Return to Oz

Hello from the Antipodes, or should I say g'day?

One month after my final touchdown on Queensland turf and the memories of life in Europe and the adventures I had are starting to leak from my mind like water. The long journey back home contains enough stories to fill a novel, let alone the two long years I spent in that ancient, cold, northern part of the world.

The reverse culture shock has just started to wear off and I'm resisting the urge to stare as I walk down the street and repeat "Look, it's a rainbow lorikeet!" or "Wow, eucalyptus trees!" like an excited Japanese tourist. I'm still adjusting to the lack of people in the streets, and the way the sky reaches up so high and wide before it descends all the way down to the horizon.

The space. If you've never seen it you couldn't imagine it, and if you've never seen anything else you can't appreciate it. Even in the cities the buildings are spaced so widely, yards and alleys casually taking up real estate which would be precious in more populated countries. After so long being hemmed in and constricted in European cites, where every last inch is taken up by building butting up against building, the open emptiness of Australia induces a kind of agoraphobia.

And the light! The sun burns in the hot sky, glaring off the ocean and bleaching the trees and grass. Clouds don't sully the flat, open expanse of blue which stretches from one horizon to another, not a ceiling to the world but a huge dome. You learn to squint here. Hats and sunglasses become necessary clothing items and sunscreen is part of the morning shower routine as much as soap.

The trees and plants here are pale and desaturated, the smooth grey limbs of the eucalyptus reaching skywards like the limbs of frozen dancers. Grass underfoot crunches and turns brown, the only colour in the landscape is the birds. Vivid rainbows flitting through treetops, warbling, cawing and trilling from the moment the bright, hot sun begins to heat the landscape.

Night drains the heat from the air, birdsong is replaces by the shrill of insects, the leathery flap of wings and the whoosh of air as a flying fox passes overhead.

It's good to be home.