Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

The daily journey into the city has been a bit of a nuisance. Fifteen minutes waiting for a perpetually late bus which takes half an hour to get to campus. I'm, like, so done with that, man.

It’s week 9 and I’ve finally sorted out both my life and a bike. (Zeugma.) Better late than never, right? A great thing about res is being constantly surrounded by helpful people. With the aid of a few res-mates, I now have a third-hand bike complete with helmet, seat, and working brakes – all without spending a cent. I bought some lights and a lock for a total of maybe $40, and, after a few chicken-outs, am finally on the roads.

I’ve never cycled in a city before. In St Andrews, I’m never on the road for more than fifteen minutes at once. There are two lanes and some nice shortcuts through the park. Here we’re a clattering crocodile of uni-bound cyclists as lorries zoom past the bike lanes of main roads. We set out in sunshine and came home in pouring rain. It’s real city cycling.

From my so far limited experience, Melbourne is very cycle-friendly. There’s almost always a bike lane. Helmets are a legal requirement. We left res as a group of four, but by the time we were nearing uni we were part of a flock. Melbourne is not really a public transport city – I’ve never been somewhere before where I’ve actually seriously wished I could drive. But though it’s a car city, it’s also a bike city. I hadn’t realised until this week how much I’d missed having my own wheels.

I’ve spoken a little about how things are different in Australia to the UK. But it’s not all external – I’ve noticed I’m pretty different in Australia, too. I’ve had a chat with some other internationals about this, and found that, in different ways, we’ve changed.

Or maybe we haven’t changed – maybe different aspects of our personalities are just emphasised. It’s funny how malleable you are depending on the situation. Priorities change when you’re somewhere big, when you know your time is limited.

In St Andrews, I’m rushing everywhere. I leave the house at eight thirty in the morning and return home no earlier than ten at night. I’m active and outgoing, my days meticulously planned and constantly busy. I thought I’d be like that here, if not even more so.

Instead, I’m quite happy just soaking it all up. I’m floating slowly through life, enjoying the little things: cooking in the shared kitchen on a busy weekday evening, wandering through the city with no clear purpose, spending time with the friends I’ve made rather than being constantly on the lookout for new people. It bothered me when I first noticed it, this newfound quietness and slowness. But it’s an appreciation for the small things, I’ve decided. Quality over quantity. In St Andrews, you have to seek out entertainment – but Melbourne itself is entertainment enough for me. 

Every week, the uni hosts two bands. Some of them are local, some from further afield. There's free beer and a barbecue - with classic Australian hot dogs made from sandwich bread. Broods, an up and coming New Zealand band, played in one of the first weeks, and I've been listening to them a fair bit since. Lend them your ear - this music video landed the same day I did.

Off to Tasmania tomorrow. Have yet to pack or even write a to do list in preparation. I don't even know what time the flight is apart from somewhere in the broad region of 'afternoon.' Time for an adventure.

Busy busy busy

I am not going to write about the referendum here. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. It’s all I’ve been talking about. It’s all I’ve been worrying about. So I’m going to write about something else.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been so busy. The mist of coursework fell heavy across the land, and my home became overshadowed by the stormcloud of important political decisions. But I still found time to get mobbed by parakeets, stalk Tony Abbott on his University of Melbourne visit, acquire a rickety yellow bicycle, see the Twelve Apostles on the Great Ocean Road, compose a nightclub anthem, book a holiday to New Zealand, and buy a tacky little landmark ornament, my signature tourist purchase for every city I visit abroad.

Today we went to St Kilda and had lunch at Lentil as Anything. Lentils is a chain of five vegetarian restaurants run entirely on donations: rather than paying a fixed price, you give however much you can afford or think the meal is worth. The food is delicious, so well worth the suggested price of (to my memory) around $15 – but the donation box means that you don’t have to feel bad if you can’t spend that much. We also had a wander around - and lie down - at the Veg Out Community Garden.

I am midway through the semester and my days are spent in the library, my evenings in the city, my nights in the shared kitchen, and my money on coffee. (Zeugma.) Summer is on its way. My time is beginning to run out. I’d better make it count.

Simple steps to creating an Aussie nickname:

1. Shorten the word to one or two syllables.

2. Add 'o' on the end.

That's it. Congratulations. Servo, bottle-o, Johnno. Works every time.

Anything is peaceful from 975 feet.

These past two weeks, Friday evening has become my Sabbath. I’ve finished uni after the last bus and headed into the city, walking down Swanston Street and breathing everything in. I don’t know how I will go back to my small quiet town. I love it here. The glass towers reflecting a sunset concealed by skyscrapers, the warning ring of the trams as they creak along their tracks towards you, the sense of insignificance which is so freeing, so welcoming, so calming. There is no pressure on you when nobody knows your name.

We climbed to the top floor of RMIT University and found a balcony. Through a gap in the fence I gazed out at the yellow streets below me. Trams slipped by, ringing gently as they went. A group of skateboarders hurtled down the hill. We were at the corner of the city grid, where the map tilts forty-five degrees and the blocks shift from rectangular to rhomboid. Night had fallen, but the city still shone. 

*

It's been a weekend of vantage points. Twenty hours later I was looking down at the city from the Skydeck, 975 feet above the meticulous grid of the CBD. Things move slowly when you see them from above. I leaned my body against the glass and thought, the world is quiet here.

*

I have 99 days left in Melbourne as of today.

Did I ever mention that I'm a National Gallery certified artist? No? Good, because that would have been a filthy lie, and lying is wrong, kids. Well, lying is usually wrong. We can debate that point some other time.

I  call this one Self-Portrait on a Friday Afternoon. (Don't worry Mum, don't worry Dad - I slept until ten today! Score!)

“I love Melbourne. I love it so much that I’m going to name my future daughter Mel, and then she’ll get my surname, and she’ll be called Mel Bearn.”

Lecturer, mid-slide: “I’ve played over 440 hours of Skyrim.”

Residence manager, after a 17 degree day: "Cold outside, isn't it?"

Mondays and Fun Days

Today was one of those Mondays which just wouldn’t cooperate. You might as well call me Garfield. I woke up to a spotlessly clean room, having scrubbed it the night before, only to knock all my food off the top shelf. I hoovered it up, but then I had an altercation with my cooking oil – all over my clean laundry. I missed four buses, handed a book back overdue, got fined, missed both a capella and an Aboriginalities lecture, and made zero progress on the two essays I have due on Friday. The day hit a record low at 3pm when I made an important phone call from up a tree in the pouring rain with a poorly chosen cup of iced tea, soaked through.

Then I went home and complained.

Here I am again complaining now, but I promise there’s a point to my gloom. I’ve talked about the good side to study abroad: the excitement, the bustle, the tall buildings, loud evenings, new faces. Study abroad is utterly wonderful in countless ways. But this episode is about a couple of things study abroad is not.

Study abroad is not a holiday. I suppose it’s kind of in the name. Uni keeps me constantly busy. I’m in the library most days. I still haven’t been up the sky tower. I sat in Fed Square for the first time just this Friday. Two hours of each day is spent on a bus. Study abroad isn’t time out from normal life. It is life.

Study abroad is not a chance to reinvent yourself. New country, new me? Nah. Sure, maybe you’ll try out that lipstick you never quite had the guts to wear at home. Maybe you’ll go to that society your friends thought was stupid, because here, nobody can judge you. The anonymity is very freeing. But at the end of the day, if you’re the kind of person who stresses over deadlines, you’ll still stress over deadlines abroad. If you’re not a party person, being away from home won’t make you magically become one. You’re in a foreign country and nobody knows you and you can do whatever you want - but you’re still you. Those little negative traits you wish you didn’t have don’t just disappear. That’s okay though. because nor do the positive ones.

Basically, study abroad is not just the highlights reel you see here. I blog once a week (ish) because that’s how often something exciting happens. The rest of the time I’m just living life. Some days are good. Some days are less so. All the good bits of life, and all the mediocre bits – just further away. Life isn't perfect, but when was it ever?

I love this new normality.

I had a little moan, so I’ll make up for it now. Things have been pretty fab. I went to the 1000 Steps in Dandenong National Park, a walk which felt easy enough at the time but by the next day had definitely made a lasting impression on my calves. I went to Brighton Beach and posed in front of more beach huts than I can count. I decorated my bedroom and put my postcard arrivals (thanks Sarah, thanks Sani!) in pride of place against my upside-down wall map (about time the southern hemisphere got to come out top). I finished a long week in the library by soaking up the city down Swanston Street and sitting in Fed Square under streetlamps like stars. The sun is emerging. I have always loved second semester. Summer is coming and the sky smiles, not long.

Those kangaroos are as vicious as they say.

On Saturday night I went to see Patrick James live. He was fantastic, as were his support acts, Winterbourne and Gena Rose Bruce. For his encore (or as they say back home, One More Tune) he and his band came into the crowd and performed approximately a meter away from me. No biggie. Another day, another celebrity throwing themselves* at me. Here’s my favourite song of his, complete with lyrics for your karaoke convenience:

*I utterly adore “they” as a singular gender neutral pronoun, but could we have some consensus as to what the reflexive form is supposed to be? “Themselves?” “Themself?” What’s a girl (or rather a person of unspecified gender) to do?

Time for bed, I reckon. That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.