Rocky, Dirt Miles

Paige Godfrey


“Dad, lift me on your shoulders! I can’t see!” I whined.
My little sister and I were the shortest people in the overly crowded room. Everyone was pushing and shoving, frantically trying to make their way to the front, with little regard for the children they were knocking over. The adults were giants, towering over us like the Eiffel Tower as they stood on their tip-toes to ensure we couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. I was getting restless and tired and wanted nothing more than to sit outside with a swirly, vanilla ice cream cone in my hand. Just then, I was swooped up under the arm pits and held up to see what all the mystery was about.
“Where is it, dad? What am I looking at?”
“It’s right there. Right in front of you, Paige.”
There it was. The thing everyone was going crazy about, taking pictures of, tilting their heads and sighing over. I was instantly disappointed. Why were we forced to travel across the world to see an 8x10 sized painting of some lady whose eyes were always staring at you? The let-down increased my craving for ice cream.

Boarding a plane became a part of my routine when I was around ten years old. By the time I was fifteen, I was able to recite the safety procedures, word-for-word, in the same monotone voice as the stewardess. Traveling was certainly a benefit that came along with growing up with divorced parents. They were constantly competing with each other to see who could excursion on the best vacation. It was islands and tropical getaways with mom and historical, educational experiences with dad. These trips were always inspiring and enlightening. Being able to see a part of the world aside from my small town in New Jersey never failed to be eye-opening. Yet my genuine eye-opening experiences didn’t arise until I began traveling on my own.

I stepped off the plane onto a rocky, dirt runway. That’s what I saw for miles and miles, stretching out into the horizon--rocks and dirt. It was beautiful if you looked at it from the right angle. Destination: Yauri, Peru. It was a town far out in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere I’ve seen before. A town devoid of television, telephones, cars, traffic and loud noises. A town rich with poverty and empty with nothing but hearts of gold. I was instantly welcomed into the town, into their homes and into their families. And that’s exactly how I felt when I left--like a part of their families. Being in Peru for two short weeks was enough time for me to help build a children’s shelter and garden for elders, and to play with orphan kids, experiencing a new culture. But being in Peru for two short weeks was not enough time for me to realize the hardships of the community. It was not enough time for me to feel a sense of accomplishment or achievement. As I walked back up the stairs to the plane, I turned around to see a gathering of the incredible people I met waving goodbye on the rocky, dirt runway. When the plane door shut behind me, it shut out a part of the world that needed my help. I put on my headphones, and we took off.
I have never regretted hiking Machu Picchu, climbing the Eiffel Tower, or lying on the beach in the Bahamas. But the more I began to travel in high school and college, the more my perception of the world began to change. I came to the realization that I could travel the world, visit every continent and every country, but it would never give me enough time to truly immerse myself in another culture. That’s when I knew that studying abroad would provide the ideal opportunity for me to become acclimated with a new culture, rather than seeing a glimpse of it through a typical week long vacation.
“You’re going to come back so tan! You have to learn how to surf! Is your school on the beach?” Australia: The Outback, blond, shaggy-haired surfers, kangaroos, beaches and koalas. Everything seems so fun and carefree. The standard image is postcard perfect, and the only potential flaw is the unbearable summer heat, which really isn’t a flaw at all when you add the ocean to the picture. After doing research on the Australian city, Melbourne, where I would reside for five months abroad, I knew that these Australian icons were simply stereotypes. I was aware that my destination would look more like a New York City concrete park. And still, in the back of my mind, the images of beaches and the hot summer sun were engraved. I imagined my day as waking up in the morning, going to class and then jumping on the next bus to the beach. I imagined a blue sky with nothing but sun, not a cloud in sight. I imagined palm trees and tropical plants lining the city streets. But my imagination led me astray, because what I imagined is opposite from what I found.
I stepped off the plane wearing soft gym shorts and a t-shirt, holding my sweatshirt. It was winter in Australia, but how cold could it possibly get during Australia’s winter? After all, it is Australia. The airport was comfortable. My attire seemed suitable for the temperature. That was until the winter air hit my skin. It was freezing. Goosebumps instantly rose up on my arms and legs as chills ran up and down my spine. The sky was layered with dark, heavy rain clouds. The atmosphere was gray and moist. It was everything I wasn’t expecting Australia to be.
The short bus ride from the airport to campus was filled with skyscrapers, polluted streets and over-sized billboards. “Is this Australia or New Jersey?” I kept questioning myself. But I didn’t let my first impressions overtake my thoughts on the country. I remained open-minded and unbiased towards everything Australia stood for. After a few short weeks, I began to feel like a part of Australia’s culture. I began to feel like an Australian.
Upon arriving in any new country, my first instincts are to point out any differences I notice from home. It’s natural to pick apart little things and compare them to what you are used to. I remember traveling to Spain when I was in middle school. It was the first time I was old enough to recognize the difference in language, driving on the left side of the road, the food, the culture. The whole experience was a culture shock, but one to learn from. The first thing to catch my eye in any unfamiliar place is the landscape--peaks and valleys of mountains, rolling hills, flat desert land, everything. Arriving in Australia was different. For the first time in my twenty years of traveling, I felt like I was home. It was as if the United States floated across the ocean while I was on the plane and traded spots with Australia. The city of Melbourne was just as I had expected- a mini version of New York. People coming and going, rushing from place to place, grabbing a bite on their lunch breaks and living life the way I had always known it to be lived.
Melbourne is an intricate city. The skyscrapers and big, concrete buildings disguise the green botanical gardens, which are located next to the clean river that flows through the city. Cobble stone streets lay hidden in alleys, and trees spring out of nowhere along the sidewalks. It’s beautiful once you take a chance to sit back and take in everything it has to offer. The diversity in Melbourne is simply intriguing. You cannot easily pick an individual out of a crowd and label him or her the “average Australian.” The city is one of the most multicultural places I’ve ever been, which makes it much more interesting. It is a city filled with cultures from all the countries I’ve visited before, and more, rather than a single “Australian culture.” My first few weeks felt as if I was vacationing in New York City, just miles away from home. It wasn’t until I talked to native Australians and traveled around the country that I realized I wasn’t in the United States anymore.

One of the most important lessons I’ve been taught lately in life is that a person can learn more from experience than from a McGraw-Hill text book. After two weeks of living in Australia, I made the effort to meet native Australians and opened myself up to asking them important questions. I was like a little kid running around asking question after question, curious about the world. From this, I learned about the Australian perception of the USA, how Aussies view the world, the lifestyles of Australians, and Australian history. There was so much to learn, and there is still so much to be learned. Once I finally got over the masked reality of Australia being a perfectly landscaped country full of beaches and gorgeous coast lines, I took my first journey to the beach. My first glance at the ocean, and I instantly fell in love with the country. You can look at endless pictures and postcards or watch hundreds of Australian advertisements, but the beauty of the land won’t mean anything until you experience it yourself. The smell of the crisp air, the image of the white waves crashing against crystal blue water, the feel of the white powdery sand between your toes and the taste of the salty sea breeze is just the beginning of a never ending explanation. Yet the landscapes I experienced at the ocean were incomparable to how I felt and what I saw when I journeyed to the Outback.

It was an average spring day in Australia. The air was warm with a cool breeze. The blazing orange-yellow sun shone high against the dark blue sky. The birds’ songs echoed throughout the land. Once the sun began to sink into the horizon, I headed towards a cliff with nothing and no one but myself. It was a long walk--miles upon miles of long rocky, dirt earth below me. I was alone with the occasional company of a lonely kangaroo hopping bye. I hiked to the top of the cliff to find nothing but a personal sized rock to act as my bench. And that very bench became my home. I sat there for hours and hours looking off into the horizon. Millions of thoughts raced through my mind, leaving me entirely thoughtless. The earth stood still. Time stopped. There was nothing in sight but red rocks and dust. Not a tree was in view, not even a single blade of grass. It was an evening filled with nothingness. Nothing in sight, nothing in mind. That very moment was the best moment of my life. That’s when I knew I loved Australia.

You can travel for a week, two weeks or even a month. You can visit tourist traps, museums or even monuments. I’ve seen the Mona Lisa, Eiffel Tower, Machu Picchu and Big Ben. Yet staring at these icons does not compare to how I felt when I was staring at the horizon over a desert filled with nothing. My perception of Australia may have been of the stereotypical surfer hanging out on a beach, surrounded by palm trees and kangaroos, but when I first got here, Australia failed to live up to the images I was expecting. Now, a few weeks after arriving, the image of nothing but rocky, dirt miles of nothingness is what I have come to love.