Ruth Dawkins’ skepticism about her husband’s job abroad waned after encountering a rosella and a rainbow.
Just over ten years ago, I resided in a small English town that was commonly used by commuters, located a 40-minute train ride to the north of London. During this time, my husband was offered a job in Hobart.
“I inquired, ‘Hobart? Where is that?'”
I switched on my laptop and opened Google Maps. According to the map, Hobart was situated in Tasmania, which is an island state of Australia, nearly 18,000 kilometers away from my current location. As I searched the internet, I came across news articles about the devastating bushfires in Dunalley that were still making headlines.
I firmly declined by saying, “No, absolutely not. It’s too far away, and the place is currently experiencing a wildfire.”
“Maybe,” my husband suggested, “we could take a look?”
We decided to visit Hobart and went there along with our four-year-old son. We flew from Heathrow to Hobart and back, completing the journey within five days. Prior to this trip, I had no idea that one could travel such a long distance without falling off the edge of our beautiful planet.
Suffering from jet lag, I felt disoriented and lightheaded and ended up leaving my bank card behind in the Jetstar ticket machine while in transit. Our hotel room in Hobart was dirty and boisterous, and to make matters worse, it had a view of one of the main four-lane roads that ran through the city centre. We had to engage a real estate agent to show us around the city, and while doing so, our four-year-old became nauseous and ended up throwing up in the back of her car.
At 1 am, unable to fall asleep, I held onto my phone and started texting my friends back home. “I hate it here,” I typed, convinced that our move to Hobart was a mistake.
However, by the third day, things started to look up. We moved to a hotel with a picturesque view of the waterfront, and being in close proximity to saltwater reminded me of how therapeutic it can be. We stumbled upon some of Hobart’s street art and discovered the city’s quaint bookstores, outstanding little grocery shops, and a scrumptious locally brewed craft beer that came in a curvaceous brown bottle- everything that we felt was missing in our life back in the UK.
On the morning of the fourth day, a fellow mother and her toddler came to meet me at the hotel. She had a professional connection with my husband and had the potential to become a new friend for me. She took us to an amazing park situated right by the river, which was only a 10-minute drive from the CBD (referred to as the city centre in Australia). She had brought along tea in a Thermos flask and set up a picnic blanket for us. While the kids played, she shared her experiences of being a parent in Tasmania with me.
At one instance, my son ran over to me, excitedly shouting, “Mummy, come and see! There are parrots!” He took my hand and led me over to a group of eastern rosellas that were scavenging for crumbs in the barbecue area. I was just as enamoured by them as my son was. Was it possible for me to be convinced to relocate across the globe simply because of the prospect of seeing parrots in the park? Maybe, just maybe.
On our final morning in Hobart, my husband, son and I went for breakfast before making our way to the airport. As we stepped out of the restaurant to collect our luggage and hail a taxi, we were greeted with a breathtaking rainbow stretching over kunanyi/Mount Wellington.
We looked at each other and laughed.
“Alright,” I relented. “Let’s give it a try.”
And here we are, a decade later, still in lutruwita/Tasmania and still giving it our best shot. We’ve progressed from being temporary visa holders to permanent residents to Australian citizens. Our citizenship ceremony was held in 2019 at the same riverside spot where my son first exclaimed about the rosellas – a location we fondly refer to as the parrot park.
