Yamba. When I set off for this town it was just a name to me, somewhere nice to learn to surf. Speeding through the countryside I discussed many things with Simon, particularly my interactions with others. One of the biggest topics however was silence, and I spent a lot of time learning to be perceptive of the world around me.

First we lurched through Sydney in rush hour traffic, the sun rising slowly and lighting up the harbor bridge as we passed. I love the houses in Sydney, every one designed it seems by a different architect and placed together like those model villages for train sets. I guess Sydney is like a showcase for different architecture, for everything seems to be here. Roofs of tin, tile or asphalt, walls of wood and brick painted a myriad of different pastel colors. Then there are the skyscrapers that seem to sprout like pine trees above the forest of suburbia.

On leaving the city we come to open fields that turn into densely wooded hills and back again. The trees are lush and green, a fact that hides the harsh droughts that savage this amazing land. I look out as we drive and see cows sheltering under leafy trees and horses grazing in rolling fields and I feel glad to be here.

I realize I am grateful for being sent away from school. If I had not left I would not be working as hard, I would not be pushing myself farther every day as I do now and I would not have seen Australia. I always imagined it as a land of desert with an opera house and a large rock as its only recognizable features. I imagined it populated by a freak show of animals and crocodile hunters with cork hats. My preconceptions have since vanished and I am now starting to adapt to this strange land that seems full of happiness and goodwill.

The wooded countryside gave way to immense cane fields, the smell of burning sugar wafting across from the brown stack of a refinery. The car glides over steel bridges, the station wagon’s shadow hitting the muddy rivers far below. And what rivers. Wide stretches of brown winding though mangrove swamps and past riverside houses and farms built along their banks. At both sides of the highway lie fruit stands selling watermelons, pineapples, and whole hands of bananas. We gaze at the painted plywood signs tempting us with cheap prices if we pull over. The thought of the water drives us onwards.

Finally we arrive in Yamba and start our adventure of schoolbooks and surfboards. This quaint surf village with its cafes, pubs and surf shops, hides some of the best surf in Australia. Unknown to most tourists, many good surfers sneak off to Yamba to ride the waves that end on its pristine beaches and we have come to join them.