Waterloo

I'm staying in a half-way house, half-way on my journey...I'm inside away from the mozzies but lots of people in Sydney instead!

My friend Vicky is putting me up or putting up with me for a couple of days...while I plan my escape north.

Letter :

Here's Sydney! Halfway point of my journey. It's great to reach this milestone but Sydney Town is a place you have to stand with your elbows out. Its relentlessly urgent pace is tiring for someone living life in the swaggie lane.

On the way in along the Old Princess Highway I passed a homeless fella who was quite clearly beaten, well and truly licked by the inhumane edge of society. It seemed his only purpose in life was to serve as a reminder that this way of life isn't for everyone.

After taking notice of the sign saying 'No Littering' I picked up a piece of turf for a lie down. When I was ready to leave I noticed that the sign actually read 'No Loitering'. Perhaps the sign should have said 'No Littering' as well.

Somewhere along the line Sydney became a place where urgency was more important than making the place habitable. The graffiti shows resentment to the noise, the smell, the hardness and the pace infringing on a decent quality of life.

In contrast I'm recalling the times along my journey so far, when people have been exceptionally generous and/or friendly. In a place called Scarborough a few days ago, a man stopped by the road to give me a bag of nuts. He'd heard me ask at the local store where they weren't stocked. On his morning way he'd picked them up from the supermarket. In my surprise I didn't even think to offer any money.

Another time when a friend offered me dried fruit, the following remark was, 'I think I picked out all the weevils!' Offering food is a sure way to impress a swaggie. If I encounter a less friendly person, I normally put it down to their immediate mood. But exceptional generosity and/or friendliness reflects on the whole community and leaves a lasting impression.

It's possible I've witnessed the demise of my tuckerbag. It could end years of criminal misuse of a postal sack to have torn a hole large enough for a jumbuck to jump through. I'll try to make some repairs over the next day or two in Sydney.

When I'm walking in the evening it can seem the last tiresome duty to select a suitable campsite. As a result I've come to rest my exhausted bag of bones on sticks and gravel or places where my laziness has been discovered at some point during the night.

I was half awake one night when I heard steps in the grass. I lay still and heard two distinctive disapproving sniffs before the steps turned and walked away. So it seems there is verbal language, body language, and where neither is applicable people turn to nostril language. Still not sure if I just dreamt it.

Last night I'd taken the secret spot of a pair of young lads. They weren't sure if someone was under the canvas or not, but definitely weren't prepared to hang around to find out. Most of the time I feel pretty safe and consider these occasions an exercise of swaggie privilege. Even loonies will leave alone a potential bigger loony. It's the nature of things you see.