Here it Goes Again

I would like to make it clear to those reading this blog that I have not been procrastinating. It is my hope that through cataloging the events of the last two weeks that you will understand the sheer lack of time that a day provides for writing. I ended the last post at the time that I arrived in my unit. I believe that this is as good a place as any to take up the thread.
My first two days at Edith Cowan were marked by extreme disorientation. For those first two days I would find myself wake far too early in the morning (often at times that most would consider night), and falling asleep early in the afternoon. When I was awake I spent the majority of my time wondering the local shopping center (mall) and getting thoroughly lost on campus.
I believe it was my third day here that I called to verify that I was enrolled in my classes. The response to this question was one that most third parties I am sure would find amusing. I was told that not only was I not enrolled in any of my classes, but that all the classes I had intended to take were not available. This was a lovely blow to my psyche after I had spent two months in the States getting all my classes approved. I was a little more than bitter about this point. I would like to apologize to all those that have had to hear my rants on the subject. But that day was not without its positive points, for that was the day that I attended my first village party. Nothing is as good at righting the circadian rhythm as attending a uni party. {uni noun: - contraction of university. US = college}
The Australians have a peculiar manner of mocking stenotypes about themselves and then drinking XXXX and playing “We Come from the Land Down Under” at parties. It was at this party that us international students started to comingle. I met up again with George from France. I also met Sheida from Sweden, Charlotte from France, and Georg from Austria.
This party was a major learning experience for me. I learned that Australian take a perverted pleasure in taking the piss out of Americans, though in all fairness they will take the piss out of damn near anything. I also learned that despite all I had been told at home; most young Australians claim a loathing for America. The majority of this is all talk (I assume). But to make this quickly digressing story short; this party corrected my sleeping patterns and introduced me to many new and unique individuals.
One last note about the party; I feel it urgent to relate this anecdote before I move on. If you find yourself in Australia and someone starts talking about drop bears it would not be impolite of you to raise your longest finger to them. I was having a serious conversation with an Aussie girl about venomous creatures to stay away from. She casually slipped in “Drop Bears” and then went online to show us that they exist. I had heard the name before and bought the story hook line and sinker. This was of great amusement to the Aussies around me. This same person also dropped casually in a conversation that she was an escort, and without missing a beat went on to talk about her day. Australians have a vicious sense of humor.
The next day was a start of a death march of night clubs that for some lasted eight days. I personally only spent four days invested in such enterprises. On the first night we started at a Thai restaurant with rather slow service and overpriced food. From there we made our way to the Deen. This was rather uneventful except for the fact the girls in our group discovered Australian boys.
The next day was marked by orientation and more clubbing. The orientation was dull but had free food so I find it hard to complain too much.
A few words on clubbing: I personally find clubbing to be only mildly amusing. I am often struck by the fact that if these people were to dance the way they were at home in front of a mirror they would be deemed pathetic, but because everyone does not know how to keep a rhythm in a large group they are cool. I have also learned from personally experience that you cannot pick up girls by emulating John Travolta’s dance moves from Pulp Fiction.
It was at this night of clubbing that I made my singing debut. The Deen had a decent cover band that started going into “Blister in the Sun” by Violent Femme. The singer asked if anyone in the audience knew the song. I rushed to the stage, he put the mic to my face, and I belted out the song in one long scream. I believe that the singer’s reaction to this was to the affect of “get this guy some marijuana.” {a note to my loving family: have not dabbled in any drugs and am still a straight edge}
It could seem at his point in my post that I have devoted my last two week entirely to hedonism. This is not true. Everything shuts down in the area ridiculously early. This leaves me only a short window in the day to get all my paperwork done for school, and to run errands. I have been filling that window fully. After six p.m. the only things open are the Night Clubs in Perth. So it is a logical step for me to go there, rather than sit in my room being bored to tears.
That weekend I travelled with my group to downtown Perth. Perth is a very odd city. It is surrounded by nothing, vast vistas of rural countryside. Yet for some reason, the developers of the city decided to emulate the styles of other cities and make all the buildings crammed next to each other. This being said the city is very beautiful and does an excellent job contrasting the urban areas with parks and an unblemished waterside. The buildings are an odd mix of Victorian England and post modern architecture. The street are filled with a plethora of street performers including a mime. While there I went to the local grocery store to buy fixings for pizza. An odd quality of Aussie grocery stores is that they are located in malls. I made a tactical error whilst gathering ingredients. I forgot that Aussies call catsup, tomato sauce. This led to me make my first ever catsup pizza.
On Monday I bought a ticket for Esperance to visit my friends the Caulfields. I left Tuesday for a ten hour trip. The bus service played several films that made me want to shoot myself (Hallmark Hall of Fame, PS I Love You etc.). On the trip I was able to witness firsthand the shear emptiness of the area surrounding Perth firsthand. It is difficult for a person from America to rationalize just how large an open area this is. I had always been keen to gloat of my days when it took two hours to get to the nearest city. This is a laughably small amount of time compared to what rural Australians must travel. I arrived at Esperance at six pm. I was greeted by my friend Frances who took me to her house where I met her father Steve, mother Pam, and brother Stuart. The Caulfields seemed to see it as their duty to act as my surrogate family and to have me experience as much Australian culture as was possible in three days. I was given quite the rundown of common Aussie terminology and media. For instance Chooks= chickens, benches= counters, no one says restrooms or bathrooms, yobbo= idiot, yute= pickup truck, and many more. I also watched the Australian equivalent to French and Saunders, Kath and Kim.
Frances took me to the beaches of Esperance. She had always told me that they are the best in Australia and I have to admit that I always thought that this was a biased opinion. I was wrong. I did not believe that beaches of this nature existed anymore. Esperance is the most beautiful town I have ever been to. The beaches have crystal clear water that, even when freezing, cold feels pleasant. The beaches are unblemished by litter, and most of them are studded my jaw dropping rockscapes. Tiny crabs live in-between these rocks. Frances and I traversed many a sheer rock face.
The writer Bill Bryson was one hundred percent accurate when he said that the majority of Australia is stuck in the Midwestern America of the nineteen fifties. I felt immediately at home in Esperance, having been raised in the small town of Pigeon Michigan. Yet Esperance seems to posses that cheery self contained happiness of prosperity that I had only seen in pictures of Huron County’s past. But take that image and superimpose it onto an image of a utopian beachside. The children of the town even take surfing as a class at school. Another interesting element of the area is that the youths of the can be quite prosperous without going to university. There are so many high paying jobs available in the mining industry that many the young people go off for apprenticeships. And no one in the area works in the hospitality industry, meaning that much of that sector has been taken by immigrants.
I made appoint while there of having Frances take me to their town museum to see Sky Lab. This is the space station made famous for crashing into Esperance in the nineteen seventies. This museum reminded me of Pigeon’s museum. It was a hodge podge of random miscellanea that appeared to have once been the contents of some old lady’s attic. This does not in any way mean that I found it boring, quite the opposite. But it did seem as though the only element that all the part of the museum had in common was age.
Frances took me to her grandparents’ house for tea on my last day. Her grandparents were very amiable and asked me many questions pertaining to my nationality. Her grandfather posses an extensive collection of aboriginal artifacts that line on of their walls. One of the items (a bulbous stick) was described to me as an item of the feminine persuasion. In their backyard her grandparents keep birds ranging from magpies to chooks (chickens).
Later that day Frances took me to the local golf course but not for the normal purpose. We were on the hunt for kangaroos. We came across a family of roos that did not seem at all intimidated by our presence, though I did get the feeling that they were slightly annoyed.
I ended my last day in Esperance with surfing. Both Stuart and Steve are accomplished surfers and they took me out to show me the ropes. While I do not believe that I did an exceptional job, Steve seemed to think I was pretty good for a first timer. I did manager to stand up several times, of which I am very proud. Surfing is far more exhausting than it looks and for the rest of the evening my arms were useless. The next morning we left at five in the morning and arrived back in Perth at one pm. While in Esperance I gained a slight cold that left my voice gravelly.
That night some friends of mine invited me to go to a posh club with them. I forgot that when at clubs the only means of communication if screaming at the tops of your lungs. I had a very interesting experience of quite literally feeling myself lose my voice. As I am typing this post I am incapable of communicated above a horse whisper.
That rather nicely ends my story of my first two weeks here. More posts will be on their way as I find time to write them.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer