When did my wanderlust turn into wander-meh? I have travelled through Europe by train, days of no sleep, no showers, no food—but a lifetime of memories of French lavender fields, the Swiss Alps, the family that boarded in Florence with their cages of squawking poultry. I lugged my eight-months-pregnant belly all over Seattle and Vancouver for the chance to see one of the most spectacular corners of the world. Crisscrossing the United States by car a few times, an adventure in regional dialects and cuisines, was worth every stretch of boring, billboarded highway. Mexico? Montreal? Been there, done that.
My journey (no other word will do since it also suggests an emotional passage) to Australia fulfilled a lifelong dream to see the place that had captured my imagination since childhood. Who can resist a country “sung” into creation by its ancestors as they traversed the landscape, laying down “songlines”?