Voyage to a wealthy land, a cyclone and a haircut

Km cycled: 17,900
Current Location: Byron Bay, Australia

Cyclone Larry had gusts of 290 km per hour

“There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desiresâ€? – Nelson Mandela

“Australia is by far the driest, smallest, flattest, most infertile, climatically most unpredictable, biologically most impoverished Continentâ€? – Jared Diamond
For most of February I once again had to play the waiting game ? this time from within barbed expatriate compounds in the ill reputed capital city of Papua New Guinea (Port Moresby). Little smoke fires dot the barren hillsides amidst the shambled slums and posh brick houses along a beautiful coastline of palm studded beaches; cars drive around lazily; local people squat and sit on street corners chewing “beetlenut� (the unanimously popular local soft drug which turns your teeth red). This could be such a pleasant, relaxed city ? like a Cape Town of the East ? but (due to violent crime) it is actually one of the most dangerous cities in the world, and that spoilt it completely.

I relished being back in a wealthy country. This was a land where people spoke English, the roads were smooth and unpotholed, the streets were safe, and the barbecues always sizzled – or so I had learnt as a 13 year old during many hours of highly intense research (watching “Neighboursâ€?). On arrival in Cairns, it was a wondrous feeling to amble the streets at night with no fear of imminent robbery, gaze wide-eyed at glitzy shop windows, wander past bubbling pubs, and stop in at Macdonalds for some cheap ice cream. It felt great.

Pre-shave

Distinguished moustachio

Post-shaveAs I prepared to get on the road again (I would initially head south for Sydney) I started to receive invitations to schools to give my slideshow/lecture which I had been presenting to International Schools throughout Asia (my presentation is a spicy mixture of epic photos, tall stories, and motivational anecdotes about the journey so far). My first official booking came from a little school in a little town I had never heard of before – Innisvail. Less than a week later, and in fact on the very day that I was due to visit, Innisvail would hit the headlines across the world, as it fell victim to a monstrous Cyclone. Fortunately, the day before Cyclone Larry unleashed himself, I was invited to stay by a kind family about 60 km north of Innisvail itself. Having been shown weather forecast and impending storm, I was persuaded to stay for another night until the danger had passed. That night, as I went to bed, all outside seemed strangely calm and the skies were clear and I wondered if this was all a big fuss about nothing (though we had noted that all the birds had fled inland). By 4am the winds were picking up, and by 5am the house was shaking. By 6am we had lost power and trees were starting to crash down all around us. We could listen to live reports on the radio of how much worse things were just 60 km down the road where the eye of the storm was focused – winds of 290km per hour made this the strongest cyclone to hit Queensland for over 30 years.And then suddenly, it was gone. The storm moved over us and blew itself out in the hills. We started trying to clear the debris in the garden, and after a conversation with a pessimistic neighbour who told me that “there was no way you will get through the road south this weekâ€?, I was determined to leave the next day. Often a sceptic is the greatest motivation to get going again. Early the next morning as I set off, I talked my way past a couple of police road blocks and headed on through where the damage was greatest. Every kilometre I went the devastation was worse – the forests on the hillsides had been simply torn apart, loose branches dangling broken from headless trunks. Telegraph poles were snapped in half. Roofs ripped from houses had been flung into the neighbours garden. Army trucks sped down the road and civilians wondered round in a daze. The people I met showed different responses. The pessimists complained that the government was not doing enough to help them, but I had to agree with the optimists – it was a miracle nobody had been killed. The greatest victims of Larry probably turned out to be the banana farmers – many of whom lost 100 percent of their
crops, flattened by nature’s bulldozer.

I had been invited to speak at Innisvail State School the day Larry hit

The worst cyclone to hit Queensland in over 30 years

It was a miracle no-one was killed

Check out that palm tree!

Banana crops (on the left hand side) were decimated I was fortunate to wade through the post-cyclonic floods, just minutes before the police closed the bridges for several days

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And then the rain started. It lashed down and it would not relent. The rivers started to burst their banks onto the roads, and I was fortunate to make it across the Tully River just minutes before the police closed it for the next 3 days. That evening, I joined dozens of stranded motorists (trapped between 2 swollen rivers) in a Community Hall which was opened up in times of disaster. I enjoyed the camaraderie of eating fish and chips with fellow survivors, but of course, I would be moving on the next day,whilst many of them had a whole life to rebuild.

Another day later I was clear of the cyclonic devastation and back in the land of electricity, running water and mobile phone coverage. I started to cycle large distances each day on the long, flat, empty roads. I was surrounded by a rolling barrenness of scrubby hills and stubby fields. Cows ran for cover as I pedaled past, whilst the highlight of my days were the marvellous kangaroos who hopped across the road in front of me. I had a tight schedule of schools to visit in most of the major towns, and it was very pleasant to be hosted by an exuberant variety of pleasant hosts. In the last 7 weeks I have slept about 10 nights in my tent, whilst on the other nights I have enjoyed stimulating conversations with environmental planners, shop owners, many great teachers, spray painters, botany professors, lawyers, ex-politicians, cancer specialists, bar managers, nurses and electricians, mothers, fathers and grandparents. They consisted of Catholics, Buddhists, Agnostics, Atheists and Pentecostals. It is one of the many great privileges of this trip that I am coming into contact with such interesting people. With the exception of a “cyclist-turned-environmental planner� called Owy (who I had met in 2002 in Addis Abbaba, Ethiopia), I had not met any of these contacts before this journey.

Eventually arriving in Brisbane, I was extremely happy that Christine (the beautiful girl I had met whilst looking for a boat in Hong Kong ) came to see me for Easter. It turned out that not only were we still getting on very well after 4 months apart, but she is also very good at cutting hair! (see photos below!). I was rather sad when she had to fly back to her hard-working lawyers job in NYC. We noted, bemused, that we are living rather different lives and wondered what it would be like if we swapped professions for a week? (apart from having to look smart and work 18 hours a day, I think I would make rather a good Corporate Lawyer in New York!)

So, Australia ? it is a new and different country for me. It has been good to be able to relax bit more here and I can see why Australia is such a backpackers paradise. Indeed, it seems like an extremely pleasant place to live. People can enjoy blue skies and sandy beaches and a terrific outdoor lifestyle of sport and water. The marinas brimming with luxury yachts bear witness to the affluence of the nation too. I am very grateful to have the opportunity to enjoy such a luxurious country for a while, but I also felt rather uneasy when I first arrived. I felt uneasy because I noticed more than ever before, the sheer difference and inequality between the poorer countries through which I had been cycling for so long – and now, the rich. The immigration barriers which “usâ€? rich countries build up are understandable ? we cannot have all the world’s poorest coming to live in our country, that just would not work. But it also suddenly felt rather selfish to me – we are so wealthy ? and yet, like a kind of international apartheid, we desperately try to keep ourselves separate. As I say – I am
happy to have the choice to be able to live in such luxury – but I also cringe at the inequality which means most people have little chance of a comfortable life. The only (rather obvious) conclusions I can make is that those of us fortunate enough to be from rich countries should appreciate how much we have, whilst at the same time endeavouring to help those who do not
have.
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As I now near Sydney, I come to the realisation that I will soon be into the second half/homeward leg of this journey which began in Siberia. I am starting to wonder how I can justify another 18 months of this nomadic lifestyle. It has been a very worthwhile experience so far – with over ten thousand pounds raised for Viva Network and their amazing work with children at risk(see www.justgiving.com/cyclinghomefromsiberia), and a good “University of Lifeâ€? education for me, but is it worth keeping this up for so much longer… all of us (or at least all of us from wealthy countries) live in prisons of our own making and I am not going to keep cycling just because that was my original stated aim… but, for a number of reasons… I
think I will keep riding… we shall see…!

As always, many, many thanks for all your kind emails, prayers and donations to Viva Network.

—
“I MUST down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life.
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over�
-John Masefield, Sea Fever
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A welcome visitor!

Pre-haircut (plus beautiful hairdresser)

Haircut

Post-Haircut