Three days ago, I touched down in Australia. My flight had been a glorious one, as I had a window seat with no one in the seat next to me – the dream scenario of someone who’s 6’ and mostly leg. Unfortunately, when I disembarked the plane, I realized I was feeling very much under the weather. Nothing some antibiotics couldn’t fix, but I had no clue how to go about getting them. My uncle was kind enough to come all the way to Melbourne to pick me up from the airport, and I hated that the first question I asked him (other than “How are you doing?”) was if he could take me to a chemist on our way out of town. A chemist, because that’s what we would call a pharmacist. Aussies call them pharmacists too, but a chemist is apparently more typical. At any rate, he took me to one and I found something over the counter to help with my symptoms until I could see a doctor to get antibiotics.

Whether or not I would share all this information was much debated in my own mind, but I decided to do it for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I want to paint an honest picture of my experiences, and in all honesty, I stepped off the plane and was in such miserable discomfort that I could barely concentrate on anything – even the experience of just landing in my new country of residence. Secondly, knowing this information may help you understand why I hit the ground running as I did. Or, as one of my friends explained it, leapt out of the plane as it was descending, flew parallel to the ground for a little while, then hit the ground running.

I landed on a Thursday, and the next day my uncle (Craig) worked in a town called Albury located across the border into New South Wales. I decided to go with him to try to accomplish some things. You see, I had it in my head that the only way to see a doctor (more or less) was to first get a Medicare card. In order to get a Medicare card, I needed a bank account. So that’s where I began. Craig gave me a map of Albury (pronounced like Aubrey) on which he had indicated where certain stores and other important buildings were. When we parted ways, I marched down the street with a purpose. I felt invigorated as I set out to accomplish these first big steps in my life. My spirits were barely dampened when a guy working for a charity told me I looked younger than my 22 years, and frankly that says a lot about my sense of purpose on that day. I arrived at the bank only to discover that it wouldn’t open for another 20 minutes. It looked like rain, so I went to the Target around the corner to grab an umbrella, knowing I would need one eventually anyway. I later returned to the bank, opened a bank account, and headed to the library. In the library, I was able to begin my applications for my Tax File Number (which I would need for employment) and my Medicare card (which I would need for all things medical as well as some basic recognition as a person in Australia). I hit a couple roadblocks with both of them, mainly being that I would need one for the other. This cycle continued when I went in the afternoon to discover what it would take to get an Australian drivers license. Turns out, it’s frighteningly easy. With my valid American license, and two forms of Australian ID, I’ll be golden. Of course, I don’t have a second form of Australian ID like, say, a Medicare card, yet. Such is the way of these things. That day, I also bought a SIM card and Australian phone plan. All in all, a full and rather successful day.

On Saturday morning, my aunt, Nicole, decided that it would be best if I saw a doctor. We found an office that was relatively close by, had good wait times, and was open until 11:30. I was in and out in a matter of minutes, and not having a Medicare card wasn’t really a problem. It just meant I paid for the visit.

Then it was time to head to the shearing shed. I’m living on a sheep farm at the moment, and ’tis the season to shear the sheep. The ewes and some of the lambs had already been sheared, but Saturday was the day they were going to finish shearing the lambs. I had planned on being an actual help in the morning, but since I had to go to the doctor’s in the morning, I ended up just being an extra pair of hands to help out where I could when they were most of the way through the job. It was a new and interesting experience for me. I didn’t shear any of the sheep myself – there are professionals for that, and they made it look like an art form. They could shear a whole sheep in a couple minutes, making sure they didn’t have to go over the wool too many times so that it could be nice and long, keeping steady hands, and generally showing a great amount of control over the animals. I was glad for what little help I could give. I also got to see the body of a common brown snake – one of the deadliest snakes Australia has to offer. I was struck with how mundane it looked. The creature had likely tried to get out of its hole at night and gotten stuck on its way out. It would have been a slow and horrible death, but I’m glad that I didn’t see it while it was alive.

But all this wasn’t what I meant for this blog post to be. Sure, it details what I’ve accomplished while I’ve been here, but it doesn’t paint a picture of what it’s really like. The farm is like an alloy of gentle and rough, soft and loud. My five and two year-old cousins live here, and they have boundless energy that surprises me every day – even me, who has worked with children for years. Their natural voices run free, and they raise them in crescendos with great gusto whenever their spirits are lifted. There’s a great deal of laughter and wails, as is always the case with young children. Then there are the moments of quiet, of listening intently to stories and focusing on building a new fantastical creation.

The farm is located near the Alpines in Victoria, surrounded by countless wineries. The farmhouse itself is built on a hill that can see miles and miles to the West. Its isolation lends it peaceful quiet, tranquil views, and a space for great wishing. But then the winds come. I’ve witnessed only one, short-lived storm, in which the rains drove horizontally into the house and the trees. Apparently, most of Australia’s winds come from the West, and here on the hill, there is absolutely nothing to slow it down. The winds are so strong and steady that all the trees grow to the East, submitting to the relentless pounding of the wind.

I see this unstoppable nature in my five year-old cousin. He bulls on ahead with whatever is in his head, he focuses on the task at hand, he gives 110% every moment he is awake. It can feel sometimes like there is no stopping him. One must simply bend a little, as the trees learn to do. I felt a bit like the wind walking down the street of Albury, ready to make people bend to my will. Of course, no wind could have any effect on bureaucracy, but I did enjoy the empowering feeling.

A few observations I’ve had about Australia. All this “G’day” talk outside of the country is quite overblown. Instead of saying g’day, an Aussie is much more likely to say “Howya goin’?” and you are expected to give an answer. You can’t backtrack to a hello, of course, that wouldn’t make sense. Just tell them how you’re going and inquire the same, and you’ll be ‘right. I asked my two year-old cousin this evening, “How are you?” No response. I decided to experiment a bit and quickly changed my question to “Howya goin’?” Immediately: “Good.”

Soltanas are raisins.

Muesli bars are granola bars.

Melbourne and Sydney have a merry war betwixt them.

Kangaroos are most often seen as roadkill.

I could be in this country for two lifetimes and never know half the riches it offers.