Williamstown and various Lockeys

In Brisbane I was let into the country only after a supervisor at Passport Control quizzed me on my Australian intentions. In response I acted appropriately nervous and suspicious, but he decided I could stay anyway.

At the baggage carousel a small beagle wearing a maroon shirt sniffed luggage in search of smuggled fruit.

Once I had re-checked my luggage I went outside to catch a train to the domestic terminal. The sun had risen just over the eastern horizon and the air was cool and sharp and I could see downtown Brisbane in the flatland distance. Suddenly I felt overwhelmed by the strangeness of being on a new continent, where the birds were unfamiliar, the trees oddly shaped, and people's shoes just a little different, I couldn't yet say exactly how. Until that moment, Australia had always been something represented--by maps or words or photos or film--but now it was actual. The curved metal benches on the platform, the tatty park just below, the cars driving the wrong way on a nearby road: a new place with all new stuff and practices. I felt both giddy and worried. I didn't know how anything worked yet, and it would take some time and mistakes to learn.

I flew to Melbourne, took a bus into the the city, to the train station, and called Bella, Rachael's daughter (reaching her only after twice getting change from a newsstand and burning through a couple dollars trying to figure out how the phone worked). She gave me directions, and I bought a ticket for the Weribee train, but the monitors listed no track for my train, but then a beautiful freckled woman collecting for Doctors Without Borders helped me, unasked, and I went to Platform 14 and boarded the train, which took me a half hour outside the city to a place on the harbor called Williamstown, where I again called Bella, and she walked over and got me and we walked back to Monti Cottage, the small row house where she lives with her friend Sarah. And so I came to a stop, at least for the next few days.

Bella is the same age as Alix and a student at University, studying law (which here means a five year undergrad degree). She's tall and blonde-haired and has an English accent which she hopes to maintain, though she has no plans to return to England, where she grew up. She's a friendly, social young woman and made me feel quite welcome, which I appreciated since it could've been kind've weird, to have a middle-aged American man who you'd only met briefly once a year ago and who's on his way to meet your mother come to stay at your house. But she seemed unphased, and we sat in the living room and talked for some time; later she told me I would have her room and she would bunk with Sarah. As on my last continent, I continue on this one to be amazingly well-treated.

Bella and Sarah went off with friends for dinner, and soon after Rachael's parents, Sheila and Harry, picked me up and took me to the nearby house of another daughter, Helen, for dinner. A bit strange, spending time with all the family except Rachael, but I had a lovely time. Helen lives in a new house with her two daughters, but they weren't home, so it was just the four of us--and Helen's two recently groomed Australian terriers, Angus and Rupert, who jumped up on the furniture and barked a lot.

Helen is thin and well-spoken and in her late forties; she's a doctor, a GP, which she said means she sees people with coughs. She laughed. "No, actually, it's more interesting than that."

Sheila has a white page boy haircut and an easygoing demeanor, that appears to help her deal with the bluff Harry. In the car, two minutes after we met, they had a brief dustup. She directed him to "turn here" a moment too late, and Harry snapped, "you can't tell me to turn when we already past." We made the next left, and Harry said, "this is the proper one, isn't it?" Helen said, "yes it is," ignoring his admonition and not the least bothered or apologetic.

Harry was ruddy and irascible, an intelligent man with strong opinions and bad teeth and large ears. A scene stealer. He and Sheila both grew up in Newcastle, in England, but his work as an industrial chemist for an American company had taken them all over the world. "I've worked in 35 countries," Hary said, "been to 55." They had lived in Italy for five years, in Milan, before coming to Australia in 1970. "Acrylic paint," Harry said, "we introduced it here. Quite popular, right from the start." Apparently acrylic paint had the then unprecedented ability to expand and contract without cracking, a characteristic particularly useful in much of interior Australia.

Harry and Sheila had returned to England in the late 70s, but only Rachael, the youngest of their five children, had gone with them. The rest had stayed, gone to University, established careers and families. After retiring the parents returned to Australia to be close to their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Rachael and Bella had been the last holdouts, the last poms (prisoners of the motherland), but now they have come too.

Bella arrived after dinner, as did Helen's two daughters, Madeline (18) and Becky (23). They kissed their grandparents, and Harry said Madeline was his favorite, training a gimlet eye on Bella who only raised an eyebrow. Soon after, he rose from the table and said, "I'm leaving. Anyone who expects a ride can follow."

Back at the house I collapsed into bed, no longer able to resist the jet lag.