Australia
I have, of late, become slightly obsessed with old folk songs of transportation. Standards like Van Diemens Land, South Australia and Jim Jones at Botany Bay paint pictures of a world beyond our imagining; desperately dangerous journeys on wooden ships, no guarantee of reaching a destination; a life of hot, laborious penance if one does. Great old songs! Much like the Celtic songs of American emigration they have me itching to see Australia. I am lucky enough to have toured a lot around the Western United States. While much of it is the same indistinguishable highway and strip mall imposed on that country, the mountains and wilds are truly breathtaking.
One encounters little moments where the “Wild West” feels like a tangible being; something in the air or the laconic attitude of the people harks back to a different type of world. Of course the filmic visions of musicians and artists always colour our imagination and thus our reading of places. Of course travelling as a white male I am generally un-harassed. But Montana and Wyoming left a sort of magical impression on me. Even though I was on a road bike in the 2010s I sort of remember being there on a horse in the 19th century…
I don’t know if I’ll ever see Australia, or if I’d like it that much if I ever do. I have certainly liked (and even loved) the handful of Australia’s intrepid travellers who came to spend some time in Scotland and became temporary co-workers and friends. I have been captivated by Her landscapes in film since childhood. There is a particular warmth and wryness in Her humour which appeals to me. It is also- along with Scotland- one of the few English speaking countries where the word ‘cunt’ can be the highest of compliments and is sprinkled liberally in everyday conversation (very much unlike America). I have one dear friend from our earliest restaurant days who I would love to visit. She now has a young family; I met her husband but she was settled in Melbourne before their kids were born. I have several other acquaintances I could look up to probably enjoy various measures of hospitality in that far-off place. When I think about long bike rides-as I am unfortunately wont to do occasionally-I think about Melbourne to Sydney; or more fantastically some of the long, long, roads through the outback.
However, I find myself at a point in life where the prospect of long-distance air travel is entirely disheartening. As someone who always wanted to travel as far and wide as possible, it’s a bit of a strange development and I’m not sure how comfortably it sits with me. S certainly has the wanderlust in spades and I’d never want to dampen that (I’m also not opposed to the idea of separate holidays sometimes). The last time we flew to the United States (a mere hop compared to Antipodean flight) it left me feeling discombobulated for about a week on return.
I am also aware of how little of the the nearby world I have seen- fascinating historic cities like Newcastle & Liverpool, or stunning landscapes in the Lake District, Dales, Trossachs, Highlands and so on- haven’t been explored in the year I’ve been back in Scotland. Ferries to Ireland are close by and run frequently. Ferries to Amsterdam a bit further to get to but equally accessible. Southern Europe is just there at the end of a Eurostar, the Continents train tracks spreading like veins all over that vast continent with little capillary roads for bicycles in the hard to get to places.
So for the foreseeable future I will tout my non-flying status as though I were a committed climate activist, while endeavouring to explore the world within reach of sustainable transport. Except for in March when I pay an overdue visit to my mother in Cape Town, a 20 hour airport-airplane extravaganza. That’s the last one for a while. Unless someone gives me a really good reason to go to Australia.
