Australia drew me in the same way California had four years prior, through water. The allure of a place that neighbors the ocean gave me hope that there I would find a flow state, a place to feel fully immersed, energized, and connected. An easy choice for the last stop on my post-college graduation international summer spree, I set to explore the country solo for three weeks.

At the time, I didn’t have a job, relationship, or home waiting for me; for the first time in my life the next step wasn’t paved or even sketched out, I was free. An untethered college graduate, my vulnerability was unapparent to me because the future’s unknowns meant I could search for bigger, brighter parts of the world than those behind library desks or under strobe lights at house parties. Feeling small again in Australia helped me feel big in my own life: forging ahead solo without the burden of expectations, my senses awakened. 

Feel

I like to say that Australia experience really started at the Hong Kong airport’s Virgin Airlines ticket counter. Having slept dreamily the night before and with a scheduled car ride to the airport more than three hours before my flight, there was very little suggesting to me that I wouldn’t land safely in Melbourne a few hours later. With one large backpack strapped to my front and a duffle hitched on my back, I hobbled over to print out my boarding pass. Much to my demise, the lovely flight staff informed me, in such a kind tone that I almost missed the gravity of the situation, that I had forgotten to apply for a visa to get into Australia, and could not even pass security without that silly little document. Aka, I’d potentially be stuck in Hong Kong, miss my flight, miss my entire trip, and potentially have to spend thousands to find a last-minute early flight back home.  

Like a sinkhole that only gets deeper, my emotions went from shock to action to panic mode. My heart tapped as frantically as my thumbs while I quickly pulled together an application on my phone and hit send to the Australian government. Not more than 30 minutes later, I magically was approved, still with a record 2 hours to go until my flight. Today, I’ve still got that boarding pass taped to my fridge, where it serves as a reminder of what it felt like to be a) so driven that I practically willed the Australian government to accept me, b) an utter moron, and c) really damn lucky.

Sound

Once I touched down in Melbourne (cue applause), the cool winter air was a welcome respite from the previous week in an intensely humid Hong Kong. With sore ankles and budding Achilles strains, I decided that a tour along the coast to the 12 Apostles promised the rest that I deserved. The majority of my fellow passengers in our 10-seater van were Australian, which probably explains why the middle-aged tour guide insisted I sit in the front seat next to him, mostly for his own teasing, and also so he could impart his Australian Knowledge to me.

Turns out, the front seat was the best in the house, with unobstructed views of miles and miles of green rolling hills, tranquil waves, and some of the most beautiful beaches I’ve seen. The mix of music, Aussie accents, tranquil silence, crashing waves, and whipping wind vibrated through my ears like a symphony. Oscillating in volume and depth, these sounds paced the journey with precision and nuance; my mind slipped into a dream state, my physical form melting into my surroundings, a true moment of serenity. 

Sight

The best way to explore the Whitsundays is by sleeping on a sailboat with sixteen strangers. A boat fit with small cots down below, one small bathroom with a makeshift shower, and just enough room up top to sit side-by-side with people you’ve never met and go sailing. Initially, I was hesitant to sign up, though I’m sure you can’t imagine why, but now I wish I could step foot on that sailboat whenever I please. The sixteen strangers turned out to be: two Australian sailors, one American cook, an adoring Dutch couple on their honeymoon, an Irish and a British solo traveler (my newfound friends), two French girls who smoked too much, a Belgian family of three, and three German boyish twenty-something men.  

Since the Whitsundays are well off the coast of Airlie Beach, the first day was spent mostly pacing steadily towards the area where we would anchor for the night: aka we sailed! Sitting on the edge of the sailboat all day long was thrilling, sea mist whipping onto my skin while the shimmer of the blue water reflected in my eyes; it truly was that summer feeling. Later that night, tired from the sunshine and filled with a variety of grilled foods, we watched the sunset with the most astounding perspective from our spot in the very middle of the ocean. 

Suddenly we were surrounded by pitch black, which forced my eyes to narrow on the very small amount of light coming from the lamps on board. In the darkness, our small group turned into best friends for a night, the perceived strandedness in the middle of the ocean created a blanket of trust that is perfect for getting to know a stranger from another part of the world. We traded stories and travel plans, with minimal talk of anything back home. The three German boy-men formed a small circle, where they sang and danced unironically to Billie Eillish’s ‘Bad Guy’ under the stars, and then later learned how to properly roll a joint from the Belgian dad, much to his daughter’s embarrassment. Though I’d always seen, a tried and true observer, this time my eyes said ‘look.’ So I took it all in, the darkness and the sea, the apparent differences within our group and the momentary friendship. 

Taste

On the final day of my trip, I braved choppy waters and risked heavy non-refundable cancellation fees, but luck was on my side. I had made it to Cairns where I would scuba dive in the Great Barrier Reef. As a newbie diver, at the edge of the boat that was ready to drop us into the sea, my heart started thumping again as it had during the visa conundrum. I summoned the courage to push fear out of my mind, not through some type of fearlessness but more so rationality; what am I going to do…I thought…go all the way to the Great Barrier Reef and not scuba dive? 

So I dove off the deep end and embraced the water swaying around me. Still at the surface, the scuba instructor signaled us to clean our gear, essentially taking off the mouthpiece to our oxygen tanks. As I followed his precise instructions, a wave of salt water slid directly into my mouth, nose, and eyes. It was as if the sea decided I needed a six course meal comprised only of it’s finest salty salt. 

Scuba diving is partially skill but mostly trust that the oxygen tank won’t malfunction and the sea creatures will be friendly. Though the sea had already betrayed my trust by throwing salt directly into my body, I decided to give it another shot, and I’m glad I did. Diving was the tipping point of my flow state: an out-of-body experience both literally as my breathing was controlled by an external tank, but also figuratively as I glided through an otherworldly ecosystem.  With a hum of curiosity buzzing inside me, and the audacity to chase each curiosity behind coral reefs, my senses burst wide open. 

At the end of the dive, I tossed my goggles and ungracefully clawed my way out of my wet suit, relieved to be back above sea level breathing on my own once more. With a lump in my throat, I realized these would be my final few moments in Australia, so I headed to the top deck of the boat. As the sun kissed my damp skin, my hair flowed easily in the wind, and I licked my lips only to find I still tasted a bit of salt. With new light in my senses, a connection to myself through my surroundings grounded within me an overwhelming sense of euphoria. 

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My heart still feels the flip-of-the-coin type of panic and gratitude, my ears still remember the vibrations from that car ride, my eyes are imprinted with the glow of my fellow sailors’ light in the darkness, and I can still taste a piece of saltwater mixed with sunshine. Sometimes, my flow state gets lost, but like the sea salt, I can always tune into my senses and find it again.