Open a Can of TTFU

“Playing it safe

will always end

in disaster”

-Banksy

There’s a quirky yet classic Australian tune whose hook chimes "Come to Australia, you might accidentally get killed" (click here to listen!) As cute and seemingly harmless as this line may be do not be deceived; for it is a perfectly valid statement. For one thing, if you’re a human with a television set then there’s no doubt you’ve seen Animal Planet’s “Shark Week.” Have you ever taken note of how many of these attacks happen off the coast of Australia? About fifteen occur annually and here’s another fun fact: Australia has the highest amount of fatal shark attacks in the world. But that’s not the only record the country holds that involves the word deadliest. The Box jellyfish is amongst the most lethal of sea creatures existing exclusively in the Land Down Under, along with the taipan snake who has the most toxic venom out of all the species worldwide. The stone fish a.k.a the most venomous fish in the world and the world’s deadliest spider both call Australia home. But such facts are not to escort you away from this country. In fact, what if one was to spend their time in Australia intentionally flirting with death? What if I were to tell you that’s exactly what makes the trip worthwhile.

My best memories of Australia have all occurred when I found myself in situations that very could have resulted in my untimely death. Perhaps I can leisurely make such pompous claims because I’m discussing such events in retrospect, safe and sound with all my body parts intact. Yet at such perilous occasions in my travels I couldn’t confidently say that would be the case. I’ve had my survival instincts kick in, a you-might-die-if –you-don’t-do-this adrenaline rush, and had to say some prayers under my breath once or twice. But all this wasn’t a result of my own doing. 

For my Spring Break Trip with my Study Abroad Group we signed up for a trip called One Fish, Two Fish with Extreme Adventures. Right then and there should have been evident foreshadowing that we would not be lounging on a beach sipping pina coladas for ten days. Our tour guide Chaplain “Chappy” Peters was about as Extreme as you could get. Chappy was an undeniable combination of Owen Wilson’s straw hair, and piercing baby blues and Captain Jack Sparrow’s cunning speech and insatiable craving for thrills. He did everything within his power and resources to ensure that he instilled this ravenous yearning for adventure into each one of us on his tour. If such a quality was contagious was put to the test the day we went White Water Rafting in the Tulley River.

Stewpot raft with Rod before going down the waterfall!

I awoke that morning with a knot in my stomach; the kind that can’t be cured with a good breakfeast because it’s tangled with anxiety. Prior to my excursion on the Tulley, the closest to White Water Rafting I had ever gotten was a rapid ride in Disney World where you were contained to the track of the ride, your seatbelt protected you and a bunch of stuffed singing animals accompanied you along the way. Here on the Tulley, there were no tracks, seatbelts of fluffy singing creatures. It was just me, my friends in my raft group (that we would come to name Stewpot for reasons I won’t explain here) and Rod our pony-tailed rafting instructor. Once we stepped into out raft, we learned we would be sitting on the edge of the boat with our feet shoved into any crevice between floor and side of boat that we could find. That was our salvation in case the rapids got too strong for us, not very comforting to say the least. Soon enough Rod taught us the basic maneuvers: lean left, lean right, all down, on the job and the crowd-pleasing “group sex” which was reserved for instances when our boat got stuck on a rock. In order to advance down the river we had to vigorously and foolishly bounce up and down until we shook it loose. At the time we felt like pros, ready to take on the Tulley after our crash course in rafting. We were soon to find out however that we were nothing but imposters.

Our one goal was not to flip the raft. Anything could happen but we did not want to be those guys who flipped the raft and were sent tumbling down the river. So naturally we were the ones who flipped on the second rapid. What happened was we should have all stayed seated when we crashed into a rock at full force on our way down the rapid. But when the situation finally got dangerous instead of maintain equal weight on both sides by remaining seated, the entire right side of the boat stood up and screamed, causing all the weight to transfer to the left; the imbalance catapulted the seven of us girls and Rod into the rapids. All I remember seeing was my friend Mary hurtling across the raft right onto my face as I was blindly tossed backwards into the water. I outstretched my hands to try to catch her and hoped I’d only hit water.

Trying to overtake another raft

The ten seconds spent trying to compose myself underwater were the longest ten seconds of my life. I couldn’t tell if I was stuck in the rapid, where Mary had fallen to, if everyone was okay, if I was okay or how to fight the current to reach the surface. I struggled to remember the rules an instructor had given us at a debriefing right before we set off which explained the protocol for a flipped raft. “Don’t try to stand you could get your foot caught in a rock and get sucked under the current. Or your leg just might break and you’ll drown” Floating on my back, the proper position to be in, I let the current take me until our group somehow reunited in the rapids and found Rod who had already flipped our boat back and was gathering our oars. We were all shaking like wet puppies once back on the raft and Rod just looked at us like we had performed a seven-girl comedy act for him. “Woo-eee” he exclaimed “Never had a group flip before, I’ll owe the other guys the first round at the bar tonight for that one.” While the river calmed down we floated along comparing bumps and bruises and scratches and scrapes and cuts while Rod finally admitted, “Didn’t wanna tell you girls before you did it but plenty of people have died on that very rapid. Might’ve scared you so figured it was best to tell you after. Alright ladies on the job!”

Working our way to the bottom..

I can’t blame rapids or enthusiastic tour guides for the second time on One Fish, Two Fish where I experienced the adrenaline rush of survival. In fact, Chappy of all people told us not to do it. The activity for the evening was innocent enough; a hike to a sand cliff to watch the sunset from the top. Do not climb down the cliff and try to get to the beach below it. So naturally the second Chappy had his back turned I ran after the guys I spotted attempting to make a break for it and get down to the forbidden waters below. The climb down made it pretty clear why we were banned from doing so. Sand turned into rock and then back into sand so it was hard to maintain proper footing. The descent was so steep that at one point we were actually free falling down to the bottom. But the exclusiveness of the ocean with its untouched beach seemed like enough of a reward as we triumphantly raced into the salt and foam. That is to say, until it was time to climb back up. 

We had to have been at least 70 feet below and there was no way up other than the way we came down. Since I was the only girl I was determined not to have to whine to the boys for help or a boost or to keep them waiting for me. Deciding that it was best to climb the rockier route, while others chose the sandier one, Kevin and I began our ascent. We grabbed anything we could hold onto and soon found ourselves in desperation. He was ahead of me, and the rocks he grabbed would become loose after his grip so I was constantly dodging punches of sand and rock and dirt. At one point we had to attempt to hop up over a rock by literally pulling our own body weight over it; there was no elevation or solid ground that could offer us a boost or help alleviate the ache in our muscles. We both must have made at least ten failed attempts until somehow I got over first. Once over the rock, I looked back down and it was truly the point of no return. If I lost my grip or footing I was falling into the rocks below me for sure; that’s when the adrenaline took over. I scaled the rocky surface of the cliff so fast it put Spiderman to shame. I had to dig my feet and hands into anything that could offer me a second of support before I had to continue climbing upwards for fear it would loosen and I would be a goner. It probably took us an hour to get back up a cliff we took five minutes to tumble down. Finally, we emerged from over the edge of the cliff like savages who thought they would never see the light of day again, unrecognizably stained in dirt, panting for breath. We made it back up just in time for the sunset, and I was never so glad to see one.

Countless other opportunities where fatalities could be lurking around the corner characterized the rest of the trip. We bungee jumped in the pouring rain. We stayed at a beach resort where the Irukandji jellyfish, translucent and only 2.5 centimeters in diameter was well-known to have been spotted (Its sting can cause death to humans within days) but that obviously didn’t stop us from swimming, kayaking and frolicking in the water. We went on hikes where we were constantly warned to stay on the path because the world’s deadliest snakes hid in the bush.  

We went on a nature walk that was home to the world’s deadliest spider. We hung out on beaches where wild dingoes roamed and were known to attack children. And once, while coming home from a night out I had the gruelingly unpleasant sight of witnessing a large black snake writhing around in the pouring rain directly outside my hotel room door. It had slithered away into a crack in the wall by the time I came back with a stick which I intended to poke it with.

In the wise words of Rod, for it was him who offered us this soothing condolence after he sent us plunging down a life-threatening rapid “In Australia we have a saying. Open a can of TTFU. Toughen the F Up.” You shouldn’t sit back and watch the sunset when there’s a whole world left to explore. The sun will still be there tomorrow, I promise. You can’t stick solely to the path your instructed to walk on because their might be a few death adders waiting in the bush. And you certainly should still jump in the water despite the warning of some jellyfish. I did. I’m alive. I have air in my lungs, I can feel my heart beat and I’d say I’m still in one piece...for now at least.

The legend of Chaplain Peters

Once Upon a time, back in the bush of Australia away from the hustle and bustle of the coast there was a little boy named Chaplin Peters. He spent his days on his family farm playing in the field with his loyal friend; his pet lamb. But every evening as the sun started to disappear, and it was time for dinner and bed, his lamb was locked back up in her cage, where she'd remain by herself until he came to rescue her in the morning. But why was it fair that he got to play in the house until bed and his lamb had to stay locked up? It wasn't Chappy decided, and at at the young age of five he decided he had to do something about it. So one morning he crawled out of bed to rescue his lamb earlier than usual. Today was the day they were going to run away, where they'd never be locked up again. Wearing only an over sized sweater his mum had knit herself he set off, barefoot, down the dirt road, away from his house to a new free world without cages, his faithful lamb at his side.

Fast-forward about twenty years and that's where we met Chappy. Shaking a "Sin Tin," passing around an inflatable Kangaroo we were to christen with a name, searching for his next victim to pour goon down their throats, and yelling obscentities into the microphone on the bus while declaring our next surreal ten days action-packed with promises of plenty of debauchery and shenanigans. To me, he reminded me of Jack Sparrow, how he always seemed a little out of it in a way that made you question his sobriety, yet somehow always on his toes as he was a wit with his words and was somehow always five steps ahead of you. When he spoke to you, he looked you directly in the eyes, a salute to his sincerity, with a piercing blue that suggested his timeless youth despite subtle crows feet by his temples, a tribute to the trying adventures of his past. He had golden curly hair as bouncy as he was and an impermeable tan resulting from his profession, guiding college kids on their Spring Break that perfectly coincided with his ideology of rising early to seize each day.  

Chappy and Frodo at the bonfire, first night.

 
And of course he was not without his sidekick, Benjamin O'Connor who he dubbed Frodo, and so Benjamin was forgotten by "how's the shire" and "where's the precious jokes." In reality Frodo did resemble attributes of a hobbit, specifically Frodo, short with a child-like face and brown messy hair who's eagerness for new adventure differnest from Chappy's in its naivety where Chappy's came with experience. And that of course, he had sought such things from the age of five: the day he escaped the conventionaliy of confinement with his lamb.

Chappy and Frodo by the pool at the resort

The two were a force to be reckoned with, living up to the name 'Extreme Adventures" in every sense of the word. If we were cliff-jumping Chappy was doing a back flip off it. If we were bungee Jumping Frodo was doing it with no clothes on.  But despite all the mischief and chaos of the trip our dysfunctional family seemed to take a paternal guidance in them. If we were scared to push our limits Chappy assured us we could, it would be worth it and we'd be fine, and we trusted that. For some reason you couldn't help but trust him.

Chappy and the birthday girl!

When it was one of the girls birthday's and me and him were secretly planning to surprise her. He ran off during dinner and found noise makers, confetti and even a birthday princess crown that was absolutely perfect for the occasion. Even when things got bad, for example and most traumatically, when our room flooded Chappy was with us all night helping us move our stuff and make sure it was safe. He even chose to spend the rest of his night comforting a bunch of sobbing confused girls devastated that their belongings got wet instead of raging with the others, cutting his night short to make sure we were okay.

But what makes the legend of Chappy such a vital part in our One Fish Two Fish trip is that we can't forget him, his impact and his ideology on life. When we asked him what he was after we parted he said "Dont really know. Might go off to the surf in Thailand got four weeks off. Might go stay with my brother, such a proper bloke, absolutely hates the chaos I bring. Might go stay with some other mates, aw well. Real cool cats." He didn't have a "home," really but that was the trade-off. A little instability, for a life with no cages, perhaps the only real way to live.

"Just say hi and goodbye, put a smile on your pretty face"

The trip I was looking the most forward to was our trip to the Outback. To me, that's what I saw when I pictured Australia; the great mass of iconic barren land that was so characteristic to Central Australia. Practically all of Australia's major cities clung to the coastline, and was a distinct commonality between all the cities we had visited so far. The Outback would be something entirely different and I could not wait to roam through the desert and meet an Aboriginal, the group of people we had learned so much about in our Australia History class.

The Aboriginals were the original inhabitants of the Australian continent and nearby islands. The controversy between white settlers and Aboriginals for land rights, political recognition, and civil rights is one that has existed for over a century and still continues today. Our tour guide was an aboriginal and I was eager to learn about his heritage through the aboriginal practice of oral tradition. He guided us through an 'Aboriginal walk,' across the desert stopping to explain certain artifacts along the way. We learned that some of the artifacts, tools to make fire and animal bones dated back thousands of years ago.

The best part about the tour though was that our guide carried a hand-made Aboriginal guitar with him. It was hand-painted with representations of an emu, a fish and a kangaroo in colors that had histories of generations in its hues. Once the tour was over he sat with us we looked across the arid brown desert out onto the horizon of a parched gray-blue sky that blazed over a mass of a sandy weathered brown that was somehow still thriving despite centuries of wind tormenting its timeless sleep. His face was copper as a new penny, and shone like one for how much he sweat as the sun beat down on his long pants and shirt. But despite the heat he managed to whip out a couple of tunes:

 Click these links to hear  Our tour guide singing to us!

ANZAC Day - First Footie Game!

Melbourne is Australia's Sports capital of the world and as Aussies like to put it: "We got sports up to our arseholes!" The sports that define the country; Soccer, Cricket, Rugby and...Footy?

Admittedly, when I first heard the word "Footy" the image of a padded-up, helmet-wearing, 300-pound, American football player prancing around a field and flamboyantly exclaiming with a subtle clap of his hands and a pop of his foot "Lets play Footy!" came to mind. But in reality, its a pretty rugged and masculine sport (if you omit the super short shorts). Australian Rules Football, officially known as Australian football, is also called football, Footy or Aussie Rules, and sometimes AFL, is played on a 135 meter field with eighteen players on each team. Games consist of four twenty-minute quarters. Players may bump or tackle the player to obtain the ball; the players don't use any sort of padding or helmets. A player may run with the ball, but it must be bounced or touched on the ground at least once every 15 meters. Even though their are refs, it seems that there must be some tacit agreement between them and the players because no one ever breaks up Footy fights and there are A LOT of them. One shove of another player leads to all 36 of them on top of each other, jerseys ripped off, and Australians go crazy for it here.

Every year on ANZAC Day, the national holiday that honors all Australians and New Zealanders who served their country (think Australia's version of Veterans Day/Fourth of July combined) there's an annual AFL clash, and since kids are out of school and parents are off of work, the Footy game draws in a huge crowd. In commemoration, there's always a special memorial service in honor of ANZAC Day, so tickets go faster than if Billy Joel was doing another final show at The Garden but we managed, luckily, to secure standing room seats.

We arrived at the game as imposter fans, adorning red and black (the colors of Essendon) pretty much because the group of girls I was with collectively thought this team was overall better looking than their (and now our) rivals: Collingwood. We'd heard a rumor that Collingwood fans were the most obnoxious, so at first we thought we'd support them knowing we'd fit right in perfectly..but then Angus changed our minds ..
   

It was evident from the moment we arrived at the Melbourne Cricket Grounds (MCG) that this was no ordinary Footy match. Decorated men in their service uniforms, suits with medals and pins, gloves, and hats could be seen everywhere. There were men in current service, veterans, and men who were still in training, proudly walking around the stadium in their uniforms. As you can tell, I didn't mind them man in uniform aspect of the game..

Somehow me and my friend Alex managed to sneak into the fans section right behind the goal post. These were the best seats, where all the rowdy fans were and where you could get the closest pictures of the game. I attempted to strike up a casual conversation with security to elude from the fact that I shouldn't have been there and managed to get some really close pictures... in between trying to get Angus to wave at me.

The ANZAC memorial ceremony was really moving, and was a defining cultural experience during my time abroad. Veterans were driven around the sold-out stadium, as an announcer stated their names and service they provided for their country. There was the salute of the flag, the playing of the national anthem, the annual Lest We Forget Speech.


Alright, I'll have to stop right here to tell you that your not gonna get a play-by-play of the game. I can't tell you the highlights or the memorable goals because honestly, I had no idea what was going on the entire time. Who's on defense? Was that a goal? How many points is that? Truthfully, we had an eleven year old, James, as our personal commentator to tell us what was good, what was bad, when to cheer, and when to let out an exasperated groan.


In the end, Collingwood ended up beating Essendon. Immediately after their loss, I received a couple texts from native Footy fans who were envious of the game we were just at not for the fact that it was sold-out, or that it landed on their national holiday but because "we had just witnessed one of the closest and most impressive games in Footy History!"

Why was it so impressive? Wish I could tell you. Ask James..

In Retrospect: I'm an Overdramatic Idiot

A week before I left for Melbourne I should have been anxiously crossing the days off the calendar until my departure. I should have already been packed, or had some idea of what I planned to bring. I should have been researching the city and eagerly making plans to explore my new home. Instead, I was standing on my friend's kitchen table back at school with my fist in the air proclaiming there was no way I was going to leave.

The months before that, I relied on excuses. I'm too poor. I'm too irresponsible. I've never been outside the country before. I can't leave my team. But it seemed like no one else believed them except for me. Consequently, my over-dramatic speech was cut short, and I was dragged off the table and told "Shut up Jenn you're going." Back on solid ground I regained my footing and felt my stomach drop; they were right, it was too late to back out now.

Today, after four months of living and studying in Melbourne I felt the same stomach-wrenching feeling of a looming reality beyond your control; an e-mail from the head of Residence Halls:


Subject: EXPRESS CHECK OUT FOR CLAYTON RESIDENTIAL JUNE 2012 (MONASH ABROAD)

Dear Resident,
You are scheduled to depart Clayton Residential on 30 June 2012. To assist you with an express checkout on your departure day, Monash Residential Services requires information relating to your departure date and forwarding address by 15th May 2012. 

Could I forward them the departure date: never? 
I went from pledging my eternal allegiance to the familiarity and comfort of home to dreading the day I'd be forced to leave Melbourne. In some sort of desperate defense mechanism of denial I deleted the e-mail immediately and pretended it never existed. Then, I found myself beginning to plot ways to prohibit my homecoming to America. Could I burn my passport? Runaway to the Outback and live with the kangaroos? I'm still seriously considering my third option of marrying into the country but I only have about a month left to find a suitor..


Overall I'd done a complete 180 and I am thankful for every event that shifted my opinion each degree. I've learned to surf in a beautiful exclusive beach, I've held a koala (finally!), and lounged in the grass with kangaroos. I've gone bungee jumping and white water rafting and climbed down a forbidden cliff to get to a hidden beach and almost died on the way back up. I've seen Sydney during Mardi Gras, traveled the Great Ocean Road, and made great friends from all different countries. I pet a dingo, spent Easter on the world's most beautiful white sand beaches, I've explored through mines and rode a camel and have seen sights that truly make you appreciate your triviality in the world.

And above all, I've realized I'm an overdramatic idiot. Now, I wouldn't sacrifice a day in Melbourne for anything, and I refuse to believe that I used to beg for a sign, a twist of fate, or a strike of misfortune that would have prevented me from coming here.

Lesson learned. Always trust in discomfort: it's where all new beginnings, and all unexpected great things arise from.

The 12 apostles: nature's paradox

All fell under a spell of respectful silence, but the scene was loud, demanding you to question how such a reckless combination of ocean abusing rock could seem so peaceful.
The rock was archaic, it's contours like wrinkles on a once flawless face, marred by the pestering youth of an endless succession of waves. The ease with which it could made you feel alive while leaving you breathless aroused suspicion of a mere illusion. But the lingering land it had eroded from proved it to be real. The confinements of the earth it escaped from enhanced how free it appeared, yet it was trapped by the authority of a ceaseless ocean. It called for a moment of self-reflection but drained every thought from your mind that was left blank in its wake. It was regal and refined because its fate was rugged and weathered. It was every synonym for beautiful, yet it was indescribable; there were no words to do it justice. It seemed timeless and untouchable, but the tangible threat of the relentless waves showed its innovation would continue.

But the first thing I noticed was how insignificant I felt in the presence of a structure for centuries at the mercy of nature's diligent hand, and yet it was countered with a surge of significance, that of all the sites I've seen this one vision usurped them all, till I felt nothing, and could do nothing, but stare at it.

..and then our bus crashed

The Great Ocean Road is one of the world's most scenic coastal drives, where you can see The Twelve Apostles, iconic surf breaks, waterfalls, and rain forests. Our tour guide, Ash, was in charge of driving the bus, narrating the sites to us, and navigating our way around the sites once we arrived at them. We invested our full trust in him that he would allow us to make the most of this once-in-a-lifetime trip; our faith in him did not cease when our runaway bus almost flew off a cliff.

I heard it before I saw it. We had pulled over at a rest stop (rumor has it we were not even supposed to stop here, but one girl had to use the bathroom so good old Ash gave into her complaints) and not even two minutes after the last member of our group disembarked the bus I heard the ear-shattering crash of a huge metal object crushing into another huge metal object. First, I thought we were being bombed. Then, I turned around and perhaps one of the most horrifying things I've ever seen in my life; our passenger-less, driver-less and apparently brake-less bus, steered by gravity alone, crashed into one, two, three parked cars until hitting a tree above a curb and coming to a smoky, glass-shattered, gas-leaking stop. The rest stop happened to be at a highly-elevated beach overlooking the ocean and had that tree not been there, the bus would have went soaring off into the depths of the water below.

I suddenly flashbacked an hour ago on the bus when we were on the road making a right turn and after hearing a series of responsive whines and groans of the bus, I joked "Hope those aren't the brakes... I feel real safe now!" Irony must have heard me.

No one knew what to do. Ash didn't know what to do. How do you possibly recover from something like that? Out of respect for his panic-stricken, job-threatened, sanity-robbed state we assumed him to be in, our entire group ducked away into the neighboring shops and cafes, checking in about every half-hour for word on what we should do next.

While we waited, I have never felt so much empathy towards a man I hardly knew, but we tried to make the best out of it. We shopped around, tossed a frisbee at the beach, had the best gelato I've ever had in my life, and randomly fed a pack of cockatus. Admittedly, we all agreed it ended up being a really good time. After surprisingly less than two hours we spotted what had to be our replacement bus winding its way down the road towards the wreckage; it was time to return to the scene and discover the verdict.

I'll never know how Ash managed to keep it together. With patience and an obviously fake content look, he remained cool, calm, and collected and vowed that "Even though it was the worst day of his life, it didn't have to be ours." With that he handed us money to get the necessary items for our BBQ dinner. We bid him farewell, attempting to cheer him up and promising him a hearty plate when he finally me us at the cottage we'd be staying at that evening. We kept his plate warm for him all night and upon his arrival gave him a slow clap and a standing ovation. We truly admired him for the way he handled the situation and assured him that none of us would hold it against him. In fact, we made him hangout with us all night, play games with us to get his mind off of it, and managed to put a smile back on a face I thought would never do so again. The trip ended up being one of the most amazing experiences of my life. The sites we saw were absolutely beautiful:

There must be something that can be learned from all this, an uplifting moral lesson of sorts. Never doubt that a group of strangers will have your back in however dire the situation may be? Patience and and a positive attitude can alleviate any moment of crisis? But I think its got to be, when in doubt: put on the E brake.

Loyola vs Monash

Now that the first couple weeks are over, we've had Orientation Week, we've settled into our halls and we've ventured out to the city a couple times. In order to sum it all up I thought it'd be appropiate to compare it to Loyola, let the battle commence

Round 1:
Evergreens vs. MSA leaders
This first round is dedicated to those selfless martyrs who sacrifice their first week at Uni in order to help assimilate the newcomers onto campus and make them feel welcome and accustomed to the culture of campus life. The Evergreens at Loyola are comparable to camp counselors. Adorned in their green t-shirts they lead their group of "shrubs" through orientation week by getting to know their group on a very intimate level. They give you their cell phone numbers, share their stories about their first week away from home in the hopes you'll learn from their mistakes and be comfortable enough with them to give them a call in case you make any regardless. This level of comfort is attained through doing literally every ice breaker in the book: two truths and a lie, the human knot, the question ball, and speed dating are only the beginning. For the most part they don't discuss nightlife with their "shrubs" or encourage reckless debauchery or alcohol circulated shenanigans. The same can not be said for the MSA leaders..allow me to explain.

We first met our MSA leaders at the campus bus stop where they were to take us out to the city for dinner and drinks and officially kickstart the week that we who now know better like to call "the week we were not real people." Pretty much the agenda for that entire week was meet at the bus stop at 5:45 go out to dinner, go out to a bar, go out to a club, find your way home and attempt to get any sort of sleep cause your doing it again the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that...
They didn't really formally introduce themselves or explain the rules of the school we pretty much followed them around like lost puppies across Melbourne. But we didn't need the icebreakers to get to know one another. That was achieved over a pint as they taught us Australian drinking chants (and once we learned we refused to stop shouting them) and showed us the best spots to go out.

When it comes down to it, I'll take chanting "Here's to (insert name here) he's true blue, he's a piss pot through and through.." over two truths and a lie any day

Monash 1 Loyola 0


Round 2:
School Motto
Strong Truths Well Lived vs. Ancora Imparo

Strong Truths well lived are based on past Jesuit ideas praising students to become a well-rounded person through the fundamental values of education that the school was founded on. Ancoro Imparo translates to I am still learning. It accentuates the importance of our education on the future, not venerating concrete archaic ideals. The children are the future are we not?

Monash 2 Loyola 0

Round 3:
The Mandatory School Orientations
From what I can remember of Loyola's orientation it involved a bunch of mandatory meetings in stuffy rooms where staff and faculty and priests introduced us to the campus, its policies and procedures. We had to attend meeting after meeting that felt like lectures, one even circulated around the statistics of students who drank, smoked and went out, what the presumption was and what the reality was. It all seemed as skewed as it was boring.

At Monash our mandatory Orientation meeting involved a shockingly lively powerpoint and presenters for eight o' clock in the morning. They were sharing inside jokes, casually dressed, gave out boomerangs, we played country trivia, they showed us Youtube clips, played songs, and encouraged us to go on Facebook and add them. Oh yeah and the day started off with pancakes with ice cream on top, the rounds been over since then.

Monash 3 Loyola 0

Round 4:
The O-Week Activities

All I remember from Loyola O-Week was an awkward casino night where we walked in confused and questioning why it was our first night out as college students and we were still sober.

At Monash, may I repeat, "the week we weren't real people."

Monash 4 Loyola 0

Round 5:
Club Fairs


Back at home, the club fair was held for one day as two or three representatives stood behind fold up. tables.

Monash's involved a tarmapoline, kegs, a shot ski, free food, free slushies, live bands, and a photographer to capture the madness of it all.

Monash 5 Loyola 0


Round 6:
Going out/Night Life
York Road vs. Melbourne

At school we are limited to the hole-in-the-wall bars that are fake ID's permit our entry in the 20 out of the dailyfinance.com's top 25 most dangerous neighborhoods. Your chance in becoming victim in one of the crimes committed annually? One in Nine.

Melbourne is rated one of the top most liveable cities, and for obvious reasons. Our first night out the streets were aligned with intriguing architecture, fountains, aesthetic lights and oh yeah, we're legal here!

Monash 6 Loyola 0

Round 7:
On Campus Hangout
The Quad vs. Lemon scented lawns

Similar to Loyola with its iconic "Quad" where students hangout in between class time, Monash has its Lemon scented lawns. So far I've never noticed the scnet of lemon, maybe its because the smell of the ceaseless on campus barbeques overpower it. Free food, need I say more..

Monash 7 Loyola 0

Round 8:
Sports
Greyhounds vs. ?!?!?

It's strange to me that Melbourne is the "sports capital of Australia" yet I still haven't figured out how that transcends to Uni. When I asked what the school mascot was no one knew, and most didn't even know what a mascot was, or even the school colors. There's no such thing here really as school teams that represent Monash Uni and compete against other Unis, as far as I can tell.

At Loyola we proudly wear our green and gray, we support our athletics through raging crowds at games across a whole range of sports and we even have a campus greyhound both mascot and an actual dog. Plus, I'm a cheerleader and this lack of school spirit is actually torture.

Monash 7 Loyola 1

Round 9:
Residence Halls
"Dorms like palaces" vs single rooms

At Monash you get a single room, but your not alone for long. Let me put it this way, my fear of spiders has officially been cured from them becoming my makeshift roommates. They're in my room, they're all over the bathroom and there's this peculiar green praying-mantis looking guy whose corpse has been stuck, completely in tact to the point where you'd still think it was alive and kicking on the hallway wall. Really, I would not even know it were dead if it weren't for the fact that I've been walking past him about five times a day for the past four months and he hasn't moved.

Back at Loyola our dorms alternate between being ranked number one and number two in the country. And nothing beats coming home to your adoring roommates after a long day of class, especially in a spiderless room.

Final Verdict:
Monash 7 Loyola 2

You can't rain on our parade: Mardis Gras in Sydney

People travel all across the world to witness the spectacle of Mardi Gras in Sydney, and for good reason. The city turns into an eccentric festival in celebration and support of gay rights. And even though the rain hadn't ceased since we arrived at Sydney , we would not let it "rain on our parade" as our group that signed up for this weekend trip with Extreme Adventures marched to join the party. Bystanders would see neon colors, tight tops and short shorts..oh and the girls dressed up too.

We left for the bar we would be V.I.P at around six o' clock and the sights we saw on our mass migration of  Mardis Gras advocates only foreshadowed the flamboyance and bizarre things we were to encounter at the actual parade. The crowd was adorned in feather boas, sequin bra tops, high heels, obnoxious make-up ..and some of the girls dressed up too. Really though let me take this time out to reinstate that the more scandalous an outfit the greater chance it was on a guy.

The streets were a blinding sea of sequins, glitter, only allowing colors in their most brilliant shades to meander through the waves of onlookers. People watching was a sport. If you blinked too slow you missed a jaw-dropping outfit that completely outdid the one before.


The parade is set off annually by the "dikes on bikes." They were leather jacket-wearing, spikey-haired, stud embellished women confidently setting off the parade like they owned it. And by the looks of the size of some of them, I wouldn't dare to argue otherwise. They fiercley rode thorugh the rainy streets commanding the repsect and attention of every onlooker, whether out of fear, intimidation or just plain awe.Their opening was followed with crazy floats of all lights and colors calling for equal rights for gay marriage to support that love knows no boundaries or discrimination. People were crawling over each other to get a good look, as other retreated to the sidewalks where there were plenty of "Sausage Fests" and vendors selling food, stools to see the parade better, and accessories to further enhance costumes. The streets were swarmed with people who all seemed to be united for the cause.

Overall I'd say the day was just as rewarding as it was shocking. It was great to be a part of a Mardi Gras celebration that was about earning respect and recognition, opposed to earning a couple strands of shiny plastic beads.

"Studying" Abroad

Allow yourself to delve deep into the memory before college, before adolescence, before your awkward stage in middle school, and even before your youth all the way back to childhood, specifically the first day of elementary school. You proudly wore your backpack (none will ever top my dancing Esmeralda one), showed off your new first day of school outfit, posed for a picture as you ascended the big yellow bus for the first time and shyly waved good-bye to mom as she held back tears at the bus-stop, anxiously awaiting for your return where she could ask "So what did you learn today?" Perhaps it was how to color in the lines. Perhaps it was the value of sharing. I can't say such things about my first day at school of school at Monash. But what I can say I learned is..

1. You don't need an alarm clock to tell you to get up for class in the morning, the screeching swooping magpies outside your window will do that job for you.
2. Coffee comes in a Flat White or Long Black. Try not to be the awkard American that asks what the difference is, or make a short black joke.
3. It's perfectly acceptable to call your professor by their first name, in fact they prefer it and encourage it.
4. "How are you going?" does not mean what mode of transportation did you take to get from point A to B, it means how are you.
5.  It is impossible to go from class to class without being offered a free sausage, burger or beer. Literally there are BBQ's everywhere hosted by every society, its what Australia DOES.
6.  Make sure you checked weather.com by the hour, a cold morning can mean a blazing hot afternoon, and then rain right after
7. People go crazy if you tell them your American, and surprisingly enough most Australians have either already been there on exchange or are planning a trip to do so in the future. If you tell them your from New York nine times out of ten you'll get asked if you have a gun or are in a gang.
8. "Australians are all about the bush," so says my History professor (or should I say Rob?) Interpret that as you will.


So now that your as enlightened as I am, remember the days of high school when you'd come home and mom and dad would ask "what'd you do in school today" to which you'd involuntarily respond with an apathetic "nothing" while avoiding making eye contact so you could easily slip away before they could ask you something else? If asked such a question about my day at Monash I could hardly say "nothing." I probably couldn't even say anything normal. The list includes, but is not limited to:

1. Ate my body weight in free BBQ food. What does the Med society, the Asian club, and the On Campus Travel Agency have in common? Free beer and BBQ for you.
2. Watched the engineering society create a cardboard castle in the middle of campus where they funneled on top, and then proceeded to destroy it by body slamming into it until it was a flat pile of cardboard debris which were then used as weapons to fight each other with.
3. Had the Asian Society grab me and my friend, told us to dress up amongst an assortment of bunny ears, feather boas, neon sunglasses and pirate hats and told us to pose as they snapped away pictures of us and then gave them to us on poloraids.
4. Casually got wrapped in a snake while visiting a reptile tent that was visiting campus.
5. Watched a foam scavenger hunt. Picture a moon bounce without the roof covered in foam as people, mostly Australian guys in their underwear (that's also very normal here), frantically digging through foam to find the most orange balls and win a prize, the event was sponsored by MTV.

Casually in the middle of campus

All to which the regulars at Monash seem completely un-phased about. And if I ask them, which I've had to on several occasions "What the hell is going on?" and small talk proceeds they'll ask me why I'm here. I say I'm on exchange, or studying abroad. "Studying" abroad? Yeah, I have to keep reminding myself that..