Bronte Brings Me Home

1 June 2010

To be honest, I don’t believe the date. To me, 1 June should be full of humid air, a cool breeze, kids jumping in the pool, and frozen lemonades.

Here in Australia, 1 June means a sweater, a raincoat, an umbrella and hot tea. This is a very backward feeling for a New England girl.

Despite the rainy winter season, however, the temperatures haven’t dropped too low, and the sun fights for a good spot each day. Although I would be bikini clad by now at home, this side of the world has allowed me to exercise my favorite winter items, six months in advance.

The last few days here have been quite different, and the weekend held a lot of exploration with my new friends. Coming from all over the States (in origin and university), there is quite a fantastic mix of personalities and opinions; but we all come together in the art of travel writing.

On Saturday, we perused through the Paddington Markets in the rain, and tried to get a handle of the city a bit more. Although it had the same kind of feeling at Portobello Road in Notting Hill, it wasn’t really a comparison (although it started off of Oxford St.). After an hour of trying homemade cupcakes, and bargaining for some silver jewelry, the girls and I ducked into a cute café for some lunch. Although Annie and I were desperate for some pumpkin soup (pumpkin apparently is the veg. of Aussie), they were out, and we had to settle for a MASSIVE breakfast. After it was ordered, all was well.

At night, I checked out the club scene again, and found good things. The gentleman here seem to be just that—as they let you do your own thing on the dance floor, without asking to dance or grope or swing around. It’s all individual swinging of the hips here, with no pressure to pair up. Julianna, Annie, and I danced until the early morning, solo, silly, and satisfied.

The next day, we went to the famous Bondi Beach with the entire class, and strolled along the Cliffwalk to Bronte Park. With the girls in tow, and the sun peeping through the clouds, I started to feel like I was really in the outdoors of the country. Obviously, as I was walking along a huge, turquoise ocean, with an aqua sky and peachy sand. But, there was something very liberating about strolling through such a new place on the other side of the world, and sort of feeling like you were at home. The sand wasn’t nearly as coarse as RI, and the sea had surfers instead of swimmers—but somehow, in the Australian Winter, I found a bit of Rhode Island summer in the seaside.

After a great lunch (roast pumpkin, feta and eggs!), I stayed in Bronte Park alone til sunset (at 4:30), and wrote my little heart out. So far, this country’s good for that. I walked along the Boardwalk, and breathed the new sea air in deep, thinking that for only one weekend in a Sunburned country, I was already seeing, feeling and knowing the broader bits of the country’s beauty, and that these next seven weeks can only make it better.

Happy Travels,

xx

Hold On to Your Hat

On Thursday at BU Sydney, we were exposed to an “Adventure day!” which included lots of advertisements for lots of jumping: from rocks, cliffs, planes, bridges, and boats. The travel agent who ran the show was my polar opposite: a big crocodile Dundee hat, t shirt, jeans and snake skin earrings with a long Pocahontas style braid. She told stories of vicious crocks, scared students, and instances of what can happen if a shark swims next to you (tip: screaming isn’t really the best reaction while snorkeling --shoot). As my fellow students romped around after her storytelling, signing up for various plane jumping activities and things that made me queasy, I really started to wonder where my was place in Australia. I knew that it must be here somewhere; but in those activities, I couldn’t find that burning thrill of excitement that comes when one signs up to fall 14,000 feet, flail around, and hope for the best. Although I must admit, in my regular routine, I can flail pretty well.

Feeling a bit out of place, I took the evening to wander around the city with some new friends after class to see the light show at the Darling Harbour in Sydney. After all, I knew that once I saw those famous tips of the Opera House, and the monstrous, magnificent Harbour Bridge, I would feel like I was really, fully here.

Lo and behold, after a quick stop in a scuba and backpacking bar (literally called ‘scu-bar’), and a happy toast with Gaby avec some cider, we strolled down George’s Street to find the Harbour, and the Opera House illuminated in dancing, sparking lights. As part of an art festival called Biennale, the Opera House is cloaked in spectacular colours, and only in this season of Australia. As I walked up past the big boats, small boats and lovers on the dock of Darling Harbour, I stood in front of the new world, and took a breath of a new beginning. There it was: the shimmering glow of my something totally new in my summer semester in an Australian winter wind. I had officially arrived.

The next day, we had our first Travel Writing class, and I met the legendary Professor that all my friends had told me about in Boston (seriously—professors, students and IP workers tell the happiest tales of this woman). She’s a writer, herself, and her personality is booming, her wisdom bountiful. She’s got a killer laugh, and she puts her money where her mouth is. Unlike anyone else I’ve met before, she talked openly and supportively about “the writer lifestyle,” and as I sat in my seat, I realized that for the first time in my life, that I was about to work with someone who takes writing, thinking, journaling, and creating seriously, and against the odds, has made the stuff of her dreams, the stuff of her life. As she sat with us and displayed a slideshow of pictures from the years of Travel Writers gone by, I couldn’t help but feel that burning thrill of excitement of that gravity-defying, gut-wrenching, hold-on-to-your-hat-and-pray-for-dear-life feeling of lift-off that can only come from one big, life changing chance that may never come again. Although I may not have signed up to jump from 14,000 feet for the thrill of feeling alive, I am about to embark on a time where my sense of creativity and expression will truly take flight, and my ambition, my soul, and myself can all ignite in a new sort of life—and hopefully that lasts longer than it takes to touch-down on the ground with a big, burly Australian flying-partner strapped to your back. This trip is the free-fall, and this is just the sort of thrill I’ve been looking for.

Happy Travels,

xx

Touchdown in a Land Down Under

Although I feared the worst from this FOURTEEN and a HALF hour flight, it seems that, despite being lost in the universe for a few hours, I am here.

From Boston to LAX, there wasn’t much excitement—except that it was my first time trying the American version of my trusty Sir Richard Branson’s line of aerial toys. For my first solo trip across the Atlantic, I took V.A, and felt like I was swimming in a paradise of friendly service, peppy Brits, and of course, those gorgeous red coats. Tea? Yes, Please! Towel? For sure! A bit of wine to help you sleep? Now, you’re speaking my language!

But, this time was a bit different, as are all things translated from the Brits to the Yanks. This plane was more like a space ship, complete with soothing purple and blue lights on the inside to ensure privacy, but also made me feel a bit like I was in one of those sleeping eggs whilst travelling to space. Even the seats were quite elaborate, as I wiggled around in an airplane seat that is nicer than my apartment furniture, and had outlets at my disposal. This was high-tech, American style. All that was missing was the tubes of liquid space food.

As I sailed through that six hour journey, I got bits and bobs of research done, and made a decent dent in Bryson’s In A Sunburned Country. Mind you, I admire Bill for all of his witticisms, smart quips and the ability to put his finger on cultural quirks. However, I would LOVE to take a red pen to some of his tangents. One description of how the Harbour Bridge made you feel may not be enough, but I think with a little editing, Bryson would run slightly smoother. However, he is my survival guide as an Ameri-Brit who travels and delights in the Land of Down Under, so I should just keep my mouth shut.

With all of these hours to kill, I did a bit of research on the country itself—and mostly I’ve just come up with the fact that we, the students of this study abroad semester, are not so different than the original Australian settlers. Sure, we may not be criminals (most were taken for petty crimes, anyway), but we are similarly, a rowdy group of foreigners who are about to embark on a huge, unknown land, and we’re just waiting to see what happens. In essence, this 747 airplane (with an upstairs, mind you), is somewhat of a parallel to the HMS Endeavor, lead by Captain James Cook (complete with turbulence—now known to me as “airsickness”). Maybe more accurately, we are like the First Fleet that landed on Botany Bay in 1770, with the first round of new rambunctious residents.

In truth, we are about to embark onto soil never touched by our feet before, and we shall breathe the air of the other side of the world. Here, seasons are backward, time is almost impossible to tell for us, or manage, and the names of places we know from home look very different on this side. We shall endeavor to find our places Down Under, soak up a little sunshine, and hopefully, learn a thing or two about a culture that started out from slew of outcasts, and grew to a great society to be botanists, scientists, writers, actors, politicians, and surfers. We share a history of starting as pilgrims and ending as pioneers, and for that, our camaraderie shall be solidified forever.

Here’s to us, and our endeavors in this new, shiny, open Wonderful Land of Oz. May we learn about who we are, where we come from, and where we’re going, and discover the treats, trails, and treasures that make up the truly incredible country of Australia.

Cheers,

xx

C.

Flying Somewhere Over the Rainbow to find the Land Down Under

As Bill Bryson humourously writes," Each time you fly from North America to Australia, and without anyone asking how you feel about it, a day is taken away from you when you cross the international date line...Between America and Australia, you will experience something that would be, in any other circumstance, the starkest impossibilty..[And] In the circumstances, it is a pleasure to find yourself anywhere; that it is Australia is a positive bonus."

- In A Sunburned Country

As you may know, I am also about to embark on a journey that will bring me to the other side of the world-- and I am happy to trade one day of my life for it. For May 25, I technically will not exist in the States, or in Australia, but somehow, as I float over the Pacific to the Indian Ocean, I will arrive unscathed and ready to rumble. On 26 May, my exciting life as a Sydneysider will begin; and in late July, I'll let you know what I would have done with my long lost sun cycle.

Now, you may be thinking that this is quite an unexpected journey to Australia...especially for a girl who loves her cities old and her shoes clean. But, this adventure (which absolutely includes 12 days in the Outback--no joke), however unexpected, is about to light my world on fire, and present opportunities to me that I literally, could not have imagined for myself. To those of you who have seen my version of "roughin' it," I apologize in advance for what belly laughter may come as I trek through the land of EVERYTHING poisonous and deadly. I will keep you posted on my condition in these circumstances.

But, for those who have yet to know my survival skills, I ask that you only buckle up, cut a little slack, and join me on this big journey Down Under.

For a girl who dropped out of Girl Scouts even before the campfires had to be built, this should be very interesting.

But, in all seriousness, I have to express what utter joy,excitement and gratitude I feel for this trip of a lifetime, and the summer semester. In these next eight weeks, I will be participating in a Travel Writing program, for both Fiction, and Non-Fiction, and meet with various published authors, professors, editors, etc. to pick up tips, tricks, advice, and most of all, criticism. For the first time ever, I'll truly be able to put my work on the chopping block, and experience the pain and glory of what it means to be a writer--and the kind of writer I want to be, dream to be, and strive to find will come to light and into focus in these next weeks in the lands, sands, seas, and cities of the wonderous world of Oz.

After all, if Dorothy Gale can deal with lions and tigers and bears in glittering heels, so can I.

Just insert { snakes, crocks, and jellies, oh my! }

Happy Travels,

(And very happy to be back in the swing of things)

xx