Surprises and Such on the Great Ocean Road

On our arrival to Melbourne in the beginning of July, we Loyola students received an envelope containing mailbox information, bus passes, and among other things, a ticket to an included two-day trip to the Great Ocean Road. We did not know how many other students would be attending or what the trip even entailed. After Googling the place, I made the educated guess that we would be taken to some pretty cliffs where we could snap some cliché pictures to send home to Mom and Dad and maybe do some souvenir shopping.

At eight o’ clock on a Saturday morning we all gathered in the residence halls parking lot to find a very small bus—or rather a glorified van—waiting for us. It then came to be known that there would be no other Monash students joining us on this trip. Once we were all on board, our tour guide Jai welcomed us. He was a curiously handsome young man with unique features: wide-set squinty eyes, a cleft chin, tan skin and short dark hair. Jai began to tell us, “Once we get down to the beach in about an hour we’ll start our surf lesson—“ and then I panicked. Excuse me? You want me to get in the ocean right now? I was wearing jeans, a fleece jacket and boots; it was winter, for crying out loud, and I had certainly not packed a bathing suit. But, as everyone else was excited to surf, I too pretended to look forward to the frigid conditions and wet dog appearance I was sure to adopt.

Mid-winter in Melbourne is no time for a swim. By the time we were on the beach, head to toe in black wetsuits, the sky was a cool grey to the north and brightened up towards the south. Rolling white puffs streaked through and created and interesting contrast. Still, focus needed to be directed to the sprawling ocean. This section of beach sat beneath towering cliffs of rock and green flora. The dull, tan sand faded under the surface of the dark water.

Glassy and green, the ocean’s predictable waves crashed in a repetitive pattern.  Pale foam rushed the shore and then fizzled out, though by now it was clear that it would rush up again. The water’s most striking feature, however, was its lung-crushing temperature; it was the kind of cold that almost feels hot and causes the body to ache, air to escape from the lips, and finally to create numbness throughout.

As long as I was already cold and wet, I decided to try to surf as well as I could, but to no avail. I continuously flopped off of my board and into the water with several successful attempts at boogie boarding. My peers were whizzing by me left and right, but I was unable to replicate them.

When the surf lesson was done and I had taken nearly eight minutes just to peel the wet suit off of my body, I was not as grumpy as I had imagined I would be. Though I was physically uncomfortable and tired, I could at least say that I had surfed in Australia (or at least tried to), and what a great story that would be to tell the grandkids.