the GREAT OCEAN ROAD

Right when I began perfecting my wine-pouring skills and came to the realization that I need to actually do schoolwork, Easter Break came around transforming me from a diligent university student back to a backpacker.

Classes started in the beginning of March with Easter Break happening a mere two weeks after, so any travel plans had to be made quickly. Some students ventured to Cairns to get a gander at the Great Barrier Reef, and others went to New Zealand for a zippy weeklong tour. My roommate Laura, our friend Dana, and I decided on a much more independent and less costly excursion: taking a road trip down the Great Ocean Road.

What can normally be accomplished in a couple of days, the Great Ocean Road is the drive that must be done in one’s lifetime and, if adequately researched, is well worth a whole week. As I told the people who informed us it could be done in a weekend, “We’re taking our sweet ass time.”

And I couldn’t be happier that we did.

Melbourne to Torquay

We decided Laura was the most responsible out of the three of us when she booked the rental car, all of the hostels, and penned the agenda for the entire trip, so she became the trusted driver in our new rental car appropriately dubbed Napoleon. She braved the left-hand side of the road with trams whizzing around as we waved g’bye to Melbourne.

Our first stop was Torquay, which hosts the Rip Curl Pro Surf Competition on Easter Weekend. If you want to attend this event, book accommodation well ahead or else you might have to take refuge in the backseat of your Napoleon, like one of the girls almost did. We set our bags down on Friday in the sketchy dorm-style bunk at Bells Beach a bit suspicious. But when backpackers from the U.K., New Zealand, and parts of Australia greeted us our worries diminished and we felt right at home (not to mention we all bonded over a few coldies).

Saturday we took the free shuttle to Bells Beach to see Pros like Kelly Slater and Steph Gilmore ride the massive waves with their eyes set on the Bell Trophy, a prestigious award for any surfer. The remainder of the weekend we emptied our pockets in some of Torquay’s factory surf outlets and rented some wet suits and boards and hit the shores ourselves.

Torquay’s nightlife is usually minimal, but the comp brought in surfers from all over the globe along with popular DJs like John Course. Beware, the bars take advantage of this event to tack on a hefty cover fee. Chilling on the lawn on our hostel after a barbie made a good enough night for us.Hangin out with fellow backpackersIt's a surfer's dream to ring this bell

Rent some wetsuits & boards from Go-Ride-a-Wave and head down to Torquay Beach. Get ready to eat some salt water.

Torquay to Lorne

On Monday morning we checked out of our hostel with teary eyes. It felt like leaving summer camp. I exchanged information with some of the backpackers so we could be Facebook friends forever and we hit the road.

Dana and I took turns flipping through our Let’s Go Guidebook marking must-see places for the rest of our trip, but were distracted from the breath-taking scenery during the drive. The winding road carves along the cliffs overlooking the turquoise ocean sprinkled in rock formations. There are plenty of lookout points to stop and snap and couple of pictures including Point Addis and the Split Point Lighthouse at Airie’s Inlet.

Backpackers swarm to Lorne to hike through the luscious Great Otway National Park, a rainforest terrain which holds a variety of waterfalls, one of the most popular being Erskine Falls. Even with Bells Beach hangovers, the girls and I convinced ourselves to trek to some of the sites. I couldn’t quite convince myself to be in complete awe by such natural beauty. I felt like I was in the Rainforest Café sans the plastic animals everywhere.

When the rain started a-pourin’ the three of us decided to call it an early night and enjoyed our personal room in our hillside hostel. The next morning we learned that a freakish guest decided to join our slumber party. A huntsman spider, about the size of my hand, crawled into our room to escape the rain. Though huntsman are harmless, they are scary as hell, so we screamed until I ran to reception to grab a brave blonde who killed it with a broomstick.

Lorne to Apollo Bay

Shaken up from the spider incident, we made our way to Apollo Bay. I calmed my arachnophobic shock by doing some quick yoga at Marriner’s Lookout and chilling at the beach before grabbing a $5 toasted sandwich at the Bayleaf Café. We drove to some touristy spots like the Great Otway Lighthouse and the Otway Fly Treetop Walk. Unfortunately, the lighthouse was surrounded by a fence and charged an unexpected entrance fee, and I told the girls I didn’t want to pay for the Tree Top Walk when in reality I knew I would’ve had a panic attack (I’m afraid of heights). But to the hour-long drive out of Apollo became a worthwhile trip to me when Laura chased a waddling koala across the road to get a picture.

Marriner's Lookout

Apollo Bay to Port Campbell to Warrnambool

Laura told us it was going to be a long day. In true rainforest fashion it poured, making it a long day full of bitching. We began marking off our list of must-sees at the “Big Tree” in Otway National Park. We considered saying to hell with it when the rain shifted from a light sprinkle to a frigid downpour, but toughed it up to make the 1.5 km walk through the rainforest to get to the tree.

Mud splashed on the back of my jeans as we made the 20-minute walk in silence. I kept thinking to myself, “I’m not in Rainforest Café, I’m not in Rainforest Café,” repeatedly until a sign told us we were in front of the Big Tree.

“Wow,” I said. “A tree.”

Laura got really excited and told me it was 300 years old. Dana complained that she was really cold and wanted to go back.

Back in Napoleon we blasted the heat and Dana and I stayed in the car sighing at the sky as Laura made a bunch of other stops to take pictures of rocks in the ocean. Of course we had to get out of the car to see the famous Twelve Apostles 12 km east of Port Campbell but sprinted through heaps of tourists to get back to the car when the skies opened up again.

The Twelve Apostles

Between Port Campbell and Warrnambool we stopped at Childer’s Cove, a series of beautiful beaches located sort of “off the map.” Laura navigated us through the farm roads as I kept a close lookout for signs. The sun came out and the clouds disappeared. Unlike the other attractions, no tourist was in site at this spot and we were able to truly revel in the beauty of the orange limestone and crashing waves by ourselves. It was perfect.

Once we arrived to our hostel in Warrnambool we were beat and played British Monopoly until it reached an appropriate time to go out. We spent the night enjoying live music at Seanchai Irish Pub which is popular among university students who attend the nearby marine-biology school.

Childer's Cove

Warrnabool to Melbourne

The end of our trip had come. Going back to Melbourne meant assessment time at university and a long weekend of working at the bar for me. We weren’t the happiest kids on the block, but knew that we couldn’t stay on the Great Ocean Road forever. Napoleon was returned as we crossed our fingers hoping they wouldn’t charge us for the piles of sand scattered in the car.

Laura, Dana, and I grabbed some cheap Melbourne sushi and reflected on our travels.

And then I followed my I-do-weird-things-when-I-return-from-backpacking tradition and drank a whole liter of milk.

If I were to die, could I go to St. Kilda?

The advice I always got from study abroad veterans was, “Don’t over pack.” I reflected back to my earlier travels, where I’d be throwing my overnight bag in my friend’s car as she screamed out the window, “We’re not leaving the country!” And the time I went to New York and brought five pairs of shoes—for five days.

“Seriously,” the overseas experience always came out as being so wise. “You’ll completely regret it stumbling in the airport with a ton of luggage. You’ll realize you don’t really need half the things you think you need.”

So I took their advice. I imagined Australia being humid and scorching anyways, which made packing only a couple of shorts and tank tops easier. Since I’ve come to Melbourne though, I’ve been getting different advice. “You’ll need to wear everything—in layers,” the Melbournians say. “You can get all the seasons in a day here.”

Of course I didn’t believe them. I ended up freezing my ass off and getting a cold while sitting in the Botanical Gardens during the Midnight Cinema. I stomped my feet when it started drizzling—every day—and pouted when I had to shove my sweatshirt in my bag before going anywhere.

Lucky for me, the weather took a turn this week as the mercury raised to 86. We took advantage of this opportunity by getting in our swimmers and heading to St. Kilda Beach.

St. Kilda is just a twenty-minute tram ride from the corner of Swanston and Lonsdale, a corner away from my apartment. Arriving to St. Kilda, you are reminded of a mini-So Cal town with a white beach, lined with bars hosting rock bands, and small shops. There are plenty of places to grab a basket of fish n’ chips (which I’ve learned is usually made from shark, yum) or a cup of gelato. It has a relaxed attitude, with its primary piece of flare being the creepiest clown entrance at Luna Park, the vibrant-looking amusement park built by the creators of Coney Island. It hosts the world's largest wooden rollercoaster, whcih I have yet to see cars go on.

The girls and I laid on the beach all day after “slip, slop, and slapping” on the sunscreen. With Australia having the highest skin cancer rates, triple-s is their campaign to protect people from the scorching sun. My roommate carved out states like Montana into the sand, and I met a backpacking Canadian who told us to find him on Acland Street.

After getting enough sun we trekked to the street, which is the central road for a majority of the restaurants and shops in St. Kilda. I found the Canadian on the street selling jewelry, and I supported his travels by purchasing a hemp anklet. He made it for me on the spot. We ended the night at Espy (the Esplanade Hotel) watching funk bands killing a couple of jugs. My roommate was really excited when one of the ska bands performed Christina Aguilera’s “Ain’t No Other Man,” and sang the song the whole entire tram ride home.

Oh ya... I'm STUDYING Abroad

Originally written: March 6th

People constantly ask me what brought me to Oz.

"I'm studying abroad," I tell them. "I'm going to Melbourne Uni."

"Oh." And I always know what's coming next, "What are you studying?"

Then I'm stuck in this awkward situation where I tell them what I'm studying—Magazine Journalism and Sociology—but how I’m not really taking any classes for my majors at Uni, and how my credits just kind of transfer over. This explanation is usually accompanied with clenched teeth and a lot of avoided eye contact. Afterwards, I always follow-up with, “But I study really hard at my home university and I write all of the time!”

Since ending my trip in New Zealand, I’ve surprisingly been looking forward to starting classes in Melbourne. But as this week crept closer, my eagerness to get in the classroom sort of diminished.

Especially when I discovered this week was Melbourne Fashion Week.

I entered my first lecture Monday daydreaming about the L’Oréal Runway Show. As the thick-accented professor set up the Power Point on the history of Australia, goodie-bags filled with $75 worth makeup danced in my head. It was torture.

After attending all of my scheduled lectures and tutorials for the week, I was happy with my course choices. Unlike my home university, all of the classes I’m taking are assessed based on two written assignments—that means no homework, no quizzes, and, get ready to throw the confetti, no exams. More importantly (I guess) I’m interested in the classes I’m taking and am excited to learn about the History of Sex, hear how Australians think everything has an underlying American agenda in Media, Politics and Society, and how Americans are obese but half of the world is suffering from famine in Globalisation, Self and Society.

And I didn’t end up missing fashion week completely. To celebrate the kick-off of classes some girls and I went to the Fashion Incubator Fashion Show at Baroq House, which is beautiful bar decked out in crystal chandeliers, marbled floors and tables, and silk and velvet couches. The Baroq House is again, located in a back alley near my apartment. The show featured local designers and sadly, there were no goodie-bags but there was free champagne.

Sigh. The goodie-bags will come to me one of these days.

Off the Map (Sort of)

Originally written: March 1st

Traveling so far has proven to be a priceless experience, but I'm definitely not in fairy-tale land. I was finally able to check my bank accounts after hooking up my internet, and it wasn't a pleasant experience.

Having fun is expensive. And having the time of your life has turned out to be really, really expensive.

Deciding that I needed some cash money to create more good-times in Oz, I considered street performing which seems to be a popular source of income for some Melbournians. But soon after I decided I lacked the talent needed to attract an audience. So I did the unthinkable: I got a real job.

My job search wasn't difficult by any means. I have no problem prancing into a crowded bar and asking the manager if they're hiring, telling them I have absolutely no bar tending experience, and by the way I'm a quick learner, I swear. It's all about confidence, isn't it?

I landed a job as a bartender at Jwow's Wine Bar, which is a fancy little place right in front of my apartment on Little Lonsdale and Swanston. From the second I descended the stairs to enter the bar I knew that this job would be perfect for while I stay in Melbourne. The environment reflects a ritzy $18 for a cocktail sort of scene, but the place is really laid back.

That chill vibe of course comes from my new coworkers. Even after I spilled two bowls of bar snacks on a couple, my new manager was still kind enough to draw me out a map of places to go in Melbourne.

To stay consistent with it's alternative reputation, some of the best bars, restaurants, and shops in Melbourne are hidden in alley ways. Me and my roommate have attempted to find a couple of clubs in the graffitied crevices near our apartment, but the Chicago part of me still shouts, "What the hell am I doing?" every time I enter a poorly-lit street lined with garbage bins.


Armed with my trusty map scribbled out on the back of receipt paper, after my first night at the bar I set out with my roommate and our friend Dana to find Degraves Street. My manager told me it's the place I have to go to feed my vintage shopping fetish.

At first we were skeptical when we saw the tiny off-street that's located across from Melbourne Central Station. But when we peeked around the corner, it was as if we found a hidden treasure. And finding treasure is the best feeling in the world.

Degraves Street gives off a European aura filled with cafes, bakeries, and restaurants. All are hole-in-the-wall places with outdoor seating that spans the entire street.

Wandering up and down Degraves and its intersecting side streets, I was thankful for my future paychecks. The shops are too amazing to not spend my money in. There are record stores and what lured me there in the first place: heaps of unique vintage boutiques. I felt like an alcoholic in a liquor store.

The vintage shops aren't picked over like they commonly are at the ones I frequent in the States, which I believe is a result of the steep prices. The quality of the clothing in many of the shops is impeccable. A large portion of the garments are hand made from local designers. Fate brought me and the most beautiful plaid jacket together and I felt tears in my eyes and guilt in my gut as I looked at the price tag. Fortunately the boutique babe told me I could put it on lay-by (just like putting a washing machine on lay-away!) and pay it off in a month. Amazing.

Some Pics so Far

Night Time Queen Victoria Market

the Victoria State Public Library

melbourne has amazing public transport... the tram!

at the club with our newly found aussie mates

a kangaroo outside the door of our condo at the resort

the "drake university family" at swimming in Lake McKenzie at Fraser Island

surfing lessons on the sunshine coast during orientation