Gettin' Situated

Nick hadn’t been so lucky, it turned out. His sentiments best summed up by his exclamation that the previous night was “both the first and last time I’ll ever sleep in a hostel.” I reminded him that unfortunately we couldn’t move into our house at “uni” (as Australians affectionately call college) until the next day, which would mean one more night in housing of our own finding. We paid for the previous night plus one more, and then set out to find some food, exchange our remaining American money, and go enroll at the University of New South Wales.

After wandering aimlessly around the city, we stopped and got a bite to eat at a little café in Taylor Square, kind of near downtown Sydney. This was our first real introduction to one of Australia’s lesser-known characteristics. We knew it would be sunny, we knew the people would be friendly, and that they would talk funny, but what we hadn’t full realized was how expensive this arid island actually is. My sandwich and Nick’s bruschetta (sp?) came to about $25. We both ordered Cokes, which came in those really old glass bottles that hold about 10 oz.; those were three bucks each. The only bonus of eating in Australia is that you don’t have to tip your waiter (I’m not making this up), supposedly because they already make something like $15/hour. You can kind of tell they don’t expect one, too, because they don’t really wait on you in the traditional American sense. There’s not the same routine as back home…----give you menus, ask for drinks/appetizers, explain the specials, bring the drinks/appetizers, ask for main course orders, bring main course, ask how everything was, come take your plates when you are done, then bring the check-----In Australia they are much more “food bringers” than they are “waiters” in most restaurants. Moreover, in most restaurants you have to go up to the counter to pay, the don’t bring you a check. In a dozen or so meals to this point we’ve only been brought a check one time, literally.

Anyway...after eating, we asked one of our waiters how we could get to Randwick via bus, since walking was proving to be very taxing. He kindly explained (they do everything kindly, though) how to get to the right bus stop and which bus to take. Unfortunately, even finding the bus stop proved to be a chore, taking us a further half hour. We rode the bus for about 15 minutes, swerving in and out of traffic, past busy midday traffic, past Centennial Park and a great, white stadium they have there…I’m not sure if it is the Olympic Stadium from back in 2000 or not…I’ll check on that for you. We hopped off the bus once we started seeing businesses like “Randwick Chemist” or “Randwick Kangaroo Store”, figuring we had to be close. We knew from our previous trips to UNSW’s website that they had a tall, central building with UNSW emblazoned high on one of its sides, so we tried to find a vantage point from which to find this beacon. We did, and primitively traversed the streets until we came to UNSW’s campus. It is by no means a picturesque campus (like UNC’s) especially because it is decidedly in-town of a city of about 4 million, but they do the best they can. Once you get inside the gates it really feels like a college campus in some small American college town: lots of trees, cool looking buildings and open lawns. Well done, UNSW, well done. We found our way to Matthews Building, the previously mentioned 16-story building that had served as our guiding light on the way to campus. The top floor houses the Study Abroad Office where we got enrolled in our classes.

Generally speaking, Australians are a very priority-oriented people, considering that my university advisor suggested that I not take classes on all the days of the week, instead loading up on one, two or three days and leaving “more time for the beach”, as she told me. There were a few other Americans doing the same as Nick and I, and we chatted with them as we all waited.

As it turned out, as the nice people at the Study Abroad Office told us, we could in fact move into our house that night, one night earlier than we had been told, which was most definitely music to Nick’s ears. As I said before, I’d had a fine evening sleeping at the Pink House, but Nick wasn’t quite so lucky, and was more than happy move out a day early from the hostel. This of course meant sacrificing the money we’d already spent on our booking for that night, but being the good friend that I am I let that slide.

We went and checked out our new digs--see pictures below--then returned to the Pink House, checked out, said farewell to King’s Cross, and sped across town to 190 Oberon St., our home away from home for the next 5 months.

Click the picture to view the album. :)

Our House