Published by: The Daily Mississippian
Issue date: October 20, 2008
Section: Arts & Life
McAdams feeding a kangaroo at a wildlife park in the outskirts of Sydney, Australia.
As I boarded the Boeing-747 at LAX for a 14-hour flight to Sydney, Australia, my heart began to pound.
It hadn’t occurred to me beforehand that I would be gliding in the air above water for over half a day. I would cross the international dateline and transfer myself into another time zone, another world and another season.
It was summer here in Mississippi, but as I ambled off the plane and made my way into the terminal, all I could see were Aussie natives wrapped up in their winter wear.
When I stepped outside, there was nothing more than a cool, spring sea breeze often found on the Coast where I was raised, yet the Sydney-siders, as they preferred to be titled, were dressed in boots, heavy coats and sweaters, as if the Arctic permafrost had descended upon the island nation.
As a beagle dressed in a smock inspected my luggage before heading outside and relying upon my own whiles to hail a cab by myself for the first time in my life, I knew I had a lot of growing up to do.
I chose Australia because a program was offering an internship where I could gain experience at an overseas magazine, yet I found myself in a land where others spoke way too fast and way too low for my harshly accustomed Southern ears to deflect.
A week in, I was in a daze. Not only was their method of life completely indecipherable to me at first glance (who uses the metric system, anyway?), but their nutritional facts were also equally as confusing (as a calorie-obsessed sophomore, kilojoules threw me for a complete loop). My body was going through a strange transition.
I craved the sugar now absent in the bread, peanut butter and ketchup I bought and found myself indulging in delightful fudge-covered Keebler-esque chocolate cookies sandwiched with chocolate filling called Tim-Tams.
The jet lag kept me up at night and sent me to sleep during the day while I was at my unpaid internship at a British travel magazine.
And much to my surprise, my bosses were Scottish, meaning that any Aussie indecipherable banter was kindergarten-speak when juxtaposed to the slurred sentences of a Scotsman. But as I accustomed myself to the multitudinous accents, the food and the sprawling public transportation system, I began to understand why Sydney-siders were so relaxed.
Attempt to imagine a city as cosmopolitan as New York City, as clean as Oxford and with residents as gentile as the Deep South; baggers at the grocery store habitually told me to have a nice day with a good-natured smile and strangers actually held the door open for me if I was walking behind them.
But the splendors of Sydney weren’t fully realized until I made the 30-minute commute (20 minutes by train, 10 minutes by bus) to Bondi Beach every weekend. Every Sunday, vendors would roll out their tents and wares on the boardwalk next to delectable gelato stands and surf shops.
A pedestrian walks along the surf of Bondi Beach in Sydney. Photos courtesy of Alex McAdams.
On more than one occasion I found myself walking along the sand with the water lapping at my feet, looking out into the crystal-clear water with surfers taking their chances in the Great White-infested ocean. I found myself looking for opportunities to go out to Bondi – to buy souvenirs or to take another photograph of the breathtaking scenery.
Although most of my friends were able to travel around the continent, I repeatedly found myself overdrafting on my bank account.
Since Sydney is one of the most expensive cities in the world, it was perhaps the most frustrating aspect of living overseas without any source of income; but as my friends had money to travel off to New Zealand and Cairns in the state of Queensland, I took the opportunity to discover every nook and cranny of the city as I possibly could.
I took a master class at the Sydney Dance Company; I got myself backstage at a hardcore/metal festival at Sydney’s own distorted version of Luna Park; I explored the Rocks, the oldest portion of the city, where convicts used to drink their lives away and smuggle drugs and other contraband items into the rest of the city; I visited the Blue Mountains in Leura and saw the geographical wonder called the Three Sisters, which is the basis of most Aboriginal folklore.
Looking back, I know I romanticize the city, but I think that’s probably what studying abroad is about. It makes me yearn to travel more.
My reunion with my home country was bittersweet – I had missed my family and friends and all that was familiar to me, but ever since my homecoming, I have felt a deep emptiness and a need to return to such an ethereal destination. Sydney had become familiar to me, and I still find myself daydreaming back to the days I would sit on a blanket at Bondi and read a book, peripherally watching the surfers hang loose and the seagulls glide over the turbulent waves.
