or caravan and take years to explore
their own country. And they love it!
They love the scenery, the cities, the
food, the other people. I know, be-
cause I look in the visitors’ book after
they have gone. They may have just
endured the poorest of entertain-
ment, food or accommodation but
does anyone complain? I’ve spent
the last twelve months in public ser-
vice ego-massage land. The staff may
hurl your order at you in the restau-
rant, be rude, serve tasteless, cold
and overpriced food, but on leaving,
the customer always says “Thanks,
that was good”.
The bored staff will reply “No wor-
ries, Mate. Seeya laydah”.
No wonder they call us whinging
Poms! I have, on occasion, had a lit-
tle moan to fellow consumers only to
be placated with “Well, they’re busy
you know, and the tourist season is so
short, they have to make their mon-
ey while they can”. This is what I was
told when charged $8, the equivalent
of five pounds sterling, for using a
garage forecourt for changing my en-
gine oil, having bought the oil from
the forecourt owner and done the job
myself!
On the whole, I have been treated
with so much kindness and gener-
osity that I have felt embarrassed.
Would Australians be taken home
and cared for if they happened to be
riding a motorbike around Britain?
Would any of us Brits say, “Good on
Ya, Mate, have a beer on me” by vir-
tue of being a foreigner in a strange
land?
Aussies are generous. Aussies are
proud. Most acknowledge their ori-
gins are in Europe, but they are 100%
Australians now. They are proud of
their involvement in two world wars.
Each tiny city has its war memorial
commemorating the “supreme sac-
rifice” the sons and daughters made.
Anzac Day means celebrating the
spirit of Australians. The mateship
and loyalty. I’ve been to the museum
at the Bridge over the River Kwai in
Thailand and seen the humour of the
Australian POWs. They risked their
lives heroically and defiantly to pro-
duce camp newspapers in the face
of the most awful conditions imag-
inable while building the ‘death rail-
way’ from Thailand to Burma for the
Japanese invaders.
If I’ve gleaned anything from be-
ing here and experiencing the peo-
ple, I come away with their overall
sense of fun. They have amusing
names for their trades such as a dem-
olition expert called “Down to Earth”
and “Mind Your Own Business” for a
company who help you set up your
own company. My favourite for its
sheer simplicity was the “Dead Easy”-
mousetrap!
The only topic not up for a jolly
discussion is the aboriginal situation.
It’s a difficult one.
Like the British, Aussies love sport
but they don’t throw bricks through
windows when they lose as our so-
called football fans sometimes do.
I was staggered as the only English
person watching the match on the
big screen in the pub when we won
the Rugby World Cup. As soon as the
final whistle went, the place which
had been alive with cheers when Aus-
tralia scored in the close-run match,
went quiet for a second or two and
then everyone went about as if noth-
ing had happened. There was no
comment and I couldn’t detect a sign
of disappointment on any face.
Australians have a sunny disposi-
tion. They live in a sunny country.
They are optimistic. Their country
is young. They laugh at themselves
and everyone else. Nothing is really
serious. They don’t judge people by
how they speak or what they wear or
who they know or which school they
went to. You are either ‘fair dinkum’
or you’re not.
I’m lucky, I was deemed fair
dinkum and benefitted from their to-
tal generosity of spirit. Not five-star
treatment. Better than that … I was
welcomed for who I was. JF
TRAVERSE 36
Jacqui started her adventures 20
years ago, backpacking through Asia.
At the age of 50 she decided she need-
ed more and bought herself a pres-
ent; a Royal Enfield Bullet and with
that came 7 years of riding around
the world.
A letter home from Australia is
just one part of an amazing journey,
something which Jacqui describes
beautifully in Hit The Road, Jac! (7
Years, 20 Countries, No Plan). You
can get a copy and further details at -
www.jacquifurneaux.com