Boats moored in Shute Harbor, near Airlie Beach, northern Queensland. Photo by Kevin S. Giles.
By Kevin S. Giles
Morning comes early in Australia. We awake to the laughing calls of kookaburras from old gum trees. Ocean surf crashes two blocks away. It’s short of 6 a.m. but people already walk the beaches.
We’re staying in a third-floor flat on the Sunshine Coast north of Brisbane. The view through the open windows takes us far to sea. A container ship, loaded high, navigates the channel through Moreton Bay. The glittering Pacific Ocean freshens vast stretches of white sand with long brushes of tide. We see much of the Australia we remember from when we lived there all those years ago. Open-air shops sell the customary staple, fish and chips, and cold XXXX beer with the familiar gold label. Galleries burst with paintings of aboriginal art and photographs of the Outback’s rusty colors. Tanned people of all ages wear floppy hats to keep the subtropical sun off their faces. Babes in G-string bikinis preen under palm trees. Fleets of sailboats bob in aqua harbors. Classic Queensland homes on stilts beckon from green carpets of vegetation. Rain forests ripple with prehistoric natural diversity. Everywhere we hear, “G’day, mate,” the national greeting. And in these trying times of coronavirus come reassurances of, “She’ll be right, mate. No worries.”