Surf Camp

To the South! This weekend, about forty of our students went to Surf Camp (check out all the instructors on their website) and I, the selfless person I am, volunteered to go with them to go surfing for two days at 7-Mile Beach as their "chaperone." It was...a blast. I realized that until Surf Camp, I haven't really had an experience yet where I feel like I've truly been in Australia. Don't get me wrong; Sydney is a great city, with the gorgeous Opera House, the CBD, Darling Harbour, and the Australian dialect that still has me scratching my head about certain expressions (It's apples! = Piece of cake!) but at the end of the day...it's still a city. I've learned throughout my adventures that in any country, you must leave the urban part to truly experience the place. This is especially true in Iceland and France. Reykjavik and Paris are great cities, but you must hit the road to get a real taste of rotten shark meat and stinky cheese, respectively.

Three days at Surf Camp gave me that Ah-Ha moment of : I'm in Australia...and it's awesome. It started off as sort of surreal in that all of us were going on a weekend getaway in which none of us had planned the details.  This can be slightly unnerving, not being able to answer the Where? With who? and How? questions. We simply got on a bus. Our contact Mitch got us all settled in on the bus, and made the announcement that no, he would not be going with us. You could almost hear all 38 girls on the bus sigh at the news. Mitch is your typical surfer: blond hair, bleached from summers in the sun and an Australian accent that makes all the girls swoon. We spiced up the trip a bit with some other travelers, mostly from Scandinavia or northern Europe. A couple of Norwegians, Germans, Danes, Dutch and one Austrian (and yes, I made the joke from Dumb & Dumber where they confuse Austria with Australia). Sure enough, we pull up three hours later in the night to a trailer park. Surf Camp has its own section, complete with bungalows, shacks, a covered picnic area with a big screen TV where we would later watch pro surfing videos or even more fascinating: photos/videos of ourselves surfing. Six to a bungalow meant that my friend Sara and I shacked up with four of your typical college girls: all in a sorority and considered sleeping on a bunk bed and given a sheet and blanket "roughing it"...ouch. I only wish they were there with me in India, where I called my bed the pee-covered floor of a bus.
Taking care of us all weekend are my two new favorite people in the world: Shane and Cody. Shane is adorable,with blond shaggy hair always covered by a backwards hat, Ugg boots and an attitude that screams "No worries, dude!" like Crush from Finding Nemo. He's hilarious and all the girls love him, which makes me laugh even more. Cody is from South Africa, just chillin in Australia and is the photographer all weekend. They encourage us to hook up our Ipods to the speakers for some chill atmosphere, only one rule applies: "NO JACK JOHNSON!" which I find hilarious. Tourists come from all over the world and equivocate surfing with Jack Johnson beach music.. I'd get pretty sick of it too.

Saturday morning we wake up super early, as in before dawn (or, to use an expression that makes my mom laugh, the ass-crack of dawn.) The boys are already up, watching the Billabong Pro championship in Tahiti, and a couple students are milling around the watch the sunrise on the bus. It is bloody freeeeezing, so I opt to stay warm in bed. There'll be plenty of warmer sunrises in Bali with Claire in December :)

7am breakfast (which, like everything, is shortened to breaky) is considered a late start to surfing. In the morning there is no/little wind, which is ideal for good waves. By 8:30am we've all got our wetties on (yup, that's right, our wetsuits) in the chilly morning and march up the road from Surf Camp to the beach to grab our surfboards and begin the first lesson. Now, when you see the surfboard, you may think that you're in for some boating, it's that big. It's normal-- larger surfboards, namely 7-8 ft ones, are more stable. Additionally, they're made out of foam so that when beginner surfers, such as ourselves, crash into one another we don't lose an eye. On that note, the instructors will shamelessly tell you that they simply love  the funny things that beginners do. After the first lesson, we'll go back to the camp and watch our footage on screen. Cody takes pictures of each of the 4 groups with his big nice lens and the instructors ride around on boards with a Go Pro video camera. Watching ourselves on screen is a riot, especially with Shane's commentary. They've got a name for every pose, including The Pooman (where you bend your knees and stick our butt out on the surfboard), the Lobster (when you're falling off the board and throw your hands up) and the Proposal (when you're trying to stand up and end up on one knee with your hands out) .

We have three lessons total: two hours in the morning and afternoon (shortened to arvo) and one Sunday morning. In our wetties, we all feel a bit like superheroes with our skin-tight onesuit on. Awesome. I even considered surfing with a cape. The instructors for our group are Brett and Matt-- what cracks me up is that none of these dudes actually go by their proper name, but by their nicknames. Just add an O or Y to anything and you're speaking Australian. Shano, Bretto, Matto, Haydo...these are the instructors. Wetty, bevvies, breaky, sunnies (sunglasses), arvo, bobby (BBQ)..you'll get the hang of it. Erin is the only girl instructor and is apparently one of the best longboarders in Australia. At only 17, she's gone pro and won heaps of championships in New South Wales and Oz. And teaching us to surf!
What's great about our beach is that it's hands down the best beach in Australia, if not the world, for beginners. It's got gentle waves that are perfect for beginners, doesn't get too deep too fast, and my favorite part: it's got a shark net at the entrance to the bay (or at least that's what they tell me. Perception is reality). I'm pretty sure that's just what they tell foreigners to get Jaws out of their heads, but it works!
My friend Joe from SF and I spend the whole weekend talking in our best "dude" voices and how gnarly the waves are gonna be. I improved on what few surfing skillz I had to start with, and by the end of the weekend,  I was riding some waves all the way into shore. They have an ongoing contest for best surfing pose, my friend Sam and I did a rock-paper-scissors-shoot sketch whilst riding a wave. Awesome.
Saturday night in the bumpin' town of Gerroa, we all hit the Fisherman's Club (automatically sounds like a good time) where Family Reunion meets middle school dance. Now, I only went in the evening before dinner for a beer, but a few of the students went back that night for a drink and I heard  that it was Cougar Central. Joe was loving it, we have a picture of him wearing a tiger T-shirt and dancing with a woman well over her 60s. What a night. We're considering a 2 hr train down to Gerroa from Sydney just for another night out at the Fisherman's Club.
Sunday morning, after the highly enjoyable experience of putting on both a cold wet bathing suit and a cold wet wettie, we had two+ hrs in the surf, doing tricks and getting the most out of it. Our last lesson was a quick theory class on surfing on your own: surf etiquette, how to do a surf check (tide/waves/wind), the different types of waves (dumping or spilling) and what to do if you're caught in a rip. I found this extremely interesting: we think of rips as highly dangerous, being swept out to sea in a strong current. Shane, in his hilarious bro-tastic way, explained how they occur: basically two wave currents opposing each other at the shoreline and creating a channel back out to sea, and how surfers actually use them to get out past the waves. A rip will stop after the waves, and so he explained it like an escalator or a chairlift to get some waves back in to shore. Rather than paddle and battle pounding waves coming towards, you let the rip channel between the waves carry you out. Brilliant! Of course, this is only for experienced surfers, certainly not for beginners.
After a stop in Gerringong for ice cream, we crowd back on the bus, and by the time we're back in Sydney, we're all wishing we were back at Surf Camp.


*Photos courtesy of Surf Camp Australia

Drop Bears

Working with Pascal is always a hoot because that’s when our cultural differences become so apparent. For example, we all met before the students arrived to discuss RA responsibilities in welcoming the students and planning floor events around Sydney. Having come straight from GYLC and the whole Envision experience, I suggested making little signs with each student’s name on their door, similar to what I had my first dorm room. Pascal looked at me as if I had suggested to knit them all matching sweaters with their initials on them. He tried to let me down as easy as possible with a quiet hint that that was all kiddie stuff and basically… we don’t do that here in Australia.
Well, guess I can throw all my icebreaker and team bonding activities out the window! Kids are here to study, meet folks and drink lots of beer, so I guess that makes my job easier! But I was looking forward to making the floor a little homier… I suppose that’s what I get with two male co-workers.
Another fun typical characteristic of Aussies is their great mastery of joking around. I’ve experience this a bit with my Australians during this past summer and their elaborate tale of “drop bears,” or koala bears that hide in trees, go for humans and usually aim for the throat. They wove this embellished tale of drop bears, a certain species of koalas, that are actually quite dangerous and will attack you from trees. This one was slightly more believable than Jordan’s account that there are special harnesses with which to ride kangaroos. They love this stuff! And what’s more, they try to see how many people they can get to believe it. I’m pretty much screwed since I’m the most gullible person on the planet and have not only believed the drop-bear and kangaroos-are-the-new-horses story, but that the “Plant Room” on the Residence roof is where there is an organic garden (later found out that it’s where the generators are.)

Other expressions I’ve picked up that I love are: chuck it, another way of saying throw it/toss it/put it away, but used however you like; heaps of fun, or tons of fun; I’m keen to do it, I’m excited to do that! And of course, the greeting, how you goin’. Flat out like a lizard drinking means you’re quite busy at the moment. A budgie smuggler (which always makes me giggle) is the Aussie term for…a Speedo, invented here in Sydney. Smuggle your budgie! Mad as a cut snake is…pretty self-explanatory, but folks actually say it here. And my personal favorite: full as a boot in the Big Smoke, or heavily intoxicated in Sydney.

A popular coffee here is the flat white, like a latte but with slightly less milk (I can’t actually note the difference, but I like the name!).

Sydneysider

Sydney is the trendiest city! It’s my first night out on the town in Surry Hills, and some of the best people watching ever. Despite a chilly night that later turned into my personal favourite of a cold, driving rain, people of all ages and sizes flocked to the bars like they were going out of style. Although I can't say I've never seen such a trendy city, I can say I've never lived in such a trendy place. Girls wearing ridiculous heels and short skirts and tights and Lady Gaga eye and hair decorations; I feel as if I've stepped on set of a Vogue photoshoot. And look utterly out of place. Part of me misses Grenoble terribly, where wearing your lime green Salomon trailrunners, a backpack and a fleece are perfectly acceptable. There, if you really wanted to spice it up to go out on the town, you'd don some jeans and flats. Max. Maybe even some lipstick and mascara, but only on special occasions. Here, it’s dressed to the nines on the weekend for a wild night on Oxford Street or King’s Cross, rain or shine.

The Big Smoke

G'day mate! People really do say that here! Another common greeting is “How you goin?”(to which the first day I wanted to respond “I… is goin’ good…?” That’s how unnatural is sounded.)

It's been a whirlwind since I arrived in Sydney last Tuesday to work for the BU Sydney Internship Program for a year. My work environment has taken a complete 180 degree turn from where I was this summer, i.e. getting paid minimum wage and working absurd 16-hour days.

I live in the BU Residence, and to go to work at my many jobs next door, I simply walk out of the building and into the next one. Every night of orientation last week involved alcohol, now that was something to get used to, drinking with coworkers as part of the job. The program hosts a social each night, usually with open bar that Drew and I were bartending. Drew is my counter-part Senior RA, he's just graduated from USF and did the Sydney program last fall. He's a great resource and we remind each other daily of what a sweet deal we have here in Australia. Our third Musketeer is Pascal, the residential manager, my new boss and new favourite person. We affectionately call him Fresh P and he's as laid-back as they come. I'm now on "Pascal time" which means I just come a half hour late to everything. He’s taught me much already about how to be street-smart in Sydney.  
Move over Europe, Australia officially has the worst driving I've ever witnessed. Within my first three days here, I've heard more "F*#@ off!", shouting, beeping and swerving than in France, Italy and Boston combined. Pascal has pointed out a very important cultural difference here: the time it takes for a shouting match to disintegrate into punches thrown is much shorter. That's to say if you're cursing someone out in the street, watch out. You may find yourself getting a fist right in the jaw. In the States, shouting matches usually go on for a good chunk of time, enough to attract a small crowd, and end with a final “S*@# head!” and someone speeding off.

Other things to watch out for: don’t stand too close to the curb or you’ll get your head near chopped off by a bus whizzing past. Crossing the street is proving to be the hardest part of my day. As if training yourself to look right before crossing isn’t hard enough, Aussies are apparently famous for running red lights and texting while driving. Fantastic. And the crosswalks—oh, the crosswalks. If you’re not in a zebra crosswalk…you will be run over. The loss of pedestrian rights that Americans enjoy at home makes me nostalgic for India, where all pedestrians are at the bottom of the totem pole.

The last night of Orientation we went for a lovely harbour cruise, under the famous Harbor Bridge and right to the Sydney Opera House. It was a good time to catch up with my new coworkers. I was talking with Caroline and mentioned my trip to India a few years back and how the book Holy Cow by Sarah McDonald inspired me to travel there. Let me make a note here that I’ve been dreaming about meeting this Australian author and telling her how her book opened my eyes, changed my life, and inspired me to travel, volunteer and work abroad. Truly incredible book by a truly amazing woman. And guess what? Caroline, upon hearing her name, told me she was a guest lecturer at BU Sydney this summer for the Travel Writing Program! I might actually have a shot at meeting her! She’s probably the only person in this world I want to meet and just say…thank you. Fingers crossed!