[55] I Haven't Lived

It is a strange phenomenon that 80% of the Australian population live by the sea. I say strange because of the enormous size of the country. Despite the fact that 80% of the Australian population live by the sea, a disproportionate number of them claim to be real Bush folk. This is also very strange. It is as though they really want to live in the Bush, but are forced by circumstance to eke out an existence in the densely-populated coastal areas. I don’t have a problem with that, except when they look down their noses at us so-called city folk.

I have listened to Aussies wax lyrical about Bush tucker and Billy tea. I have lost count of the number of times I have been told how wonderful and self-fulfilling it is to luxuriate in a man-made Bush shower. I have been told how exciting it is to camp in the Bush, surrounded by poisonous spiders and venomous snakes and all manner of man-eating creatures. I do not doubt that it is exciting. I am sure it is all extremely exhilarating. I just wish they wouldn’t presume to assail me with patronising put-downs like: “You wouldn’t survive a night in the Bush” and, the one that really makes my blood boil: “You haven’t lived”.

I spent some time in the United States, and came away from those shores convinced that the vast majority of the population believes that America, and the American way of life, is the only way. The average Australian could teach our American cousins a thing or two about being narrow-minded, parochial and insular.

It all came to a head recently when my wife’s nephew, a big, hard-drinking bruiser of a man mountain, decided to spend almost a whole day lecturing me on why I had missed out on so much of what real life has to offer. He described how his Range Rover got stuck in a mud bank a hundred miles from civilisation, and how he spent many hours negotiating his way out of a perilous situation. Apparently, as I had never let my vehicle become stuck in a mud bank a hundred miles from civilisation, I hadn’t lived. I tried to redeem myself by recounting how I once drove my Cadillac onto a remote Pacific beach in Washington USA, and had to pay an extortionate fee to a human shark who towed me to safety, but that didn’t qualify.

It finally got hilarious when he grew all misty-eyed and nostalgic about how, as an eight year-old kid, he rode on the back of a cow. Yes, a cow. On a farm. I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that in itself, considering the fact that he was only a boy at the time, except that, when he proceeded to ask me if I had ever ridden on the back of a cow, it was one of those rhetorical questions, delivered with a tone of voice that suggested he already knew the answer. Nonetheless, I replied that no, not only had I never had occasion to ride on the back of a cow, but worse still, the very thought of riding on the back of a cow had never once crossed my mind, until now this is.

“You haven’t lived,” he told me.

I haven’t lived. A thirty-eight year-old man who had never left Australia delivered to me the earth-shattering and unpalatable truth that I had never lived. Me? Never lived?

I have travelled all over Europe and North America. I have touched the walls of the Sistine Chapel and marvelled at the artistic treasures and architectural splendour of Rome, Florence, Vienna and Paris. I have been to the top of the Empire State Building, the Seattle Space Needle and the Eiffel Tower. I have climbed mountains in the Austrian and Swiss Alps; eaten a packed lunch on the banks of the Grand Canal in Venice; sailed along the Blue Danube; cruised the Mediterranean; shared a Venetian gondola with a beautiful Spanish Gypsy lady; jumped out of a plane at ten thousand feet; attended Grand Opera in Prague, Salzburg, Munich and New York; camped in the Rocky Mountains; been white water rafting in British Columbia; worked in a bar in the heart of Broadway; published short stories, poetry and one novel; fathered two wonderful children; and run two Marathons.

But alas, I have never ridden on the back of a cow, therefore, I haven’t lived.

How sad is that?