved my dad and sister goodbye as they watched my transition from security to terminal, more so they could laugh at my horrible attempt to distort my helpless expression into one of excitement, that I dubbed myself an orphan for five months. Parent-less, without siblings and no real family for the duration of my stay down under. Or so I thought.

The first thing that would disprove my premonition was when we sat around in a circle in the terminal and one by one introduced ourselves; name, major hometown, the usual. Some even broke the timid confinements of this sphere to reveal a fun fact about themselves (I have a twin sister is always my go-to). I already knew the majority of the kids in our group, an inescapable side-effect of attending a school of 4,000, but there were some faces I had never seen before. And although the ice breaker was more of a joke to pass the time during our five hour layover before heading to New Zealand, the last stop impeding our final destination to Melbourne, its underlying purpose had been served as we all, through the most obvious and overused method possible,  began to know each other a little bit better.

Once we boarded that flight we were anxious. We were excited. We were delirious from overdosing on sleeping pills. But together we upheld the title of "those obnoxious Americans" as (thanks to Alex who brought her ukulele) we provided the makeshift audience that were the passengers on the plane with ipromptu jam seshes with every landing, takeoff and bump on the plane ride. Improvising lyrics, strumming until someone jumped in with a verse, and playing for the sake of a boredom-induced desire to annoy the people around us was the soundtrack for the flights..of course, and much to our audience's pleasure, until the ambien kicked in.

You'd think that after 37 hours of attempted sleep in  the awkward positions only an airplane seat can produce, dragging overstuffed carry-ons through terminals and gates, changing time-zones, planes, countries, hemispheres and crossing the date line all the while drifting in and out of a nomadic delirium that the first thing we'd do once we secured a key to our new home for five months was fall into a much deserved sleep. You clearly don't know us very well.

 Does a saying exist such as You can take the hound out of college, but you can't take the college out of the hound even if said hounds finds themselves thousands of miles away from York Road? Whether it does or not, the events that ensued from that first night and the following week caused us to collectively question "Is this real life?" due to our inherent desire, as instilled through two and a half years of attending Loyola and taking full advantage of the underage alcoholic outlets it has so generously provided for us, for lack of a better term: rage.

Don't let the ties and smiles fool you. We clean-up nicely.  

And rage we did. Together..as a -family? I guess this is where the dysfunctional part comes in. We were an overwhelming force of  hounds on the loose every place we went leaving innocent pedestrians staring in our wake as the DJ played songs that were iconic to our beloved and dearly departed Craig's. We hugged each other and swayed with each lyric. We sang along like the words were our anthem. We introduced seemingly-choreographed dance routines that had previously' been reserved only for inside the walls of Craig's. And for sure we set the record for the longest Bernie Line ever.

A more accurate portrayal.

Through these nights of novel euphoria induced both by infatuation and intoxication, family roles became evident. Some secured patriarchal and matriarchal ones. They decided where we were going that night and made sure everyone got home in one piece. They declared family dinner which was always a culturally appropriate barbecue. Others, such as myself can be identified with the role of indifferent child. Sure I'll go there tonight if you guys say so, and even throwing in the occasional whiny are we there yet on our commute from campus to city to bar.

Along the way several other American exchange students have made this dysfunctional family an extended one, hailing from Wisconsin, Connecticut and Arizona to name a few. So sure our Christmas card might show twenty nine of us chugging goon straight from the bag, and our traditions may include belting out "big booty bitches" every time the DJ plays the song but our group, in all its dysfunctional glory, truly make this experience more memorable and enjoyable. If I ever feel homesick I have 28 relics from home that I didn't have to shove into my luggage.

After these five months are up, and all's said and done, I can truly appreciate what I have back at home, the opportunities this trip offers, and most importantly, the people I have alongside me to share it with.

"Took my chances on a big jet plane, never let them tell you that they're all the same."

I don't think I would ever describe a staff of professionals as cool. Attentive, yes. Helpful, definitely.  And maybe once or twice there's been a waiter that a table of us girls had fought over who would victoriously leave their number on a napkin for. But the only word that does the purple-accessory-wearing, collectively-good-looking , surprisingly-hip, wait-I-actually-wanna-be-friends-with-you-inducing Air New Zealand staff justice, and perhaps the only word that efficiently sums them up is just that: cool. Led Zeppelin knows what I'm talking about.

Upon our arrival into the plane we handed our ticket to a stewardess, who after checking it and with one of the most overwhelmingly genuine smiles I've ever received said "Right this way Miss. Shelton." Miss Shelton? I could get used to this.

So once in our assigned places, seat-belts fastened and prepared for take-off, our personal television monitors displayed a safety video. And we've all seen these monotonous things before that reinstate rules of common sense like it was Moses revealing the ten commandments. But not on Air New Zealand. Throw Richard Simmons in there urging us to " Lose the baggage, fasten your safety belt, take a breather and let's GO!" as he performs an aerobics routine in his signature short shorts, a stewardess demonstrating how to use the air contraption after bumping into a beautiful and unidentified rugby player (I don't blame her), and top it off with plenty of neon and disco music and you have yourself ANZ's take on it. Hard to imagine, so here's some help:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wgpYtJMQQjc

We basked in the glory of our leather reclining seats, personal TV's with remote, extensive selection of shows, movies, and music videos to watch; the perfect remedy for our recovery from possibly the most boring, bland and uncomfortable flight I had ever been on going from NY to California. Or perhaps  now I was just biased. Blame it on the rugby player.

 And then we really started living the good life once dinner rolled around. No longer were we bound to the confinements of the legal American drinking age and although at first we sheepishly smiled at the bottles of wine on the beverage cart, instead of being asked for ID we were asked red or white?

Thirteen hours of watching movies, sipping on wine, and napping in our reclining leather chairs lead the switch between country, hemisphere and day of the week fly by. Before I knew it I was woken up for breakfast and realized we only had about an hour to go before we started living the good life in Australia. But as I looked down at the mimosa I was casually sipping with breakfast, and looked around at the 28 others I was traveling with, about to embark on the journey of a lifetime I realized: I was already living it.

The Eve of Embarcation

Two suitcases attempt to encapsulate my materialism for the next five months of my life. By encapsulate I must mean appease because I would have arrived at the airport with a fleet of luggage had it not been for my lack of extra limbs to carry them all, and of course that pesky baggage fee. Ninety-six pounds of swimsuits, shoes, my summer clothes that had been neglected and shunned to the cold confinements of my basement where they await the glory days of sunshine,  and those two jackets that I reluctantly shoved in there as they obscured my vision of endless days spent tanning on a beach while kangaroos frolicked in the background. I look around my room and its a war-zone of victims that didn't make the cut, garments tossed mercilessly onto the floor of my room deemed, with much second-guessing and whining, unnecessary for my five month excursion. And I'll admit that then and there is when it hit me-I wouldn't see this room again for five months.

It's not like I had been spending the past month at home, alone while everyone else was back at school, ignorant to the calendar and dates and the expanse of my stay abroad, but rather I chose not to think about it in order to put off the anxiety attack I knew was bound to occur. I can't even go to the dentist by myself, and here I am about to travel to another country on the other side of the world.

 Then and there, sitting cross-legged atop my overstuffed suitcases, I decided it was time to reevaluate my life. What was I doing? Could I handle leaving? What's gonna happen to me once I get there? Who the hell do I think I am?

Often, with such spontaneously pivotal panic-stricken moments in one's life, a quote suffices for support.
"Not all those who wander are lost"

That's exactly what I was doing. Wandering. And quite aimlessly I thought at that. The country was unfamiliar to me, the culture, the way of living. Familiarity, friends and family were all here- a place where I didn't have to wander, I could practically stroll through the routine here with my eyes closed. I was headed to Australia to study abroad without knowing exactly what it entailed. But I had to trust that a new country, campus, and culture held the means to reveal things about myself I could never discover back home.

So sure, I might find myself meandering through Melbourne without a clue where I was going, who I would meet, and what I would learn once I was there, but it is the acceptance of these opportunities that ensure I could never be lost.

A sigh of relief and I lay back, sprawled across my two bags ready for what awaits. A crack and a pop break the silence of my reassurance. That better not have been my new sunglasses.