35,000 Miles

Sometimes ‘the weather’ has a voice. Maybe that’s why the British talk about it all the time, and of late Climate Change has been a wonderful addition to our opening conversational options.

‘Blimey, it’s hot isn’t it?’ ‘Hottest month on record I heard!’ ‘Still, it was a very wet Spring.’ ‘Wettest Spring on record I heard!’

We all do it, all British people, and as I walked up onto the top deck ‘the weather’ was making a point. If I sat at the back of the ferry and looked out towards France I could see sunlight shining on the water, making a beautiful glittering path back the way we had come. But when I walked up to the front of the ship, in attempt to get my step count above 12 for the day, all I could see was drizzle, grey, miserable drizzle. 

There was nothing about it I had missed. 

Ten months entirely free of the stuff. I’d almost forgotten what it was like. Part of me was tempted to feel poetic and wistful about it, the ‘romantic brooding skies’ of a Yorkshire moor are always accompanied by a bit of drizzle, but on the Calais to Dover ferry the reality was cold and a bit depressing.Why was it, with all the possible effects of climate change, we ended up with more rain? I can’t say that it’s unfair. There’s nothing fair about climate change – the weather chaos will not respect borders, or only affect the biggest polluters. But more rain in the UK – really?

I stared out at the heavy grey clouds. Time to get used to it, it might rain a lot (A LOT) but maybe that’s what makes England such a green and pleasant land?

It felt like an adventure to be going back after so long away. An adventure full of familiarity and people we loved, and what would we be bringing back to share?!

That it was possible to get to Australia over land and sea in four short weeks, although to allow for the odd rest day and connections not quite lining up, let’s call it five. Did that make it viable? Perhaps.

For some people, not having a job to go back to would be a deal breaker, and it’s much easier to contemplate asking for three to four months off work than nine or ten. 

I went back to the sunshine end of the ship and thought about how I saw the world now. How I had felt safe going for a walk in every single place we had visited, in cities twice the size of London, villages on the edges of volcanoes. Even in Russia where our insurance was invalid. Just a few short days ago I had been in Astrakhan watching a street cleaner leaning on her broom chatting with a man on his way to work, laughing at some small joke… I’d felt safe walking the streets in Jakarta, Bangkok and even Medan, the ‘lawless’ capital of North Sumatra.

There was nowhere in the world, with the possible exception of the bit of bush up the hill behind my sister’s house where the leeches were particularly quick and blood sucky (and the back of a couple of minibuses in Georgia), that I wouldn’t be happy to go back to again.

I had been a little more circumspect wandering off by myself in the Sumatran jungle after hearing ‘the growling’ but that’s just common sense… If I became a tiger’s lunch it wouldn’t be good for the tourist industry, and we wanted people to go to Batu Katak and help protect the forest.

It won’t be a surprise to anyone that the world is big, really big actually, but what was surprising me, staring out of that window towards a slowly retreating continent that stretched all the way to Singapore, was that it was not so big that the thought of doing it all again one day filled me with horror. 

We live in a stunning world full of people just like us. I had met so many ordinary, extraordinary people.

I thought about Tracey back in East Timor, our Honorary British Consul, who had lived in Dili for twenty-three years, connecting, caring, and helping to shape a fragile new country where fifty percent of the population were under twenty.

I remembered our jungle crew, bringing together the new generation of rainforest guides in the village, guides who all knew about sustainability …and the wonderful Herman, planting trees ‘so the monkeys had more to eat’. 

My sister always going out of her way for the friends she loved and visiting people in the nursing home near her house every week come rain or shine.

Edwin, our Indonesian film star, finding little jobs for the family who lived with almost nothing round the back of the mosque.

…and I thought about my cousin Natascha, who had just asked me if I was willing to be on the board of the charity she had started after the tsunami in the Indian Ocean twenty years ago.

The devastation caused by that earthquake and tsunami killed more than 225,000 people, and it changed her life. She had left her job working in the tourist industry in Greece and gone to Aceh, in the very north of Sumatra, to see what she could do to help.

Every time I think about the courage it took to do that I feel a warm glow of hope about humanity. It was such an incredibly brave thing to do…

On her first day in Indonesia the military plane taking her, some local people, NGO workers, and reporters to Aceh was diverted to Thailand. Because was a military flight it was freezing and the local people on board were in flip flops and t-shirts. Only the NGOs and reporters were being given food and blankets by the military so Natascha stood up and asked everyone present if these were not the very people they were here to help? …it was Natascha who had got socks, blankets and food for the local people and it was Natascha who refused to leave the airport in Bangkok until those who didn’t even have ID were looked after properly…the Acehnese noticed she had the practical intelligence and independence needed to be trusted, and useful. 

After a year of working alongside the people who lived in the region, supporting dangerously sick children to get access to the medical care they needed, arranging essential supplies, and being a trusted liaison for rebel groups living in the jungle, she had begun to think longer term. ‘What would make a real difference to these communities?’ She talked to the villagers she had been working with and the unanimous reply was ‘education’.

School places were provided for all children in Indonesia, but in order to progress to any form of higher education exams had to be passed in Indonesian. Everyone in Aceh spoke Acehnese and most of the parents couldn’t read or write, there was no chance that the majority of children would ever learn Indonesian.

Natascha called her charity ‘Chance International’ …she wanted those children to have a chance.

She started slowly, with one room and 62 children. The village provided the building and Natascha raised funds for the teachers, books, pencils, paints – all the resources a school needs.

Her idea was to make it fun and for every penny of the money given to go straight to the place it was needed. She herself lived for five years in a small one-roomed house in the same village as her school, with no running water, a contaminated well, and sporadic electricity.

That first school was such a success that other village heads came to ask for a school in their village.

‘Chance International’ opened six schools in all and twenty years later three remain open. 

I had felt the love and ownership of the children when Natascha had told me how, the week before opening the first school, sixty of the two hundred pupils who would one day attend, came to help clean their schoolroom.

Some of those same children were now teachers in the schools.

How incredible was it that someone who had no previous experience of working in disaster zones had been able to make such a valuable difference?

I was proud to say ‘yes’ to being on the board and I am already beginning to think about ways I can help – perhaps some local schools might be willing to support these Indonesian children to access an education that for children in the UK is a right of birth?

Natascha had instantly changed her life in response to a terrible human tragedy – how many of the people I knew would be capable of that? 

I spent the next five minutes having one of the best times of our entire trip, realising that every single person I knew and loved was capable of doing the same. Different skills, different places, different times, but that ‘rolling up of the sleeves and getting on with it’? I saw that all the time.  

…I realised that my slightly inane grin might get me arrested, we were back in UK waters now, and I rearranged my features into a more acceptable level of neutrality. My heart was still grinning though, wide enough to reach OZ.

People are actually amazing.

Theo stood up and stretched. ‘Close now.’ 

If we went back to the drizzle end we’d see land.

We walked back through the gently swaying ferry and there they were, the grey and dreary cliffs of Dover. If I squinted and turned my head on one side, I could see them as white-ish.

They might not be as romantic as I’d have liked, but they did mean we’d made it to our island, the last of our twenty-one countries on the way home. As I walked away Rosa called me back. A shaft of sunlight had pierced the grey and for a brief moment the cliffs shone. Okay England, not lost your sense of the dramatic while we were away. Good to see.

Something none of us could understand came over the tannoy and we all filed out to the top of the stairs. 

They might have been saying, ‘Don’t bother getting up yet, you’ll be stood waiting for a good twenty minutes while we tie the ferry up. Have another cuppa and we’ll get back to you when it’s time…’ but we all headed to the top of the stairs, and then waited twenty minutes.

Back on the bus our driver was in a thoughtful mood, cautiously optimistic about the travel conditions. He thought we’d get to London by 20.30. We texted Ali who was patiently waiting for us in Somerset. Letting her know when we thought we’d make it to our rendezvous point. ‘We reckon we’ll be there by 21.30, but please don’t rush Ali, we are really good at waiting now :- )’ – her message pinged back – ‘I’ll be there’ …the kindness of friends.

The M20 was quietly familiar, miles passed more slowly than kilometres, but pretty soon we were on the outskirts of London. The first red double-decker bus feeling more like home than even the oak trees we had seen in the fields. Other European countries have wide spreading oak trees in their countryside as well, but we hadn’t seen a red double-decker for nine and a half months. 

The drizzle turned to rain as we neared Victoria and 20.30 became 20.45. We were gonna have to be quick, and a little lucky, if we were to make our train.

We were first off the bus and me and Suitcase were in the lead when we made it to the station. We rushed over to the ticket office, and I reached for my phone to translate what I needed to say, and then gabbled a little madly at the poor man sat at the counter, a mixture of excitement at being understood and our need to get on with it.

‘Slow down’ he said, ‘This isn’t a race!’ 

I told him it actually was a race and that we had travelled by public transport all the way from Australia. I told him we had a film crew with us and that we were currently in the lead and wanted to stay there. He gave me a look that said, ‘Pull the other one’ and slowly and calmly proceeded to give me some totally brilliant travel advice which saved us time and money. 

As Suitcase turned and shot off back down the platform, I glanced back to see our ticket man leaning forward and peering out, no doubt in search of our ‘hidden’ film crew.

‘Platform 10’ I shouted to Rosa and Theo, and we all ran towards the train.

We moved quickly along the platform, Suitcase still in the lead, (how had that happened?) We got on as the whistle blew, and before we’d even taken off our rucksacks we were on our way.

High-fives all round, and a cheer for our fabulous ticket man.

When we arrived at Clapham Junction, we asked the lady in the orange hi-viz where to go. ‘Platform 5, you’ll have to hurry!’ She said looking at all our luggage with one eyebrow raised.

There were a lot more platforms than we were expecting, and our train was leaving in three minutes.

‘Last time we’ll have to run for a train mum!’ The light of triumph was in Rosa’s eyes… 

Theo hoiked Suitcase up and down two flights of stairs and we arrived exactly as the train pulled in. 

If we’d gone the way we’d planned, via Waterloo, we’d have missed this train…these London Underground workers were worth their weight in good working conditions and a decent pay rise!

So this was it…finally the last train journey. Just twenty minutes and we’d be done…goodbye public transport. 

What was the state of our public transport in the UK?

A UK gearing up for a general election, (must remember to register to vote…) a UK that had seen the wettest twelve months on record, whilst at the same time being the warmest spring ever. The MET office was busy warning us of the potential hottest year on record, with ‘supercell’ storms and 40-degree days. 

I was quietly confident that all our political parties would be facing the ‘coming weather’ with clear policies and the people’s interests at the heart of everything they planned to do.

My wandering thoughts returned to home. 

In a few short hours we would walk back through the door we had left with no clue if we’d even be allowed into Russia, knowing that the land border with China was still closed, and with enough travel sickness pills to start our own pharmacy.

We hadn’t known what to expect and yet we’d gone – Rosa the bravest of us all. She had been so sad that first day, but by the time Cousin Tim had run full pelt down the platform in Amsterdam, arms wide in greeting, she had already started to accept this was really happening.

We felt like champions arriving in Istanbul, like we were really on our way. Georgia was all about endurance, and Russia was a gift. Covid in Kazakhstan and then the wonder that was China. Realising as we left China that we were halfway there… which had felt both heartening and pretty daunting at the same time.

Laos gave us the pause we needed, and Thailand had been a taste of home with our wonderful cousins. Malaysia hadn’t touched the sides, and Indonesia had been all about the ocean, crossing the equator for the first time in our lives. Sunrises and sunsets over wide beautifully smooth seas, weddings, sky burials and film stars! 

The country that had given us Suitcase.

My whistle stop tour was interrupted by the tired voice of our train driver letting us know we were reaching Richmond. Our stop was coming up soon.

I thought about all the magic that had happened in East Timor under the care of Tracey. The people we’d met, the history we’d connected with. The Destiny One, the yacht that was fleeing the cyclone …and not our destiny after all. How we had finally decided the raft might not make it and decided to fly to Darwin. Sitting a little sadly in the departure lounge and seeing the wonderful Helen Hill walk in, the dedicated academic and activist who had connected us to Tracey in the first place and who had introduced us to Dili.

 We had received a message a few days ago telling us that she had died. She’d been on her way home for treatment that Tuesday in December. She was a force of nature, and had cared passionately…Thank you Helen for all you gave East Timor and for your sense of humour. We had gone out for a meal with her and her activist friends in Darwin that night, people who had done the hard yards in a twenty five year campaign, and we’d seen Helen laughing and happy. 

Later that evening, back in our hostel, bizarrely called ‘Mom’, we were experiencing a bit of culture shock, we could understand nearly everyone we spoke to!

Australia.

A huge smile spread across my face – the absolute certainty that every moment and every penny of this trip had been worth it.

We had all loved Australia, England would always be smaller now, no moaning about three hour journeys to Cornwall, thank you very much. We would miss the crazy bird life and the animals that carried their babies around in their pockets, but now I could walk to the shops with my sister any day I liked. I could take Thoma to school, and cuddle her dogs – I had two new nieces and a brother-in-law, …and Ellie, my Ellie, closer than she had been since we had been children. My imagination had her and everything she loved ‘locked in’.

The train was slowing down, this was it. We put on our rucksacks and stumbled a little as we made our way out onto the platform, properly tired now, but excitement is a wonderful thing. We looked up and there she was, Ali, laughing in that beautiful way she does with her arms held wide… it was lovely and it was emotional. 

Chatting away we headed to her car, and she drove us the incredibly short distance to Somerset. Two hours touched only the surface of our lives, a few deeper details exchanged, but the warmth and familiarity of being back with someone we loved when we were so tired was precious.

Ali was lending us her car for a few days, so we dropped her at home and got to have that last part of the journey to be just the three of us again…

Rosa wanted us to play Ed Shearan’s ‘Castle on the Hill’ as we drove to our house, and we were all in. Ellie and Thoma sing that song on the way home from Lucy’s house…a new tradition that will link us across the 17,500 thousand miles that separate our families.

We turned it on full blast and, as the clock ticked over into another day, we sang and cried our way along the achingly familiar lanes. 

We parked and walked up to our little home in the quiet and the dark, passing the homes of our neighbours. No one was awake…no lights flickering in any windows. 

The grass needed mowing – ‘I bet that doesn’t happen any time soon’, I thought. Rosa was calling for her cat up ahead and then turned back and waited for me and her dad.

We walked up the three wooden steps, Suitcase quiet, all of us pausing before we opened the door. 

Home. 

It deserved a moment. 

Theo began to softly whistle a tune that sounded vaguely familiar ‘I’ve been around the world, and I, I, I – I can’t find my baby…’

‘Lisa Stansfield? Now…?’ ‘What? …it’s a good song!’

We walked in laughing – our little home pleased to have us back.