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.