Before we begin

Is it a coincidence that I start the narrative for this great trip in the same vain as the last one, reminiscing about my childhood? This time I remember one of my third-grade masters (teacher to you), name long forgotten, who was a young New Zealander on a one-year teaching exchange program. Young as we were, this young educator's enthusiasm, pride, and knowledge of all things New Zealand and Australia permeated everything else he was supposed to be teaching us. He taught us the Maori war dance, about the All Black rugby team, and what made them so special in his eyes (which came to make them special in our eyes too). He taught us the geography, and the places, and the vast physical distance from his home to ours. And somehow he managed to convey the optimism of faith, and trust in one's fellows, that seems to be such an essential part of their culture, and which perhaps even we small boys subconsciously recognized as a reflection of the spirit our own military and boarding school microcosm was instilling in us.

Years later, as a senior in high school, I was part of the 1st XV rugby team (Varsity to you) which hosted a visiting New Zealand high school rugby squad. It was no surprise to us that they wore their country's all-black uniform, nor that they performed the war dance as part of their warm-up. We tried to mock, but the truth was that it was extremely intimidating. It's not relevant to our story, but I know you want to know what happened. I don't remember. Coming from a school where you were considered coordinated if your knees didn't knock together, if you could run 100 yards in under a minute, and do so without tripping over, I'm pretty certain it was more a matter of keeping the slaughter to a minimum than it was teaching the antipodeans any kind of lesson, and I have a vague notion we managed that. We may even have scored a try or two.

Later still, my younger brother Chris married an Aussie, who again I remember little of specifically, but I clearly remember Cathy's same zest for life, the same passion for her home country. And in between and since, everyone we know who has been there, no matter what their tastes, no matter how seasoned or cynical, without exception comes back overflowing with recommendations and endorsements. So fueled by this steady diet of exemplary relationships and experiences it is no surprise that Australia has been high on my list for a very, very, long time.

One more quick thing before we start. Suzie, Wayne's Australian buddy has provided him with a Treasure Hunt. A list of items he has to photograph while in Oz. It's a fascinating, eclectic mix, made the more challenging by deliberate ambiguity. For example one item is "galah" which turns out to be a very common bird, but is also slang for a fool. You'll see passing references to this list as we happen across items on it.

One other more thing. Everyone has to have a special thanks section, and I'm no exception:

• Claudia for making the trip possible physically, emotionally, and financially.
• Wayne, for an incalculable number of assists, both on and off the field.
• Lucy, my mother-in-law, for such a decisive kick in the ass that I fell off the fence.
• Sara, my straight-laced but world-wise friend who edited out the more blasphemous and offensive passages

Okay, let's get started...