First day in Sydney

---

As you all know, the last month has been a bit hectic for me for obvious reasons. No sooner do I go through the difficulties of ending a relationship of nearly 4 years than I get a big, ol' mucky boot in the butt from American Immigrations, who informs me in the most intimidating of manners that I am not welcome in their country, and to please get the heck out of there within 30 days.
This rather life-altering event took place January 30th, and it took me a few days to get my head around what to do with this new situation.
First off it felt as a cruel challenge, but that was probably just jetlag playing tricks on my mind. Soon enough I started thinking of it as an opportunity instead, and tried to get excited about all the various places I now could choose between traveling to.

Initially I thought of volunteering in Latin America, but I quickly realized that this would be quite hard seeing how I don't speak Spanish. More than anything, though, it would also mean that I would be spending money, and not earning any, which I would be fine with, had I only had more of it. But as you know, I’m not very flush with cash at the moment.
I started thinking about what I loved most about my life in Santa Cruz in order to try and re-create it elsewhere, and other than my friends there, the biggest thing was definitely beach volleyball.
Therefore it made sense to pick my next home according to where they're as crazy about the sport as I am, and that's how I settled on Australia; it's a continent I've always wanted to go to; they offer Work Holiday Visas for Swedish citizens for up to 24 months so that I can work there legally; they speak English (or at least a version of it); and most importantly: along the coasts they are avid beach volleyball-players.

I gave myself a few days to make sure that this was a good idea, decided it was, and then applied for the visa online. The very next day I got an email saying that my application had been approved (America obviously has a lot to learn from Australia as far as unnecessary bureaucracy goes), so I bought a round trip ticket with return date a year from my departure, February 25th.

February flew by with goodbye-dinners, parties and drunken nights with a bunch of you all, and next thing I knew Departure Day had arrived, and it was time for me to take my poorly packed backpack and get on the shuttle from Flagstaff to Phoenix.
I arrived at Sky Harbor Airport 3 hours before my domestic flight to San Francisco, so there was plenty of time to utilize the free wireless internet they offer in Terminal 4. Upon arrival in San Francisco I would only have 2 hours to collect my luggage and check it in again, go through security and get to my terminal, which is why it greatly worried me when the flight from Phoenix was more than an hour late. Once airborne, I informed a stewardess about my concern, and she was very helpful in getting me directions on how to get to my check-in counter the fastest, but she still looked a bit worried and admitted that since I would have less than an hour in between, I was probably screwed.
The old man seated next to me boosted my optimism, however, and kept saying that it would be alright. He travelled all over the world several times a month, so I allowed myself to believe pretty much whatever he said on the subject. Still, it added a trifle of stress to the flight.

When we landed in SF I ran like a mothersnapper to the luggage carousel, and thanked life for its kindness when my backpack was about the 10th piece of luggage to be spat out on the conveyer belt. I put it on my stroller and ran across the airport to the Qantas counter.
I arrived 47 minutes before the flight was scheduled to leave, meaning I just barely made check-in, as they supposedly close the counters 45 minutes before departure.
With boarding pass in hand and my backpack checked in I stopped and breathed deeply for a few seconds, and then I walked to my gate, where they were already boarding.

The Qantas aircraft was pretty swanky, with a little cute pouch on each seat, containing blinders, a warm pair of socks and a Qantas keychain, as well as the standard blanket and pillow. I was seated next to yet another congenial elder gentleman, this one an Australian by the name of Stanley. He asked me what brought me to OZ, and after having heard a short version of why, he gave me the pep-talk of the century, and assured me that I would love his country, and find myself successful and happy in no time. I said I already felt pretty good about it.
Stanley gave me his card and asked me to contact him should I ever need help with anything. I nearly replied that a place to stay for the first few nights would be great, but I obviously couldn't be quite that direct. Still, it was really nice to have a phone number to turn to in a crisis.

The flight was long but comfortable. I slept a substantial portion of it, and Stanley looked out for me by making sure I still got my meals even though I was asleep as they were being handed out, which I greatly appreciated.
We landed in Sydney around 9AM on Feb 27th, at which point I was exhausted but exhilarated.
Thankfully, Australian Immigrations was a dream (in particular when compared to US Immigrations), and without further ado, I got my little Working Visa-sticker put into my passport, which was all there was to it. No need to mess with paperwork or any other crap, I just walked straight through the whole process perfectly hassle-free.
Props to Australia.

At this point I was starving, thirsty and tired. I was asked to stand in an absurdly long line for some last security check-point, but when an employee came by to look at everyone's documentation 5 minutes after I had placed myself in the queue, he kindly re-directed me to an empty area with a blinking light where I just strolled right through.
So now I was well and truly in Sydney, and I didn't have a clue as to what to do. I hadn't managed to find a Couchsurfer or Hospitality Club-member to stay with, so I went to the accommodation board and looked for some hostel that offered a shuttle. Sydney Backpackers did, so I gave them a ring and booked a room for a night. The shuttle showed up 15 minutes later, and half an hour later I was dropped off outside my home for the night. I checked in, showered, and hit the streets in search for something to eat.
I didn't feel too picky at this point, and right around the corner was a place that felt both like a familiar chain, and yet like something of a cultural novelty; Hungry Jack's. This is what they call Burger King here, although I might have misinformed some of you and claimed that it was called Jack's Burger. Please forgive me, and let's blame it all on jetlag.

After my meal I perused the area a bit, but soon felt summoned to send off re-assuring emails to mom and friends, so I went back to the hostel and logged onto their wireless internet. I sent off a few short emails to family and friends just to say I had arrived safely, and then I started emailing requests to stay with Couchsurfers and Hospitality Club-members (thanks Kati! I had almost forgotten about that community). I got a reply from a guy within a few hours, and called him up via Skype. He suggested we'd meet up for a drink at 6PM, which completely ruined my chance of taking a nap, but that was probably just as well.
Jett, as this guy liked to be called, met me outside of my hostel. We took a bus to the Opera House (picture attached) and had a few drinks in the Opera Bar.
I'm willing to admit that there's been a little too much alcohol in my life lately, but considering how I've been such a healthy, wholesome girl for so many years, I figure I have some margins to play with here. Not working out for months, and drinking several times a week, though, is not a viable long-term lifestyle for me. But alcohol sure is helpful as a social lubricant, and in my current position, I allow myself to use it as such.

Jett turned out to be a pretty nice guy. After having enjoyed the view of pink lightning over the city skyline for an hour or so (Kolle, allvarligt, det här är blixt-paradiset!), we walked around the Opera House to let me take in the impressive view.
The exterior of the building is cream-colored tile, which surprised me. I'm not sure quite what material I had expected, but apparently not that.

We walked up to the Rocks, a posh area where Jett's friend Jess lived. Jess was an artist who studied human rights, and I soon figured out that Jett and she used to date (mainly because he pretty much informed her that we were coming over, rather than asking). She made me noodles with fried eggs while telling me about how she just had a really bad fight with her Swedish/Philippino-friend that most likely had resulted in the end of their friendship, and isn't it funny how one thing leaves your life and another just steps right in? I didn't quite know what to make of this, as I had just met her and certainly didn't feel a particularly strong connection to her as of yet.

Jess had a tiny dog named Coco and lived in an amazing apartment with a quite spectacular view from the balcony, and was apparently looking for a flat-mate. Are you looking for a place to stay? she asked, and I said I was, but that I most likely could not afford to live in an apartment like hers. How much can you afford? asked Jess, but I was too polite to insult her with the low rent I'm holding out for, so I just shrugged and said that I had not even spent a whole day in Sydney yet, and therefore didn't know when or where I would work, so I couldn't answer that questions at this moment.
Is $250 too much? she asked, and for an overly optimistic second my brain confused itself by thinking that that was not too much, that was actually an amazing price, until it remembered that Sydney accommodation lists prices per week, and not per month. That meant $1000 a month, which definitely was more than I want to pay.
Also, my impression of this girl was that she was something of a lunatic, and if not that, at least somewhat unstable. After all, she was taking swigs from a Stoli-bottle while smoking cigarettes and listening to a collection from the 90's. You can only prove your mentally volatile state in so many other ways.

Jett and I left after a bit, and grabbed a cab to drop me off at my hostel. He was moving out of his place in a few days, so staying with him was not really going to work out all that well, but I was invited to a BBQ on Saturday, which I said I’d be happy to attend.
I went to sleep with blinders over my eyes and music in my ears, true hostel-style.

---

Comments

[Camilla]

Opera house tiles
Didn't you know? The tiles on the opera house are from Höganäs. :) Hugs.