Sam Wallace is a 4th-year UBC undergraduate studying English literature in the Faculty of Arts. He grew up in Vancouver, BC. Here’s his personal diary about a year-long exchange on a UBC Go Global program in Australia at the University of Sydney.
So it begins…
3 May 2023: It was an early arrival to Australia. My then-girlfriend, M.–, has prepared a taxi for us from the Sydney airport after a 15-hour flight from Vancouver, BC, and by the time we step outside, even the morning breeze carries stinging heat. What a difference a day makes! I take off my Roots jacket, changing into a simple white T-shirt in a travel-weary manner which, as she claims, is reminiscent of Marlon Brando from “A Streetcar Named Desire.”
I tell her, if I have to choose, I prefer James Dean. But with this small gesture, it’s as though my past identity in Canada has also been shrugged off my shoulders, and with the distant sounds of wild cockatoos in the eucalypts and gum trees, a new season has begun.
Sam windswept near Tamarama (photo: M.—)
Far-flung horizons
Before embarking on my exchange, my experience with independence was limited. My childhood was spent in the fishing village of Steveston, in Richmond, BC. Any vacations taken were with my parents across the country to visit family rather than across the world. My biggest fear was not understanding how airports worked, and that I would somehow take a wrong turn, wander aimlessly onto the tarmac and miss my flight.
After hearing about the Go Global exchange program through my student emails, I decided to take a fateful trip over the summer to Sydney, Australia with M.— to tour the University of Sydney campus.
Travelling internationally for the first time taught me that the world is a lot smaller than the long flight would otherwise suggest. When you land in Australia, you might find cars driving on the left side shocking; you might see the trees and wildlife and consider them both exotic—if nothing else, you are sure to find the accents and slang borderline incomprehensible. (Keep reading, please, and I’ll use some on you.) Yet these Australians were the same courteous, kind people as back home.
I found the best way to overcome any worries about being in a new place was reaching out and creating a support group. With M.—, her parents P.– and N.–, as well as friends I could depend on, I came to view flying as no different than taking a bus in the sky.
Bondi Beach on a hot summer day at 30 C°. (photo: M.—)
How it all began
My year-long exchange in Australia started months before my first semester. You see, M.– stayed in her parents’ apartment while they lived in Asia overseas for half the year, and this gave me ample time to create a routine and adjust to the new country.
Their home rested on a quiet side street atop a hill overlooking Sydney’s famous Bondi Beach. In the summer, you could wake up to enjoy a morning cuppa when, heading up onto the roof, the sands would already be packed to North Bondi with tourists from all around. Like in the Vancouver harbour, past the vague outline of swimmers and surfers and crashing waves, large cargo ships drifted languidly by on the distant horizon, travelling onwards to unknown ports.
This was the typical day heading into the arvo, or afternoon. By midday, I might have gone for a walk to several windowsill cafés tucked away on floral side streets—Paddington, Centennial or Surry Hills always struck a perfect balance between liveliness and tranquility. If I was looking for further excitement, I would go shopping in the colonial Town Hall, a crowded business district where the Queen Victoria Building stood tall.
Two things were guaranteed in a Sydney summer: great coffee and weather. In Circular Quay, meandering along the docks towards the Sydney Opera House, you could find plenty of both.
On the Bondi to Coogee (pronounced “Bond-eye,” “could-gee”) coastal walk, captured near Tamarama Beach (photo: Sam Wallace)
There were also touristy stores that sold plastic flags to herald Australia Day or a definitely-not–real-leather hat which might very well have been a rejected prop from Crocodile Dundee. I’m not ashamed to say I had to resist the urge to buy every frivolous souvenir that crossed my path. In the evenings, drinks with friends in the city were assured at least once a week, especially by the time the first semester arrived.
“…kangaroos, koalas and platypus crossed our path, and never had I felt further from home—my definitive ‘not-in-Kansas-anymore’ moment.”
Dorm life
2 July 2023: In Newtown with my friend A.—, sitting in a Sushi Train restaurant: She says she is leaving for a study term in London the next morning, but graciously takes the time to provide some advice for my upcoming move into guaranteed student accommodation at the Queen Mary Building. “It is smaller than a shoebox,” she says, retrieving a plate of sashimi, “and half as wide.” But she only knows from visiting, having stayed in the bougie Wesley College instead.
By the time I had moved into the dorm, her estimation was proven right: There was just enough room for a desk, TV, wardrobe, fridge and a king-size single bed. Oxymorons aside (how can something be simultaneously king-sized and single?), the space was ideal: you get your own room and only the bathrooms are shared. The best part about living in Queen Mary, however, was when a party was held on the ground floor. It was the only time you could socialize and make friends with students from Asia, America, Europe and Africa, all in the same room.
Academics
During my exchange, I found most of the grading weighted heavier than the Canadian curriculum. In my courses “The Literary in Theory” and “High Renaissance Art,” for instance, my mark was ultimately decided by two essays worth 50% each. This is not to say my time at the University of Sydney was spent in an agonizing purgatory of studying, sleeping and writing. I also have fond memories of going for coffee on campus with H.—, “taking the piss” out of our respective countries, and reminiscing on our travels to Asia.
Among my most memorable courses, “Australian Wildlife Biology” had my class board a ferry from Circular Quay every second week, sailing past the Sydney Opera House and Harbour Bridge to the mythical Taronga Zoo in North Sydney. Once there, kangaroos, koalas and platypus crossed our path, and never had I felt further from home—my definitive “not-in-Kansas-anymore” moment. In the tropical bird exhibit, I remember watching the dance of vibrant red, pink and gold in the heavy thicket, blending together as one. We walked beneath the gum-tree branches that enveloped us overhead in a natural arched trellis. Then, when we were sufficiently overwhelmed by colour and class was dismissed, J.— from Bristol would ferry back to hit up the local Maccas. Try the frozen Coke.
The Sydney Opera House, captured on the ferry ride to Taronga Zoo (photo: Sam Wallace)
Uni in the heart of the city
Being an exchange student for a full year offered me valuable time for sightseeing. The university campus is located in the heart of the city and just a brisk walk away from King Street, Newtown. Like Vancouver’s Commercial Drive (counterculture-artsy) or Granville Street (urban-gritty nightlife), this strip is filled with hippies, musicians and students looking to enjoy the after-dark scene at the Marlborough “Marly” Hotel, the Townie, Kelly’s, and Newtown Hotel, where drag shows, live musicians or stand-up comedy are always on—and not necessarily in that order.
Other highlights include a Turkish lamp store, where the smells of burning incense will overtake you, and hot apple tea will be placed in your hands as you browse; a café with hookah pipes, punctuated by the haze of Cuban cigar smoke; and last, but not least, a “self-serve” taphouse where I worked for a season. In this job, people-watching is a popular sport when everyone has a unique style. It quickly became one of my favourite haunts, and inspired me to become a bohemian.
Waiting at the crosswalk on King Street, Newtown. This bustling corridor was a 10-minute walk from the Queen Mary Building. (photo: Sam Wallace)
Aussie adventures
30 October 2023:Following the end of my first semester, M.— and I plan several trips within Australia. The first comes in flying to Adelaide to see a Paul McCartney concert, and where Wild West streets flanked by sandstone buildings lead us to secret cafés and bookstores.
Our next trip, Tasmania, involves a scenic drive in a rental along the east coast, stretching from the southern capital of Hobart to the second-most populous town in the north, Launceston. This wild island off Australia promises a similar freedom as Vancouver Island without being enclosed by the oppressive forest. As we pass idyllic farmland and desolate beaches, a trio of free wine tastings at vineyards ensures the journey is worthwhile. But to quote M.—, she believes the dubious statistic: “more sheep than people.”
Lethargic, we arrive in the coastal town of Bicheno. With windswept shores harbouring a hardy population of fewer than 1,000, we decide our best course of action—few in number these options were—is the old seaside restaurant serving Tasmanian salmon and chips in wicker baskets. In the morning, we make sure to visit a wildlife sanctuary to feed Tassie devils and kangaroos.
Feeding kangaroos and wallabies in East Coast Natureworld, Tasmania. (photo: M.—)
On my last day in Hobart, I board a ferry loaded with art collectors to the Museum of New Art. It is a gallery buried entirely underground, curated by the Tasmanian eccentric and high-stakes gambler David Walsh. Sitting at a table, wine tasting under the veranda of a nearby courtyard, my thoughts would be interrupted by an overly inquisitive waiter who, upon learning I was from Canada, bombarded me with questions, such as “How is skiing in Whistler?” “Have you seen a bear?” and “Does it snow every day?”
I confess, some of my answers might have been slightly exaggerated. When else can I fill myself with unearned self-importance?
Memories
- 14 January 2024: Playing my original music and covers of Australian classics to a packed Hotel Ravesis, Bondi Beach.
- 22 March 2024: Taking a train from the city to Parramatta to work at the “Souled Out” music festival, headlined by R&B artists Summer Walker, Bryson Tiller and PARTYNEXTDOOR.
The exchange experience
By the end of my exchange, I found myself more open-minded and curious about new cultures; I also learned the importance of seeking out new adventures to break the monotony of routine. After a year overseas, I am a different person compared to as little as six months ago. If you, dear reader, plan to go on exchange, I would advise that you must also be prepared to look at photos from before and not recognize the face in the portrait at all.
Adieu
20 July 2024: Departure. Sydney feels less like a city on my last day, and more of a large outdoor airport where friends come and go. Sometimes, the last meeting is never the last, because the word “goodbye” is misleading—it is rarely as sweet as its sound.
Sydney is one of several cosmopolitan cities around the world—Vancouver, New York, Dubai, Hong Kong among them—comprised of so many stopping in for a season, visiting family for a time, working on a visa for a year or two, but who never settle down, always move on. For as long as I lived there, the city always carried that same air of transience—the knowledge that those I talk to may be remembered tomorrow and long after, but would never be seen again. In the end, there is no way to prepare for the bittersweetness of travel. Flying back home to the winter season, I have also learned there is nothing quite as extraordinary.
Walking the coastal path to Bondi Beach. (Photo: Sam Wallace)
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