The Importance of Place

Aussie beach dangers: someone’s inflatable hot dog just blew into my head!

In 2001, I immigrated to Australia for love. I didn’t realise how much I was giving up. The first year was the hardest. I lost friends. I lost family. My qualifications and experience weren’t recognised here. I had a degree with honours and two diplomas but found myself working menial jobs because, as recruiters later admitted, employers of course prioritised Aussies over immigrants. People even spoke a different language! They wore thongs to the bottle-o for a cold one, and only bogans wore budgie-smugglers to the beach. I didn’t understand rips. I’d never heard of AFL or Aussie rules. All kinds of wildlife could kill me…

A diamond python on my bushwalk!

…even tiny spiders in the garden. Birds swooped at me every Spring. When people talked about politics, politicians, sport, television shows, celebrities, indigenous issues, music, books or movies – their conversations isolated me. No, I’d never watched ‘Hey Hey It’s Saturday’! What do you mean, ‘how’s the serenity?’. Some people even seemed to relish the opportunity to make a Brit feel uncomfortable, as if I was responsible for every wrong in history my country had ever done in the world; and none of what it’d ever done right.

The only place, however, where none of that mattered, was in nature. Trees, bushes, waves and rivers don’t care where you’re from, only that you respect them. I grew up near England’s New Forest, where it’s a delight to get lost and discover a country pub for lunch. Getting lost in the Aussie bush risked death… but exploring its spiky foliage also connected me with the land.

I grew up on the beach, where I’d spend days bathing in sun and floating on ripples. A day under the Aussie sun risked burnt skin and heat stroke… but ditching my lilo and learning to play in its surf also gave me a healthy respect for the waters of my new home.

The green and gold of Australia grounded me.

Here are some pics from my local bushwalk and beach, mere minutes from where I now live:

I used to hold my breath between visits home for rumbles across England’s rolling countrysides. Now, thanks to landscapes like these, I get to breathe every weekend (as long as it’s not raining!). I still struggle when conversations turn cultural; but I’ve found a way to make money without employment, I’ve learnt the language, and a bushwalk or boogie board at the beach soon comforts me and helps me understand my new home – its vastness and isolation, its warmth and beauty, its dangers and life.

This importance of ‘place’ for me is the same when I travel to other countries. It’s not the conurbations, but the geography that tells me the land’s story and shows me the rhythm of its people.

“a fascinating Icelandic setting”, “a starkly beautiful landscape”, “The world building was perfection.”

More than that, immigrating has informed the way I write, not because I write about the experience, but because I value developing a ‘sense of place’ in the stories I write. Whether a story’s set in a world we already know or a created fantasy world, a strong ‘sense of place’ can anchor readers, just as it anchors me to mine. So I spend time developing details, striking comparisons, and bringing the land alive for readers. I’m glad it’s one of the compliments I receive when readers enjoy my stories.

As for Australia, I’ve crossed the tipping point now between leaving somewhere I loved and belonging somewhere new. It’s not the crickets or wood pigeons but the cicadas and kookaburra that call me home. I even have an Aussie twang. This place of green and gold has won my heart, step by step through the rubbery grass trees and foamy surf.

What about you? What anchors you to your home, wins you over and makes you feel like you belong – whether you grew up there or not?