#aussieoverseas

If you’ve ever travelled, TopDeck’ed, Contiki’d or moved countries alone, you’ll agree with me when I say that everyone’s first reaction is “You’re so brave!” and “That’s so crazy, I could never do it alone”. While there is a combination of fear, adrenaline, excitement and prosperity that you may have never felt before, at no point do you feel brave.  If anything, once you're out there you suddenly feel incredibly small (but excited all the same). The path literally unwinds before you. You don't know exactly how anything will go, you can plan down to the slightest detail but sometimes big moves throw even bigger curve balls. All you can do is go with the flow, roll with the punches.  I want to tell you about the last few months that I’ve experienced, because it’s so exciting until it feels like it’s all falling apart. Not everything goes right, and there are some days where you just want to scream “Fuck it!” and go home. A part of me never wants to talk about the bad days, because I don't want to be the only loser not enjoying their summer holiday.  To say the least it has been incredibly turbulent, and emotionally exhausting. This month alone has left me in tears more nights than ever (but that’s a story for another time, sorry August!). No part of me ever thought this would be easy, but I have a few friends who started their big journeys just a few months ahead of me. They were loving it - so I thought as hard it could be, I would at least be loving every second of my new life and the challenges a new home would throw at me. I was so naive, completely unaware of just how vulnerable I was (well, am).  So here’s part 1;

It all started with a bad few days in San Francisco to cap off a wonderful TopDeck trip with a fantastic bunch of people. The tour ended on such a high, nothing was going to kick me in the pants. Then I headed to my accomodation in the Tenderloin (the only district in all of San Francisco that EVERYONE tells you to avoid - at all cost). Even tour buses try not to drive through it. Every district has its homeless community, but The Tenderloin has the most “savagely dangerous” homeless community in the entire city (a local’s words, not mine). And I was staying in a hostel in the heart of The Tenderloin - on my own. The first night was fine. My roommate from TopDeck changed her plans and stayed with me, one last hurrah together. We were on such a high, the room was comfortable and the hostel itself was beautiful. Nidala is the type of woman to roll with the punches, “so it’s a bad neighbourhood? We’re here together and we won't be spending much time here anyway”. At first I agreed blindly, nothing could get us down! We’re TopDeckers! Tour sisters! Then later, I couldn't help but wonder, what about the second night? We slept fairly alright that night. While in the shower what sounded like a series of gunshots went off, followed by sirens. Later we heard a fight break out on the street below, followed by more sirens and in the early hours of the next morning someone was happily throwing glass bottles against the wall just to watch them smash.  After farewelling Nidala the next morning, I headed into the city alone to explore and after a day of trekking around with the leftover TopDeck crew I decided to walk home alone back to my room. This day I walked the safe way, and made it back well before dark. That night was filled with some old and some new sounds. People fighting again, glass smashing, and all the sirens that followed, but soon after I was awoken again, this time by the smell of burning plastic or rubber. Eventually the smoke was so intense in our room, the other 2 girls staying in the bunks surrounding me were trying to determine if what was burning was a bag of someones dirty laundry or a dead body (yes, one of the guests thought the smell was that of burning flesh).  The fire engines were right outside our window, sirens blaring, lights flashing and all. When I woke up later and was walking out to leave for the day, one of the hostel workers was speaking to a colleague about how the fire had damaged one of their back doors or windows. How were we not evacuated?  I don't think I really understood how anxious I was by this stage. Not to mention the exhaustion - I had probably only slept for 4 hours that night because of the fracas outside the dorm window. I must have been right on the edge. I should have stayed in and got more sleep. Instead, I left for the day and headed around to explore more of San Fran, wearing myself incredibly thin. By the afternoon I was ready to head home for bed.  I strolled home down Ellis St alone, a street I was told to avoid if possible, especially at night. The street my hostel was on. I was supposed to walk two blocks north and head around and down to my hostel, rather than directly to it from Union Square. But this one afternoon, in broad daylight I thought I would be fine. Boy was I wrong.  A few blocks in everything was calm. Eventually, the crowd I had immersed myself into started to veer off in different directions and at this one particular intersection, the last remaining (safe-looking) strangers were suddenly gone. I should have followed them earlier, (actually - I should have listened to all of the previous advice I was given about Ellis St), but I stayed on the path for one more block (it was the most direct route back). Apparently I had walked directly into a particularly vile man’s territory - a square of pavement he protects with all of his physical strength (and saliva). A few of the gruff-looking homeless men moved themselves off the wall they were leaning against towards me, scowling and looking defensive, so I halted on the spot. I had turned to stand by the crossing lights, (I could feel the men moving towards me still) but the moment I felt a wad of hot spit hit my leggings and drip down onto my ankle, I was running up a hill, heading two blocks north to safety. I hadn't even been aware of the fact that I’d just run across a busy road without looking. Thinking I was in the clear, I turned around to check my surroundings and another gentlemen in what I can only describe as a snuggie worn backwards, torn pants and electrical taped shoes, was suddenly chasing after me yelling at me for “disrespecting his space”. I hadn't even seen where I had passed him, but I didn't have time to think about that, I was running up that hill for my life.  By the time I got back to my room I was in a state of panic. My sports-induced asthma was well induced, (thankfully Nidala left me with her spare inhalers) and it felt like I was breathing through a wet sponge. To make matters worse - the next 6 hours was just me crying and wheezing while i tried to call anyone in Australia with FaceTime. For a while, no one answered (damn timezones!) I was homesick, tired, terrified and completely alone. Just as I faced the chills and started to shake and shiver uncontrollably, Mel’s face popped up on my phone. Saved. She spent the next few minutes talking me down, and at the end off all my phone calls, I realised how painful and sore my chest was, I’d pulled a muscle in my leg (again) and I looked like a crazy person - my mascara was not on my eyes, just all over my cheeks and chin.