17 April 2014
By David Campion
The 2014 Australia program is
over. We returned to Brisbane last
Wednesday from Fraser Island, had our farewell dinner on Thursday evening, and
on Friday morning we went our separate ways. Our final meal together on Thursday was a wonderful event. We gathered at an Indian restaurant in
the West End just around the corner from where we had our classes during our
month in Brisbane. After weeks of
grungy camping clothes, muddy hiking boots, wet bathing suits (“bathers” in
Australia), and flip-flops, it was fun to dress up for a night out on the
town. The highlight of the evening
was the excellent slideshow Emma put together from all of our photos this
semester. It was great to relive
all the incredible experiences we have had and to reflect on how much we have
learned and how close we have become as a group since our first days in Sydney
back in January. Our travels these
last fourteen weeks have taken us through the urban center of Sydney, the caverns
and canyons of the Blue Mountains, the scorched eucalypt forests of North
Stradbroke Island, the suburbs of Brisbane, the state parliament of Queensland,
the rain forests of Lamington, the hidden crevices and streams of Carnarvon
Gorge, cattle stations and coal towns, and the coral cays of the Great Barrier
Reef. Many of the people we
encountered on our journey remarked that we were seeing more of their country
than most Australians ever would.
Like many of the students I spoke
to, I can hardly believe that the program is over and I am just now beginning
to process the whole experience.
In a sense, I still don’t know what to make of Australia. When I compare it to the other places
in which I have spent a lot of time—India, East Africa, China, and Europe—it
seems much more like America.
Driving along a highway past Costco, Target, McDonalds or other familiar
chain outlets, listening to the radio, or attending barbecues and beach parties
often made me feel like I was merely in a new part of a familiar world. The differences seemed minor: vehicles
drive on the left side of the road, state governors are called “premiers,” when
the Broncos play the Cowboys in football they don’t wear padding and rarely
stop the clock, and people say “no worries” instead of “no problem” or “don’t
worry about it.” More
significantly, my students and I never had to struggle with a foreign language
or a radically different culture.
In fact, the biggest cultural difference may have been the ubiquitous
Vegemite, an inedible paste that the locals regard like manna from heaven.
Yet at other times, this
country/continent could not have been more different. It was astonishing to stand in front of Aboriginal rock
paintings so old that they could not accurately be dated, to ponder the timeline
of the world’s oldest continuous human society (40,000 years at minimum) and
then consider this longevity against their struggle to survive through the most
recent two centuries. Modern
Australia’s stability, peace and prosperity also belie the convict origins of
the first white settlement. It is
hard to believe that the thought of transportation to this land, often for the
most minor offenses, once filled the underclass of Britain and Ireland with
dread. The penal colonies of
Sydney, Moreton Bay, Tasmania, and Norfolk Island were the gulags of their day
and those condemned to be sent there often saw the last vestiges of their
humanity stripped from them—an experience they would share with the original
inhabitants, though little sympathy would grow between the two groups. From these dismal origins, the
fragmented prison outposts of the continent would one day merge into a single
large colony, transportation would end, and waves of hopeful immigrants would
take the place of those shackled men and women forced to plant the first seeds
of the nation. As an historian of
the British Empire, I have developed a deep and abiding fascination for this
country, its dark and unlikely beginnings, and its many transformations.
The natural beauty and
peculiarity of Australia will also be hard to leave behind. I still have not gotten used to the
squawk of the cockatoo or the laugh of the kookaburra even as these became a
regular part of our soundscape these last few months. I think back on the half-burnt eucalypt trees sprouting new
leaves within days of fire, the night skies of Australia’s densest metropolis
filled with giant bats, the kangaroos and wallabies that bounded past our
tents, and sandy-bottomed lagoons carpeted with stingrays. These sights never ceased to amaze me;
I loved their strangeness and I know that I will feel their absence once I am
back in Portland.
For many of us, the end of the
program signals the beginning of our own travels. By now, the students in our group have scattered to Western
Australia, Northern Queensland, Tasmania, and New Zealand as our antipodean
adventures continue. I am writing
this final entry in our blog from the veranda of a guesthouse on the island of
Efate in Vanuatu, a Melanesian archipelago 1200 miles east of Australia, where
I am looking forward to a bit of island hopping, diving, and beach time on my
own. Yet I know that I will not
enjoy these as much without the students to share the experience with me. As faculty leader I was doubly blessed
with a wonderful group of students and our able and enthusiastic assistant
program leader Emily. Indeed, I
could not have been happier with the people who were part of this year’s
Australia program. We were
likewise fortunate to have been so well looked after by Nat, Marta, and Mira at
GED, our outstanding cook Ulla, our fearless driver Steve, and the dozens of
scholars, scientists, elders, and teachers who formed our academic staff and
accompanied us on our travels. It
was a genuine pleasure to have their companionship, to get to know Australia
from their perspectives, and to see this country in a way that few outsiders
ever will. “Thank you” is an
insufficient acknowledgement for all they did.
-David
 |
| Heron Island Group Photo |
