Yesterday I encountered people from Denmark, Iceland, Canada, Germany, Sweden, England, Singapore and the Netherlands. How’s that for a bunch of accents? I told this guy from Germany I was from Indianapolis. He was like, “Oh yeah. With the big track, right? I’ve seen that on TV.” (And Trevor, you will be proud to know that I nicely explained the difference between NASCAR and IRL, as well as touched on the supremeness of other tracks around the country.) The conversation ended with, “Well, pretty much it’s just all about drinking, right?” I laughed. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

So 400 other international students and I piled into buses at 8:45 to go feed kangaroos, touch koalas and look at rocks. We also went to Victor Harbor. All of this for $5. Es una ganga! It was mildly amusing to watch all of us scramble about like two year olds. We were thoroughly amused by everything.

Nothing like this would be allowed in the states. Parents would freak out. Actually, someone’s child would have gotten bit in 1999 and they would have sued, putting the kangaroos behind bars and totally killing the human/kangaroo interaction. Justice. The American Way. 

It’s funny because I have seen maybe five cops and heard two ambulances since I’ve been here. And I live along one of the main roads. It’s obvious crime is low. At home I’d probably hear on average three sirens a night. There is simply a sense of well being that I have not felt in some time. Trash is nowhere- not in the gutters, along the sidewalks or overflowing from bins. Nobody carries plastic bags. Recycling is everywhere. All fountains are accompanied with a sign reading, “All water used in this fountain is recycled from ____.”

People care. The social classes are far less apparent. Nobody is trying too hard. People don’t drive by with the radio blaring in cars with rims the price of a new vehicle. Nobody pushes. Eye contact is made and words are exchanged between strangers. An equal amount of women and men can be found in suits on their way to work. And men walk in groups with women, not in packs alone. This blew me away when I first noticed it, so I did some reading regarding equality in Australia. My observation appears to match the data. Australian men and women hold a far more equal amount of upper level positions in the workplace. They often do not marry, but live with their significant other, as a sign of independence. And households with children often have two working parents.

It should also be noted that I have not once been harassed here, where at home this happened once daily. There has been no honking, no shouting and no whistling. It is remarkable to me, simply nearly unfathomable, that “hollering” is not considered an adequate way to approach the female sex. People in groups do not stare as individuals pass. And I’m learning to walk a little softer, having the knowledge that I don’t need to fend off any onlookers with my stature. It seems funny to say that, but carrying myself strong and stern is definitely something I’ve acquired. Shoulders back. Head up. Good posture. Concentrated face. All of these equating a message of, “I am not approachable. I am not easy. I am not a force to be reckoned with.” And while I am certainly none of those things, broadcasting them is not needed as a form of protection. Anyway, just an observation.

It is nearly 21:30 and excluding the multiple hours I’ve spent on my balcony today, I’ve only been outside for roughly 20 minutes. I went to the café down the street to buy coffee. (They don’t have Starbucks here.) That is the first beverage I have had containing caffeine since probably the first week of this month. Weird. But they acted like my regular coffee with a shot of hazelnut was the weirdest thing they’d ever heard of. I mean, I sort of thought my order was universally normal. Apparently not. (And for the record, it is not “to go,” it is “take away,” abbreviated “TA.”)

Gas is $1.29.

I’ve been awake at 6 a.m. the last three mornings. This may or may not be some kind of miracle, but it certainly is a post public high school record. That’s what happens when you live in a different time zone than the people you’re interested in communicating with.

I’ve been living on a constant diet of random fruit, Uncle Toby’s granola bars, apple juice, subpar peanut butter, expensive jelly from France, bargain white bread, carry out pizza from downstairs and cookies. (You can’t forget the milk.) I haven’t eaten out once, and I’m not sure why this is. Everything here tastes different, even the fruit. My mother pointed out this is because it’s grown in different soil. High five for growing up on a farm. (This obviously never crossed my mind.)