I Come From A Land Down Under

'We will be in Victoria Park slacklining'

I received this text whilst on a train from Newcastle that went through Cardiff and not far from Swansea. New South Wales has hundreds of place names named after the spots that white settlers called home. It was a James Edwards - whoever he was - who suggested the name Cardiff for the coal mining town north of Sydney.

I read the text again. At first I thought Borja meant 'slacking' as in being lazy, then 'Slacklining' - I thought of the film 'Flatliners' where American teenagers experiment on the edges of death. Unlikely in a park. The Internet of course came to the rescue. Slacklining involves suspending a flat rope between two trees, about a foot off the ground and walking along it.

I turned up and gave it a go and enjoyed the supportive atmosphere. As a teacher it is so important to be a student every so often to remind you of the conditions you need to learn. Total failure has to be expected and any improvement acknowledged. I found I got better in just two attempts. Borja and Natalie are from Spain and Ecuador respectively and were my hosts for my first night in Sydney. They live in the suburb of Gleeb along Sydney's long and curvy water front.

Sydney marks the end of my first section of solo cycling. I felt apprehensive of cycling alone. Not so much the risk of getting a puncture and not being able to get the tyre back, more the solitude. As well as having to explain the sticker saying 'Two Teachers etc' and what had happened to the other teacher. James, for those who are new to the adventure, had to go home as his mum has fallen ill. Lots of love to him and his family.

Two days ago I was cycling in the heat of the day along a dirt road that meant I could avoid the highway. The Pacific Highway has a very narrow shoulder in parts and colossal lorries that suck you in. Scary. Family friends Meurig and Mary Lou drove this highway in the 1980s when part of the highway was dirt road. Australia has developed a lot in the last 20 years. Despite being only the 52nd largest in terms of population, it is the 6th biggest in area, has the 12th biggest economy and the 5th biggest GDP per capita in the world. This is a rich country.

The song Down Under was playing on my phone. 'Doo doo doo do do do do.. I come from a Land Down Under, where women go and men chunder'. I had a moment when it struck me how glad I am to be doing this - solo - a life time opportunity. Listening to cheesy 80s hits, deafened by cicada and marvelling at the classic Australian colours - blue sky and red dirt.

I began my first solo cycling adventure in Brisbane, a former penal colony and it seems appropriate then that I ended it in another - Port Macquarie. Both were established to be harsher prisons where convicts were sent to be isolated from others. In operation for 10 years from 1821, Port Macquarie was run by Francis Allman. It was a harsh regime. So harsh in fact that if a man was found in possession of a piece of paper, the punishment dolled out was 100 lashes. Any attempt to communicate with others, which having paper would suggest was intended, would undermine the isolation that was the main part of the punishment.

This put my so called solitude in perspective. Solitude is not solitude when you have messages from friends and family at the end of every day.

Many Australians can trace their ancestry back to these original prisoners. In 18th century Britain there were were 221 crimes which carried the death penalty, most of these were crimes against property. In the 1800s more people opposed the death penalty on moral grounds and transportation was favoured. First to America until the War of Independence and then Australia.

At the start of the cycling adventure in Brisbane, I stayed with a friend Gerard who I used to swim with at Cally Masters swim club in London. He has now moved back to his home town. His great grandfather he has discovered was sent to Australia for horse theft from Scotland.

Gerard and Renee live in a suburb of Brisbane,Yeronga. This became my home for four nights and Gerard and Renee planned a fun packed weekend of jazz on the banks of the river, gingerbread making and swims in three different swim spots. One of these spots was in Gerard's local 50 metre outdoor pool. The coach for his Saturday morning session had just left and moved to London. Coincidentally my club is also looking for a new coach. I found a contact number and got in touch. Now that would be a turn up if our new Islington coach ends up being tracked down in Brisbane. What a small swimming world.

I had my hair cut (and coloured) in Yeronga by a girl who had not long finished school. She had gone to a youth school as she had not got on with public school. She was wise beyond her years. She said she enjoyed hairdressing because of the people she met and how that opened her eyes. She had just started doing things on her own - like going to festivals. She said to me 'it's good to get to used to being on your own. Ultimately we are born alone and die alone - we might as well get use to it.' Inspiring words at just the right time.

I headed out of the city on the train to the end of the Gold Coast line which dropped me 10 miles from the surfy, seaside spot of Coolangatta on the southerly end of the Gold Coast. The towns along the north coast - north of Sydney - are all about the beach. I cycled around 45 miles a day from Coolangatta, Byron Bay, Evans Head, Yamba, Grafton, Coffs Harbour, Kempsey, Port Maquarie and finally got a lift down the highway to Newcastle. In hostels I have met so many young people, a lot of Germans, but also people from Holland, Austria, France, Britain, Sweden, Canada and Ireland who are backpacking around the country. As friendly and fun as many of these folks are I was getting frustrated that I was not making connections with the real Australia.

So I was delighted when I arrived at the hostel I booked in Evans Head. A tiny two roomed surf shack run by fire volunteer John, living up to many Australian stereotypes. Tim was one of two guys renting his upstairs room. They were about to have a barbecue to celebrate the end of their project working in indigenous communities. Quicker than you could say gate crasher I was down the local supermarket buying frankfurters and the bottle shop to buy a bottle. Australian super markets don't sell booze. Had a great night around the fire learning about the project and more about the area.

The team, including local people and led by Jeff go to the homes of people in indigenous communities and assess whether they have adequate water supply, electricity and basic living standards. As a result of the survey a team then go back to fix things. Part of the philosophy of the project is that as a result of the visit something must be fixed, be it a broken tap or a loose floorboard. This follows the philosophy of New Zealand born, Australian eye doctor and philanthropist Fred Hollows. He said:

'I believe the basic attribute of mankind is to look after one another'.

As well as working in Nepal and other developing countries preventing blindness and eye disease he was very concerned about the difference in Aborigines' life expectancy - 20 years less than white Australians. A truly shocking statistic. This project, funded by the New South Wales government has a 40% success rate in reducing the spread of contagious diseases. A practical way of making a difference.

Now with the meeting real Australians bug perhaps I was more receptive to meeting Greg who I met on the ferry across the Clarence River at Lawrence. He told me that Lawrence was once the biggest town on the coast and the centre of the cedar logging industry. He went home to get a history book about the area then caught up with me. He also told me that the bull sharks come up the river to breed so I decided not to add this to my swim spots. We had our lunch together, he had a pie - they love their pies here - and I had sweaty cheese sarnies and he told me about how there was a problem with 'too many cultures' in Australia. A euphemism I am sure. I described the melting pot that is London with pride.

Later that same day I stopped for the night at Grafton at a pub with rooms. It was a Friday and weekend drinkers were beginning to gather. I got out of my Lycra and went to have a shandy with the locals. Bill Bishop invited me to join him and his friends. This became my spot for the evening. Bill and another local Sandra really looked after me and before long Bill had insisted that I stay with his friend Marty, another publican in Coffs Harbour. He had also offered to pick me up to drive me to Newcastle a few days later so I could be in Sydney to meet my parents when they arrive for Christmas. He did just that. Thanks Bill. The chain of helping hands continued. Sandra has phoned me every day since to check on my progress.

Billy's mate Marty looked after me in Coff's Harbour. Another surfy town Marty picked me up at 8 in the morning for a tour around the area on the back of his Harley Davidson. What a way to see a place and the bike made light of the hills. We stopped at a look out high in the banana plantations. Bananas are still exported from this area and are said to have a great flavour. We then went for a swim in the harbour around the pier.


I thought before I came to Australia that I wouldn't be able to swim much because of the sharks and crocodiles. In fact crocodiles are found in the more tropical north and the likelihood of being eaten by a shark is very small. Sandra used to live in Byron Bay. When she went into hospital to give birth to her daughter in 1982 it was the same time as a fatal shark attack of a surfer. Everyone in the hospitall was talking about the horrific incident. Now the memory of that attack has faded and Byron is awash with wannabe surfers. There were only three shark attacks in New South Wales in 2011, though 15 in 2008. Each year sharks kill far fewer than the number who die from bee stings, dog bites or lightning in the world. There are more attacks in the US than in Australia but more fatal attacks in Australia. None the less, just to be safe, I have avoided swimming at dawn and dusk or on my own.

Last week the results of the 2010 census of the UK were published. It included some interesting changes about Britain. London is made up of 45% of people who describe themselves as white British whereas the rest of the country is 80%. Some commentators in Britain have expressed concern that London no longer represents the rest of Britain. Has it ever? I considered the irony of this whilst in a country colonised by the Brits. Australia only became Australia in 1901. Aborigines now make up 2.3% of the Australian population the number is roughly the same as when the British arrived. Anthropologists think Aborigines were in Australia at least 40,000 or more years ago. Compare that with the arrival of Maori people in New Zealand in 1000. There are hundreds of different groups within that with over 150 different languages most of which are in danger of dying out.

When Australia first federated in 1901 the new government was keen to maintain the British character of the colony. Despite the British government's reluctance, Jo Chamberlain, the then colonial secretary agreed to these laws saying in 1897:

"We quite sympathise with the determination...of these colonies...that there should not be an influx of people alien in civilisation, alien in religion, alien in customs, whose influx..would seriously interfere with the legitimate rights of the existing labouring population."

He might well have been talking about the arrival of the British in the 18th and 19th centuries.

The Autralian Labor Party agreed to support the new government only if the Immigration Restriction Act of 1901 was passed. The government avoided out and out racism and instead hid behind a language test as a way of excluding particularly Japanese, Chinese and Pacific migrants. The 1920s saw an increased attempt to maintain the white character of Australia. Australian Prime Minister, Stanley Bruce said in 1925:

"We intend to keep this country white and not allow its peoples to be faced with the problems that at present are practically insoluble in many parts of the world."

That was before the very white Adolf Hitler caused a number of problems all over the world.

The most recent immigration issue in Australia is to do with asylum seekers. Under the previous government the Labor Party was against having overseas detention centres. Julia Gillard, who is from Barry in the original South Wales is in negotiation to open a new centre in Malaysia. There are 4500 people seeking asylum detained in camps in mainland Australia and a further 1500 on Christmas island. New Zealanders on the other hand can easily immigrate to Australia and account for 20% of Australian immigration. Brits account for 8%, China 11% and India 8%.

There are no easy answers to righting the wrongs of the past. The more you learn about society the more complex the issues often can seem. However seeking the simple ways to enable people to see that human beings really are the same even though it is our differences that help us make connections.

As I was writing this I blog a fellow cyclist spotted my bike outside a cafe on Broadway in Sydney. Paul and his partner Joseph are leaving for Cambodia tomorrow for a cycling tour. Paul gave me tips for cycling in Thailand and our paths may cross when I head there in January.

Now though it is time for a summer Christmas with the folks in Sydney and New Year in Melbourne. So the legs get a rest though I am keen to seek out as many swimming spots as possible. Next on the cycling plan is the Great Ocean Road.

As for understanding Australia, or indeed the world, I know I have only just begun. And perhaps Australia is just as well summed up in another line from the same song:

'He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich.'

Happy Christmas and a big thank you to everyone who has taken an interest in my journey and photos this year. Your support has encouraged me to keep writing and pedalling.

South Island - Rising from the rubble

I started writing this blog on my flight leaving Christchurch, New Zealand to Brisbane, Sydney. On the plane I watched a great documentary called 'Searching for Sugar Man'. Another recommendation - you know who you are - thank you. The film is a touching story about an American singer songwriter Rodriguez, whose 1970 album sold no records in the States but unexpectedly became a cult hit in Apartheid South Africa amongst liberal white South Africans. Many of his songs were banned, and his music inspired a new generation. I won't tell that story as the film is worth watching. It reminded me that each of us can underestimate the influence you have on others and how important it is to act as if you might change the world in all your interactions, words and deeds, all the time. Think how often you refer to something someone once said to you. They probably never know the influence they had.

Sue Connell is one such person. She remains the school librarian in the City Academy, Hackney, where I was teaching up until July. She is passionate about reading because reading opens up the world to children in so many ways. She has led a culture of reading in the school so that it is cool to read even if you are the toughest kid on the block. She brought several authors into school to speak to students. One of those was Elizabeth Laird. She spoke to the young people and gave them the advice. 'Read, write and live. Travel, see the world, live life'. Neither Sue nor Elizabeth probably realise the impact those few sentences had on me. Perhaps I would not be writing this blog otherwise.

My two weeks on South Island began with the memorable ferry journey from Wellington to Picton. The hills rise steeply from the Cook Straits like a big bumpy sea monster submerged in the depths. We cycled along Queen Margaret's Drive along a stunning coast line that was Malborough Sounds. We headed south to Blenheim, stopping at Cloudy Bay vineyard for a few glasses. A gorgeous sunny day, a glass of Pinot Gris - one of the wines they don't make enough to export - drunk whilst in a wicker bowl chair suspended from a magnificent tree. James and I had a rare moment to contemplate how far we have come and what is next for each of us. James is heading home to see both his Helens - his mum, Helen, who has fallen ill and girlfriend - coincidently also called Helen. I move on to Australia.

In Blenheim we stayed with Ian, one of Helen's friends from Northern Ireland and a journalist for the Malborough Express. Journalist have a great way of asking questions and finding the story. Somehow with a few questions I had promised to make Ian eggs for breakfast. It is very common in New Zealand to keep chickens, bees and grow veggies. Agriculture is a big deal on the south island. Cows and sheep are everywhere. Not only is their population growing faster than that of humans but 95% of their dairy produce is exported bringing in one quarter of export sales at 21 billion. One of my favourite moments was when James and I were cycling and we passed a man wearing a flat cap surrounded by 6 Labradors. He called out to James:

'I like your girlfriend. Where can I get one?'
'She's not my girlfriend.' replied James with a hint of disloyalty. I was surprised he didn't add,

'She's yours for four Fresians'

My mum will be relieved that I am not settling down with a dairy farmer on the other side of the world who talks about women as property.

The two day cycle to Kaikoura should have been straight forward. The first day was hilly but we made it in good time and stayed on a dairy farm at a little known hostel just for cyclists. It is always reassuring to read the comments of other cyclists in the guest book. Long days, rain and headwinds seemed a common theme. The following day we met exactly that. The headwind was so strong that I had to peddle on steep down hills and at one point I looked down at my speedometer which read 2.7 miles an hour. Slower that walking. We made 10 miles in 2 and a half hours. We were at an expensive cafe at a tiny spot with nowhere to stay. We contemplated pitching the tent and waiting it out. I called the hostel in Kaikoura to delay our booking. I then met a guy in the car park who was supporting 18 French Canadians also cycling. They had gone further than us already and were heading for Kaikoura. If they could do it, we could. You never know the influence you have.

James and I agreed - this would need to be a team effort. We peddled on. I tried really hard to keep in the shelter of James who went slower to help me. And bit by bit we made progress. At one point I tried so hard I started to lose my breath, had to stop, pull in. I burst into tears. James asked 'Would this be a good time to tell you you have sun cream on your face?'. No James. Just when the road showed no sign of ending we heard a noise. Bark. We stopped and saw leathery brown seals basking on the rocks. Suddenly it was all worth it.

Kaikoura is a small town on the east coast of the South Island. It grew up as a whaling centre in the early 20th century until someone worked out that the whale population was not infinite. In the 1980s it became a boom town for sea life watching. There is a deep cavern just off the coast which means there is an abundance of food for various fish and mammals. This is where you can swim with dolphins or seals, watch whales or albatross or dive to see the abundance of sea life close up. New Zealand is famous for its experiences: bungee jumping, zorbing, kayaking, quad biking and the country even has its own word for walking - tramping. As a keen swimmer the opportunity to swim with dolphins was one I felt compelled to try.

The conditions were ideal with blue sky and calm waters. The experience started with a young woman looking at my feet and guessing the size. They are always bigger than people think. Another man gave me a wet suit, including a hood, which I squeezed on. Too many flat whites and home made scones and muffins in this country has meant this was not as easy as it may have been. Next was the briefing and video where we were told to look for dolphins under the water and to sing to them. We were piled on to a bus and filed on to a speed boat. There were of course, lots of Germans. We bumped along for half an hour or so. All was well on the way out. There is no guarantee that you will be able to swim with or even see the dolphins so I was ready to be writing about plenty more mammals in the sea. Appropriate on a number of levels. I stared out to sea and spotted my first jumping dolphin.

It was less swimming with dolphins, more trying to swim without arms, to mimic dolphin behaviour and hum 'Ar Hyd Y Nos' - 'All through the night', the great Welsh song through my snorkel whilst dolphins whizzed past me and occasionally tried to spin round me. A grey streamlined shape would appear from the bluey depths. I tried to make eye contact. Sounding like a gazoo orchestra, the Germans seemed to have more luck with their dolphin like noises. Water was seeping in my mask so the last time we went back in I abandoned the mask and opted for goggles. What I really wanted to be doing was be swimming in my hat, goggles and bikini, peeling off the spongy warm wet suit and letting the cold get to my skin and just swim. I wanted to be a dolphin.

Back on the boat, I changed quickly and grabbed my camera. We saw tens more dolphins playing at the bough of the ship, showing off their somersaults, leaps and occasionally having dolphin sex. They are apparently very promiscuous animals. Not like doves or swans. (Not sure exactly why they'd be like doves or swans.) I drank a hot chocolate and ate two ginger biscuits.

Suddenly I needed to be sick. I found one of the allocated buckets and a good position at the stern of the boat. I was sick, yet distracted by the jumping dolphins - playful in their choppy paradise. I put my head in my knees and tried to sleep the long 45 minutes bounce back to shore.

The final stop in South Island was Christchurch. Devastated by two big earthquakes I had heard that the city was a mess. We headed straight through and over a very steep hill to stay with friends of a friend, Lydia and Duncan who emigrated to New Zealand four years ago. Lydia heads up communications for Chritchurch council - a job that has taken up more significance since the earthquakes. They have a beautiful home overlooking Governors Bay on the lip of an ancient volcano. On our second night, Duncan headed down to the bay for his regular coast guarding training whilst Lydia's mum, her brother and his partner came over for a barbecue. And guess where Margaret was from? A Cardiff girl of course. She survived Fitzallen - a school with a rough reputation and moved out to New Zealand without ever previously having set foot in the country. The story reminded me of those 19th century American pioneers or the masses of Brits who flocked to the promised land it he hope of a better life. It is so far away. Lydia was also following the footsteps of Captain Cook who comes from her village.

These stories made me think about what home means. Is it a place? A family? Where you make it? I find it fascinating that as human beings we have a strong tendency to form groups and communities and yet also a tendency to explore, adventure and risk. And yet when we get there, wherever there is, people still do everything they can to make home, to make community and make life. The revelation that you can take your life in a different direction is presumably what drove Polynesians to rope together rafts and head to different lands, the same that took Captain Cook from Whitby to the other side of the world, what drove our ancestors to look beyond east Africa and probably what brings me to be here in Brisbane. About to embark on the next adventure.

The other thing I found out about Margaret was that she was in the Canterbury TV building at the time of the February 22nd 2011 earthquake. Same day as my birthday so the date sticks in my mind. This six floor building collapsed and caught fire killing 115 people, over half the victims of the disaster. Margaret was the Office Manager for King's Education, an English school which had over 80 Japanese students studying in the building at the time. She hid under a table and was the last person to be pulled alive from the rubble. She came out in her underwear as her clothes were pinned down by debris. Others were known to have survived after the building collapsed but were either burned by the fire or drowned in the attempt to put out the fire. Margaret suffers from post traumatic stress disorder but unlike others who have left the stressful event, earthquakes just keep coming. The after shocks are just more earthquakes. There hadn't been one since Christmas last year but the threat does not go away. Until yesterday that is when there were 28 little shocks across New Zealand.

There is an investigation underway looking into whether the building followed regulations that were set out to prevent collapse. One of the engineer responsible was not actually an engineer and made up his degree. Gerald Shirtcliff assumed the identity of an English man William Fisher who had an engineering degree from Sheffield University and used it to obtain a Masters degree. He built his life around this lie and continued to practice as an engineer in Brisbane - the original penal colony.

I met a woman in Brisbane who worked for an engineering firm. She told me that Shirtcliffe had also been responsible for buildings in Sydney. She makes it her business to try and get all engineers in her firm registered. However Queensland is the only state in Australia where all engineers must be registered. A useful reminder how important it is to do things by the book.

The centre of Christchurch is still cordoned off as many buildings have to be demolished. The devastation on the positive side provides Christchurch the opportunity to rebuild. Whilst government and city wrangle over how best to do this people are taking city life into their own hands. Old shipping containers have popped up across the city to house shops and businesses. Lyttleton which was close to the epicentre of the February quake has numerous art projects, community businesses and organisations. Plans are afoot to rebuild the cathedral. A Japanese architect offered a temporary structure made of cardboard tubes but unfortunately it was too controversial. I loved the spirit in Christchurch. It felt like a city taken back by the people. Let's hope that spirit will and can combine to rebuild an incredible, innovative new city from the ashes.

Creating an opportunity to build from scratch again is a privilege and one that requires great leadership. The taxi driver on the way to the airport told us that after the quake people had started to drive with great consideration. They were already he said slipping back into their old ways. So if you knew that life was going to end tomorrow, would you live your life any differently today? What are the things you have said or have not said that you need to revisit?

As I embark on this solo journey, excited about what is left of the year I am reminded of what a privilege it is to have this time.

I have decided that the Australian journey will be about how many different places can I find to swim and finding people to cook for. I plan to cycle the 500 miles from the Gold Coast to Newcastle, just north of Sydney even without the motivation of cycling buddy James. I will of course continue to talk to people and try and understand the real Australia.

Reader, you may never know the influence you have.