Dear Britain,
Everywhere you turn you can see people trying to recreate a little bit of you here on the other side of the planet. People desperately try to get roses to grow in this ancient, dry earth, refusing to give in to scorching heat and droughts. It seems half the country wants a traditional English garden outside their front door. Is this their way of pining for their home land or are they just struggling to adapt? It seems like a curiously British trait to try and clone a part of you wherever they go, just look at the Costas in Spain or colonial times in India. In Australia this has been as fruitless as ever. People have tried from the beginning to tame this wild land and have had little success. The contrast with the native plants with their spikiness, furry flowers and bark that peels away could not be greater when compared with the delicate little flowers of the 'exotics'. It still seems bizarre to hear the familiar, pretty plants of home described as 'exotic' whereas these alien, dramatic plants are the norm.
It is not only plants us Brits brought with us. We bought rabbits and foxes for sport. You wonder how much intelligence you need to realise that this was a bad idea. The animals here are stranger than the plants. Possums are maybe one of my favourite. We have squirrels, but here they have animals as big as cats with fluffy or curly tails that scamper about with their babies in their pouch. They will eat all your carefully tended fruit and vegetables, but somehow you have to forgive them. Echidnas are another one I love. Think of a giant hedgehog with enormous spikes, fur and a long nose that bury themselves into the ground. They are monotremes, mammals that lay eggs, like the platypus that early scientists thought was a hoax. Then there are obviously the kangaroos, wallabies and koalas, anything that carries it's young around in a little pouch is ok with me. Anyway, why anyone thought when surveying these strange animals that what was missing was a rabbit is beyond me.
I suppose it's human nature to want to change things, to tame them and to make them more familiar. There does seem to have been a resistance to accepting this beautiful, wild and strange land as it is. I can't help but think it would be easier to embrace things for all their bizarre glory, to try and learn from the people who had been living here for so long before (but more of that another day).
I'm a little under the weather here. Something about being sick makes me want to be back home, all I want is a big bottle of Lucozade and some Tunes but the supermarket has neither.
I hope you are surviving the cold weather and the storms unscathed.
Until next time,
JC
9th February 2009
Dear Britain,
I've heard things have been cold with you, the worst snow in twenty years they say. The television shows pictures of people sledging down hills, villages with a coating of icing sugar and even Big Ben dripping with ice. To me, it all looks so beautiful, but you have struggled to cope. Trains, planes and roads have all ground to a halt. The whole country stopping and, but perhaps relishing the enjoyment of this too rare moment. There is another side to this romantic image, no one yet knows how many people haven't made it through the cold.
From our land of ice to this of fire.
Here, the thin red line crept up and up until it reached 46. Then the winds whipped in and, before anyone could figure out if it was even possible to prevent it, the lands had caught on fire. Soon all that was left was black, scorched branches, twisted sheets of corrugated iron, clouds of orange smoke and lonely chimney stacks still defiantly reaching up. An inferno it's difficult to imagine even from this end, I'm sure you won't be able to grasp it. People are homeless by the thousand, and have lost everything but the clothes on their backs. Many didn't make it out at all. There has been a drought here for more than ten years. The land is dry and thirsty and there is no sign of this thirst being satisfied any time soon.
So these extremes compete on opposite sides of this earth. It has been hotter than you have possibly ever experienced here. At times I've felt like I'm living in an oven. I can't help but yearn at times to step outside and see my breath spiralling away in wisps of white. I miss hats and gloves and winter coats and burying my nose into a scarf. I love the idea of sitting inside on a frosty night in front of a fire. Everything is back to front here and I know the time will come here for the cold and for now I will enjoy summer skirts and brown skin and be grateful I am safe from the flames.
My thoughts are with all those with nothing left.
I hope next time to have happier news to share.
JC
I've heard things have been cold with you, the worst snow in twenty years they say. The television shows pictures of people sledging down hills, villages with a coating of icing sugar and even Big Ben dripping with ice. To me, it all looks so beautiful, but you have struggled to cope. Trains, planes and roads have all ground to a halt. The whole country stopping and, but perhaps relishing the enjoyment of this too rare moment. There is another side to this romantic image, no one yet knows how many people haven't made it through the cold.
From our land of ice to this of fire.
Here, the thin red line crept up and up until it reached 46. Then the winds whipped in and, before anyone could figure out if it was even possible to prevent it, the lands had caught on fire. Soon all that was left was black, scorched branches, twisted sheets of corrugated iron, clouds of orange smoke and lonely chimney stacks still defiantly reaching up. An inferno it's difficult to imagine even from this end, I'm sure you won't be able to grasp it. People are homeless by the thousand, and have lost everything but the clothes on their backs. Many didn't make it out at all. There has been a drought here for more than ten years. The land is dry and thirsty and there is no sign of this thirst being satisfied any time soon.
So these extremes compete on opposite sides of this earth. It has been hotter than you have possibly ever experienced here. At times I've felt like I'm living in an oven. I can't help but yearn at times to step outside and see my breath spiralling away in wisps of white. I miss hats and gloves and winter coats and burying my nose into a scarf. I love the idea of sitting inside on a frosty night in front of a fire. Everything is back to front here and I know the time will come here for the cold and for now I will enjoy summer skirts and brown skin and be grateful I am safe from the flames.
My thoughts are with all those with nothing left.
I hope next time to have happier news to share.
JC
6th February 2009
We left a small, green island of gentle hills and grey skies. We took trains, buses, taxis, boats, planes and even travelled by foot. We crossed many lands until we arrived, tired and grubby, at the breaking of dawn in a drowsy, provincial airport. Another train took us through the centre of an enormous island and, whereas before we had been dazzled by so many sights of houses and trees and people, now there was nothing. Every hour we passed through dusty plains in shades of ochre and red that rolled out, flat and unchanging to the horizon. Clumps of straggly grass struggled to survive in patches and occasionally, very occasionally, a strange creature with strong back legs and a heavy tail nibbled at them. The land looked flattened by age. It was old, and maybe a little tired. Eventually we arrived in a city divided by water. Everything seemed familiar again. People looked like people I'd seen before, spoke the same language as me, ate foods I'd tasted before. I stayed. Gradually, over time I started to realise that things aren't always as they seem and some things are topsy-turvy, back to front and upside down. Truly now I'm on the other side of the earth.
JC
JC
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