Top Tips

1)      If you don’t want to live in halls don’t be afraid of heading out a couple of weeks early and looking for a place – there is plenty around and a ton of temporary accommodation available as well

2)      If you play any sport GO TO UNIGAMES, it was one of the most fun things I did all year, even if you don’t play a sport, make something up and go anyway

3)      Make the most of Paddington market on Saturday mornings, I always found something to buy when I went and even if you don’t find anything in the market, that part of Oxford Street is really cool for shopping as well

4)      Obviously it will vary for different degrees but with history I found the history department was very flexible and conducive to help you make the most out of your courses – capitalise on this!

5)      Don’t be sucked in by the postcard lure of Bondi Beach, people who go there are tourists! It’s worth a look, but if you want a real Aussie beach head to Maroubra for some good surf, Coogee for the banter or Manly for a lazy afternoon

6)      Having been up the East coast, beaches around Melbourne and Western Australia, I still think that the best Australian beaches are on the West coast, if you get a chance to do a tour from Perth I would recommend it!

7)      Definitely do the typical hot spots – the east coast, Melbourne, Ayer’s Rock etc but if you can there are some really cool low key towns dotted north and south of Sydney which are really fun and lots to do

      Australia is a MASSIVE country and you’ll have your time and money sucked up pretty easily in terms of travelling, but if you can swing it, make the most of New Zealand and Fiji being a short plane trip away, especially if you don’t know when you’ll next be on that side of the world, might as well make the most!

9)      Have a BBQ on the beach for Christmas dinner, cliched but FUN

10)   You’ll be given a bus map during orientation – carry this with you at all times, it will be your bible in Sydney to get you everywhere and anywhere, also buy travel ten bus cards to get around, cheaper!

Reflecting on my year in Sydney

I’ve now been home for a week and find myself reflecting on the past twelve months. All the places I got to go as a result of my exchange, the people I met along the way, having the beach 10 minutes down the road (a major thing to miss), gazing at the Opera House on the weekends in the city, browsing Paddington market on a Saturday morning, taking part in the infamous Uni games (this year taking place in Melbourne – ouch, that hurts), the list goes on.

 

The most rewarding aspect of an exchange year is the experience of something completely unique; it’s an opportunity which you will never have again. You may travel when you graduate or during the summer, you may go on to work overseas in the future, you may have long holidays abroad – but to live in a foreign country for twelve months and study at a university there is unlikely to be something you will be able to do at any other point in your life. In my experience it wasn’t a holiday or glorified travelling – I built a life in Sydney; a home, a job, university and friends. I urge anyone who wishes to immerse themselves in something alien to apply for an exchange and don’t hold back when you get there.

 

Academically I am so thankful for the opportunities I had at UNSW. The courses I was able to take were innovative, engaging, challenging and intellectually rewarding. I really feel as if my historical perspective and the way in which I approach topics and discussions was enhanced and diversified a great deal. Some of the assignments involved film reviews or museum evaluations which demanded a completely different set of criteria and I felt I interacted with historical material in a way which forced me to really analyse the way in which we, as historians, present and display our histories, a subject which I am now hugely interested in and pursuing in my spare time. The research project on Japanese Anarchism in particular was a definite highlight and again a subject that I will continue to read about.

 

The travelling that I got to do was incredible, from the little road trips around Sydney to the final flurry in Fiji, having already spent a year in Australia for my Gap year made absolutely no difference to the amount of places there were to visit – there are still places I want to go to!

 

All in all I feel that it was an awesome year that was perfectly timed. I was ready to go to Australia again and once again forge a different life in Sydney but I was ready to come back home and come September I will be ready to return to Edinburgh to slog it out for my final year. If you’re up for an exciting, fun filled year that puts you out of your comfort zone and into a world of opportunity – do an exchange, and in my humbled opinion – do it in Australia!

Island Hopping in Fiji

Ah Fiji. Sun, sea and sand, just what I need on my way back home – bit of a tan just so everyone does actually know that I’ve been in Australia for a year, my sun kissed skin had significantly faded these past few weeks in Sydney, Fiji had to be done really, rude not to while I was in that part of the world. I am SO glad I decided to do it!

 

I flew into the mainland but first thing the next day started my Yasawa Island hopping package “the Beach Bum tour” with Awesome Adventures. I would spend 5 days on two islands. Woohoo. The first stop was Beachcomber Island which is known as the party island, good start. Welcomed by the shout of “BULA!” the Fijian greeting (which simply must be reciprocated with as much gusto) and Hawaiian t-shirt wearing, banjo playing Fijian’s it wasn’t hard to see that I had made the right choice! Crystal blue water, white sand and a temp of around 30 degrees, I’ll take that. The accommodation was a dorm of bunk beds that slept 90 people! Sounds gross I know but it really wasn’t bad at all actually, I’ve stayed in A LOT worse, and because a few beds were spare it wasn’t too crowded or anything. My days were spent lounging on the beach, hanging out with a group of girls and a couple of guys that I had met over a friendly game of volleyball. Evenings is what Beachcomber is all about really. After an amazing buffet each night (all meals are included in the package) we moved onto the bar for the ‘Bula dance’ and a whole lot of fun.

 

After two days on Beachcomber I moved onto Manta Ray Island which was two hours north on the ferry, bid farewell to the girls but the boys I had met had the same itinerary as me so hung out with them for the rest of the week. Manta Ray was another gem. The beach bar was surrounded by massive hammocks and the dorm in the midst of the forest. The restaurant and main bar was situated on the hill so the meals were had whilst overlooking an amazing view. The food was amazing again (although we did hear a couple of horror stories of other Island food!), a massive buffet of salads and fresh fruit (for me the vegetarian! For meat lovers there is plenty as well!). One morning I opted to go on a trip to one of the local villages, Soso. A quick boat trip away, four of us were greeted by Va who showed us round her village. We met the children at the school, were sung to by the kindergarten, met the chief, bought some local crafts and basically just wondered around learning about their village which was really awesome, I loved it. And everyone was so friendly, I swear Fijian people and the nicest people I’ve ever come across, there is always a big “BULA” waiting for you where ever you go and so many smiles! For one of the evenings some of the people from Soso village came over to perform traditional dances for the people staying at Manta Ray which was really good fun! Everyone got up and had a boogie at the end, and the night was finished off with some Cava (a traditional ritual of drinking a root tree drink) followed by drinks on the beach.

 

Before I knew it, as is usually the way, it was time say goodbye and head back to the mainland for an early flight the next day back to Auckland followed by an evening flight to London, Heathrow (literally longest day of my life!). I was finally on my way home; it was ok now though because I had a tan and A LOT of freckles.

New Zealand

So on Tuesday the 10^th of June I left Sydney after being dropped off by Ben my housemate and his girlfriend, my two closest friends from the year and was headed for Auckland where the next day I began a Contiki tour of the north island. Restricted by time and money, a brief tour of the north island of New Zealand was all I could manage unfortunately but better that than nothing at all.

 

From Auckland we headed straight to the Bay of the Pigs, arriving in the evening for a group meal with the tour group and some drinks. There were some really nice people on the tour and the guide was a good laugh so it was perfect for little ole me travelling on my own! In these scenarios you’re never really alone and you’re surrounded by people who are looking for the same experience as you. The next day one of the options was a day tour which I chose. We covered about 450k that day looking at everything from rare Kaori trees, cruising on 90 mile beach, sand boarding the dunes, stopping off for some traditional “fush and chups” in the afternoon before heading back to our accommodation.

 

The next day we made our way to Waitomo where I did black water rafting in the underground caves there which was definitely one of the most amazing things I have ever done. All kitted up in sexy wetsuits and a head torch, in a group of 6, we headed to deepest, darkest depths of Waitomo caves crouching, crawling, swimming, shivering, floating, stumbling through the natural path of the cave system. It was absolutely incredible, freezing, but incredible! At one point we floated on our rubber rings and there was about 3 inches between us and the cave ‘ceiling’, definitely not one for the claustrophobic! We jumped off waterfalls, spotted glow worms and ate their famous chocolate fish whilst standing in a huge lit up enclave. A cup of warm soup and bagel after went down a treat soon followed by a pizza party back at our accommodation and a great night in the local pub.

 

Next on the list was Rotorua, the cultural capital of New Zealand and pretty much the reason why I wanted to go to NZ in the first place – zorbing. You jump into an inflatable ball which is a similar size to a Vauxell Corsa I would say, they put a bit of warm water in with you (more fun) and then push you down a hill. YES, it is as fun as it sounds! Sooooooooo good, my only regret is that I couldn’t afford to do it more than once! In the evening most of the tour group opted to go to a traditional Maori feast which is cooked in the hot springs of Roturua, after this there is a performance of Maori song and dance including the infamous Haka. The food was immense and the performance was really cool and we got to have a go at a few of their moves which was fun!

 

The next day we headed back to Auckland and my part of the tour was over whilst others in the group continued on. I flew to Fiji the next day.

Final Week

Time has absolutely flown past these few weeks and I now find myself on the eve of my departure. This week has been amazing, it’s been non-stop – finishing work, finishing uni, seeing people in Melbourne, seeing people in Sydney, meeting up with Cat, closing bank accounts, finalising travelling plans, organising new people moving into our house and of course; packing up my life.

 

Having worked hard to get all my assignments in early so that I would get them back and marked before I left paid off, and I was pleased with my marks as well. A test on Wednesday afternoon signified my final academic commitment to UNSW and then I found myself on the home stretch.

 

Thursday I flew to Melbourne for a final hurrah. I spent the day at Geelong Grammar, seeing a few old faces that I hadn’t seen in a few years which is always quite fun. Cat, who I met and lived with 4 years ago at the school, met me with her boyfriend in Geelong. She hadn’t been back since we left so it was pretty fun to go round and remember all the things we used to do! After a few drinks at our old haunt, Scottish Chiefs, I went to meet a bunch of girls from the school who I used to teach for dinner which was awesome fun. I’m so glad I made the effort to get everyone together once more and see them all. After that we caught the late train back to Melbourne and made our way to my friends place in Carlton where we were crashing for a couple of nights.

 

Cat’s boyfriend, Mike, had never been to Australia before and Melbourne was their first stop on their travels so we had a wonder round on Friday showing him the hot spots. Melbourne is not really a city that has your typical “tourist sightseeing highlights”, there is no Opera House equivalent or Harbour bridge to ooo and ah at, it’s not that kind of city really. I think Melbourne is more of a place where you have to spend time in to really appreciate how cool it is. I love the funkyness of Melbourne, Federation Square, the gardens of the Museum and exterior of RMIT in the city – funky architecture, bright colours, and just cool stuff! We had some brunch on Brunswick Street which is still my favourite area of Melbourne I reckon. Then we caught a tram to St Kilda, which admittedly is a lot better in the summer when the sun is shining and hot Australian men play volleyball on the beach, but nevertheless we had a nice afternoon browsing the AMAZING bakeries they have there and some sale shopping. Late afternoon we headed back into Melbourne for drinks, a BBQ at a friend’s place, then more drinks, a final night out on the town – yay.

 

Saturday morning I headed back to Geelong to fly to Sydney for a dinner I had to get back for. A dinner at the epic Russian restaurant I’ve written about before – it was just as fun, just as delicious and just as drunken. Awesome. Sunday night was a big house party at ours which Cat and Mike were able to make after flying from Melbourne that afternoon, so that was really cool to introduce Cat to people and show her where I’d been living etc.

 

And now it’s Monday night and tomorrow I am leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again.

Finito. Terminado. Done.

11 months, 13 flights, 14 bus rides and some 30 train journeys later, and I’m back home, sitting on my sofa, exactly where I started all those months ago. The difference is that now I can picture so many places and situations I’d never even thought about before I left. I couldn’t imagine a botellon, a Spanish carnival, snow in Andalucia, my Spanish flatmates (or my Italian ones for that matter), Granada or Verona, a foreign university, the Arena in Verona, Lake Garda, Sunday night jazz sessions, the atmosphere when Italy play football, an Erasmus party, the excitement of seeing a familiar face, the kindness of strangers, the sweet sweet taste of Italian gelato.  

I’m going to continue this entry in a questionnaire format, as a memory for me and to avoid the inevitable slide into cheesiness.

Best day-    Final Sunday BBQ in Italy out in the countryside with my flatmates and

                    friends.

Worst day-  1^st November, the day after Meredith Kercher was killed in Perugia, it 

                    was a terrible tragedy, an awful shock, and far too close to home.

Best Night- Cadiz Carneval. After a day of exams, we hopped on the bus to an all

                    night carneval dressed as tigers.

                   The first big dinner at my flat in Italy, when I realised what a sociable,     

                   And slightly wild flat this was going to be.

Worst night- 6^th January 2008. When you come back after Christmas to an empty flat

                     with no food, ring somebody and go out, DON’T sit in on your own.

Most stressful moment- 1^st public oral exam in Italy. 100 people listening to you,

                                       attempting to blag in a foreign language about something that

                                       you suddenly realise you know very little about.

Biggest achievement- Teaching English to 25 reluctant, too-cool-for-art skool 17year

                                    olds, after which I truly believe I could enthusiastically lend

myself to any situation.

Worst hangover-         It’s a toss up between post Halloween crawling into bed at

                                    8.30am only to wake 10hours later feeling like I’d been run

                                    over by a train, and post toga party where I was put into bed

                                    hilariously joking I was already there (as I was wearing my

                                    bedsheet…) I know, terrible, I paid for this comment later…for

                                    weeks later.

Best view- The Alhambra from the roof terrace of a hidden away teteria in the

                  Albayzin, or the view from my flat living room window of the Arena

                  where they perform the Opera, particularly spectacular the night of a huge              hail storm in June….yes, June.

Longest queue at an Internaional Office- 2 hours, Granada

Favourite drink- Verona’s Spritz Aperol just takes over the edge over Granada’s tinto

                           de verano.

Favourite people- Alberto, Kepler, Lorenzo, Daniel, Federica, Macarena for the

                             natives and Alice,Yaelle, Silvia, Lisa and Sophie for some of us lot.

 

Least favourite people- No comment, there’s always people you meet once and are

                                     glad that your situation means you needn’t cross paths again.

Most embarrassing moment- mistaking wet wipe toilet roll for cleansing wipes, before

                                                insisting that I’d keep them in my room.

Quote of the year- È una festa, non è che deve seguire una logica. It translates as, It’s

                              a party, not something that has to follow any logic.

I think I’ll leave it with that. An unforgettable experience with highs far outweighing lows. I’ll be back in Spain and Italy before too long, just got some wee tests at the end of next year to get through and I’m good to go again. But for now, I’m happy here, with a bowl of strawberries watching Andy Murray. Over and out.

Living with a ballerina

One fine evening in mid-April, I got back to the flat and was told we had a new flatmate. He had stayed at the flat before because he always works the summer season, dancing at the Arena. After this brief introduction and perfectly on cue, he enters with striding steps and a sweeping bow… “Mi presento, io sono Messssimooooo”. I shook his hand with a great big fixed smile, wondering what to make of the man who had just bounded into the living room. We asked him if he had photos of his dancing, to which he replied that sadly he didn’t, but would we like to see a mini video. The video begins with him standing at a bar in a dance studio, he pirouettes, and the video ends. Cue nervous laughter and much bravo bravo-ing. When he first arrived, to be honest, we didn’t get on very well. I was really happy in the flat, getting to know the other boys I lived with, so much so that the flat didn’t seem like a random group of people but a little home from home for a while. The arrival of an all-singing, all-dancing, Pro-Evo expert from Naples rocked the boat somewhat, turning the house into a perfect bachelor pad. I went from being the little sister about the place, and was quite enjoying being looked after, to a nagging mother/wife clearing up ash trays and seeing all my food disappearing during midnight Pro Evo sessions, including an entire packet of ham…who chooses ham on its own as a snack?!!! For a while, everything went the wrong side of random.

 

Thankfully, all’s changed for the better now. He went back to Naples for a couple of weeks and came back a changed man, and I’d probably changed to, accepting him rather than picking up on every idiosyncrasy. He’s gone from being the one that eats all the food, to the ones that buys it all, so there are always munchies around aperitivo time. It makes me giggle to go into the laundry room to see pairs of tights, leotards and a jockstrap (I kid you not) hanging up to dry. Not one to mince his words, he always answers the door with, “Who are you? How many are you? What do you want?!” Luckily I’d warned friends of this, as not surprisingly, he sounds fairly menacing from outside on the street. On seeing him though, menacing would never been an adjective that entered your head. If you are female you’re likely to be greeted with a sweeping bow before he turns to me to ask, “And who is this? She’s the most beautiful girl in all of Verona. Why have I never seen her before?” which is very flattering, if a little overwhelming. He stands at about 5”7, with really long arms and legs and a nose like Napoleon (his words, not mine). When I first met him, he told me that his form is not aesthetically pleasing but is perfect for a classical dancer. It’s not that he’s aesthetically displeasing, but off stage he does look fairly out of proportion. He’s rehearsing for Aida at the moment, which starts at the Arena in a couple of weeks, and I’m really excited about going to see it. There’s something a bit glamorous about going to see a friend dancing at the opera in Verona, and though I never thought I’d say it, I’ll miss his strange little ways when I leave.

When in Rome

How to describe an Erasmus party. A coming together of lots of people from different nationalities with one soul purpose, to take full advantage of the free drinks. In short, they are always a drunken mess. Add to this a splash of fancy dress and the next day is bound to be a write off. Friday was the last ERASMUS party of the year, and the dress code: obligatory togas. A write off doesn’t even begin to cover the after effects of going out in nothing but a bed sheet.

 

Thankfully, togas are back in so a quick flick through an ELLE magazine my mum had sent me gave us some idea of how to fashion a toga; one shoulder, big belt, above the knee. Somehow though, I doubt Versace just pulled the sheet off his bed and wrapped it around his model. My friend and I did just this, sewing ourselves into them to reduce the risk of any unwanted nudity. Then we realised the fundamental error in our planning; we were in my flat, we were going for drinks in another flat; between here and there are 4 pizzerias, the main street in Verona and countless stylish and judgmental Italians; we were sewn in, there was no going back. The only advice I have is to speak very loudly in English, the dumb foreigner line always works a charm, and don’t look up. If you don’t look at anyone, you don’t know they are looking at you. I was personally hoping to be paid like all the other people that dress up as Romans and stand outside the Arena all day, but no such luck.

 

The location was amazing, underneath the arches of a huge bridge on the outskirts of the centre. A red carpet lined with candles lead to the entrance and a huge bouncer with a list of names. An incredibly exclusive start to the evening; which bears absolutely no resemblance of what was to follow.  We had already paid for the drinks so everything was free, so after this very dramatic entrance, we were met by massive vats of drinks and plastic cups. Aaaah…Erasmus party normality restored. From there, everything becomes increasingly blurry, loads of bed sheets fashioned in various ways, dancing, many trips back to the big drink vats and photos (sadly). We strolled home through the middle of town, still wearing bed sheets. My flatmates were still up and slightly perplexed and very amused to see two very smudgy bed sheets tumbling into the flat.

 

As predicted, the next day was a complete write off, but funny photos and good memories made the headache and nausea a little more worthwhile.

 

A traumatic exam

If I thought the Granada take on exams was something else, it was time to think again, as I faced my first day of the Verona exam session. In Italy, the vast majority of exams are oral, and public, meaning that whilst you’re at the front, struggling your way through a gruelling set of questions, 2 feet behind you, filling the first two rows of the lecture room, are incredibly nosey Italian students listening to the professors questions, your answers, before whispering what they would have said. Sadly, when you’re doing the oral you can’t hear these whispered answers; that would have helped me greatly yesterday.

 

I got up at half 8 to be at the exam for 9.30, for a thing called verbalizzazione as I had no idea what it was and had been told by my flatmate it was registration, so I thought I’d better go just incase I needed to, even though it did cross my mind that enrolling yourself for an exam, and registering for it in person was a little excessive. Anyway, when I got there, to a classroom FULL of people as three exams were happening at the same time, I found out that this verbalizzazione was registering your results if you’d already done the exam at another time. This didn’t apply to me, but by then I was already there so settled down to some revision. Looking around I realised everyone was carrying certificates. When I asked what it was, I was told it was a certificate to say you had passed the language exam at the appropriate level to take this exam, and you had to have the certificate with you in the exam. I’d passed the language exam, no problem; I just failed to pick up the certificate. Thankfully, the girl was lovely, and told me exactly where to go to get said certificate. “You’ll be ok, the queue’s long but you’ve got an hour”.

 

The queue was so long that it took an hour and a half, by which time I was having mild palpitations. I needn’t have worried though, our professor had chosen to take that morning at a leisurely pace so was running an hour behind schedule. When he later told me he had worked at the University in Granada, I wasn’t the least bit surprised.

 

After a painful hour of listening to other people’s orals, I was called for mine. At first it was ok, it was in Spanish so at least I could blabber away better than in Italian. But then, it took an almighty turn for the worst. He asked me a very loaded question with a very specific answer. I didn’t know the answer so the question didn’t make sense. Rather than try and blag an answer to someone who already knew it, I thought it was more logical just to tell him I didn’t know that answer, thinking he’d move on to something else. But no, he just re-phrased it and asked me again. I explained that I understood the question but didn’t know the answer, so he rephrased it again. I heard mutterings behind me; some smart allic was clearly very aware of the answer. I could’ve punched her! After that we moved on to linguistic transcriptions, but as it was an oral exam I didn’t think I’d be asked to do them and hadn’t learnt them, so that was also a disaster. At the end of the most excruciating 20 minutes I’ve spent in Verona, the professor dropped his voice to a whisper, “what can we do about this?” “Erm…ask me another question so I can redeem msyself?” He shook his head. In an even lower whisper, “Do you need the mark for your university?” “No, not the mark, I just need to pass.” (This was slightly bending the truth, I didn’t really need to pass, I just didn’t want to fail.) He nodded and cleared his throat before ticking the box marked 24/30. I’d been given 80% for an exam I should’ve failed, purely because I’m ERASMUS! It’s an incredibly unsatisfying feeling, although not as unsatisfying as failing.

 

Not all professors are the same, I got very lucky. A group of English girls took a cinema course and all but one failed, not because they didn’t know the content, but because they were unable to express themselves in Italian as well as the professor wanted. He told one girl her Italian bored him! It really is pot luck, and how well you can hold it together on the day under the watchful stares of the other students. I couldn’t hold it together at all; just hit the jackpot on the luck front.