Australia — Where Training Met the Beauty of a Continent

Australia — Where Training Met the Beauty of a Continent (August 2007)

My visit to Australia in August 2007 began as an official training programme, but in memory it has remained much more as a journey into a continent of extraordinary space, light, water and natural beauty. I was then Commissioner and Secretary, Cottage & Rural Industries, Industries & Mines Department, Government of Gujarat. The Government of India sponsored a three-week in-service training programme on Public Health Sector Reforms at the Australian National University in Canberra, from 13 to 31 August 2007. There were ten participants, five from India and five from Malaysia.

Canberra was my first introduction to Australia. What struck me immediately was not a monument but space. Coming from India, where people, houses, vehicles and shops seem to occupy every available corner, Australia appeared to breathe. There were broad roads, large stretches of green, open skies and trees standing with enough room around them to look like individuals rather than a crowd. The city seemed planned without losing its relationship with nature. Even government buildings and institutions appeared to sit comfortably within the landscape rather than dominate it.

The training itself was intellectually stimulating. We studied health management, preventive health, epidemiology, health financing, reproductive health, cost-benefit analysis, leadership and change management. We visited the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, hospitals, the Department of Health and Ageing, the National Health and Medical Research Council, the Productivity Commission and other institutions. The Therapeutic Goods Administration particularly impressed me for its strong regulation of medicines and therapeutic products. Australia showed me that public health is not simply about hospitals and doctors; it is equally about water, sanitation, food, housing, education, employment, environment and social conditions.

Among the lecturers, Michel Spark was my favourite. His knowledge was impressive, but his presentation was even more impressive. He could take a technical subject and make it come alive. His lectures on health policy and preventive health did not feel like lectures at all; they felt like conversations with an intelligent and enthusiastic person. I have always believed that an administrator's knowledge becomes useful only when he can communicate it effectively. Michel was a fine example of that art.

One of the speakers, John, was an obese man who always appeared to speak with a certain anxiety. I asked him to press the centre of the chest, roughly between the two nipples, a point I had learnt about in acupressure. He felt severe pain in the centre of his chest. I told him to press it daily to get relief but, more importantly, I advised him to consult a cardiologist and get his heart checked.

During one of our sessions, a lady speaker made a remark that stayed with me. Speaking warmly about Australia, she said, in effect, that she would be delighted to welcome Asians to the country—but with one condition: “Come, but bring your drinking water with you.” It was said humorously, but the message was serious. Australia has enormous land resources, yet water is a precious and limited resource in much of the country. The comment made me look at the Australian landscape differently.

Australia is one of the world's largest countries by land area, the smallest continent and, geographically, a vast island continent. Yet most of its population and economic activity are concentrated along a relatively small number of coastal and south-eastern urban centres. Much of the interior is arid or semi-arid, with vast desert and sparsely populated areas. From the road, this contrast was almost visible: a modern city could give way to enormous stretches of grassland and then to increasingly dry and empty country. The country possessed immense geographical space, but habitable and intensively developed space was much more limited.

Outside the classroom, Australia began revealing its real magic.

The country seemed to have been designed on a scale completely different from India. As we travelled, the built-up areas gradually gave way to open country. The road would run ahead for long distances, sometimes almost disappearing into the horizon. Grasslands spread on either side, trees stood in scattered groups, and grazing animals appeared against the immense landscape. There was a silence in the countryside that was difficult to describe. It was not the silence of emptiness; it was the silence of space.

And then came the kangaroos. Seeing a kangaroo in Australia is different from seeing one in a photograph or behind a zoo fence. They seemed to belong to the landscape in the same way that cows belong to an Indian village or peacocks to certain parts of our countryside. Their sudden appearance against the open grassland gave the journey a sense of discovery. Nature seemed to be travelling with us.

I also noticed the remarkable freshness of Australian fruits and vegetables. Restaurants served generous portions, often in large bowls. For two people, ordering several dishes simply to taste them was difficult; one needed a group to enjoy a variety of dishes without wasting food. But the fruits and vegetables were outstanding—fresh, colourful and naturally tasty. Even today, when I remember Australian food, I remember the freshness of its produce more than any elaborate preparation.

Australia also made me think about a less visible part of its society—the Aboriginal people, the original inhabitants of the continent. Behind the modern cities and impressive infrastructure existed communities that had experienced poverty, social disadvantage and unequal access to opportunities. The contrast was striking: a country could be technologically advanced and prosperous, yet sections of its indigenous population could still remain economically and socially marginalised. For an administrator, this was a reminder that development cannot be measured only through national income, infrastructure or the appearance of cities. The real test is whether its benefits reach communities that began from a historically disadvantaged position.

Australians of European descent also seemed very different from the image I had formed of the British. Australia has the unusual history of having received many convicts transported from Britain, yet their descendants and the society that developed here were, of course, products of many generations and many influences. I found Australians much more open and informal in social interaction. Where a British person might sometimes appear conservative, reserved or closed, an Australian would often start a conversation easily, sit with you and enjoy your company without ceremony. I found this warmth refreshing. Perhaps it was the vastness of the country itself; perhaps it was simply the Australian way of life. Whatever the reason, I felt comfortable among them.

From Canberra we travelled to Melbourne and Sydney, and the landscape continued to impress me. Melbourne had the character of a sophisticated modern city, but even there the spaciousness of Australia remained visible. We wanted to travel along the Great Ocean Road, but time did not permit it. That remains one of my regrets. Some places become memorable because we visited them; others become memorable because we did not. The Great Ocean Road belongs to the second category. It remains an unfinished page in my Australian travel diary, and perhaps that is a good enough reason to go back one day.

Sydney, however, gave us an experience of nature and architecture together. The Opera House, the harbour, the sea and the beaches created a scene that was almost too familiar from photographs and yet completely different when experienced in person. Standing near the water and looking at the Opera House, with the harbour opening into the vastness of the sea, I felt that Sydney had succeeded in making the natural landscape part of the city rather than merely building a city beside nature.

The beaches were equally memorable. The meeting of blue water, open sky and sand created a sense of freedom. Coming from Ahmedabad, where the landscape is very different, I found myself simply looking at the sea for long periods. The sea has a way of making a person quiet. Administrative files, meetings and deadlines suddenly seem very small when one stands before a horizon with no visible end.

Laxmi experienced Sydney differently from me. Our friends made her comfortable, and she gradually developed her own routine. She would walk around the neighbourhood, visit places such as Harish Park and spend time with friends. While my days were shaped by training and travel, she enjoyed Sydney at a slower pace. For her, the city became less a tourist destination and more a temporary neighbourhood in which she could walk, talk, shop and enjoy ordinary life.

There was one evening, however, when that comfortable routine suddenly became serious. Laxmi was walking with the wife of my friend's son when a few Lebanese boys began following them. Fortunately, she did not panic. She used her presence of mind and moved towards a street where another known person was living. Reaching a familiar place allowed them to avoid further trouble. Nothing happened beyond the uncomfortable episode, but it reminded us that even in a beautiful and prosperous city, awareness and presence of mind are important.

Yet it is the beauty of Australia that dominates my memory of the trip. I remember the enormous skies of Canberra, the green spaces around the university, the endless roads, the grasslands, the animals grazing in the distance, the kangaroos, the changing colours of the countryside, the freshness of the produce, the blue waters around Sydney, the beaches and the Opera House standing like a sculpture against the harbour.

The training also changed the way I looked at administration. Australia showed me the value of strong institutions, evidence-based policy, professional regulation and clearly defined responsibilities between different levels of government. But nature taught me something that no classroom could teach. A country may be economically developed and administratively sophisticated, yet its greatest wealth may still be the landscape it has preserved—the open spaces, water, trees, wildlife and clean surroundings that give people a sense of freedom.

My official report recorded the statistics and policy lessons of the three-week programme. Those were useful for my work as an administrator. But the memories that have lasted are much more personal: Michel's lively lectures, John's chest pain and my unexpected acupressure advice, generous bowls of food, extraordinarily fresh fruits and vegetables, the friendliness of Australians, the vast grasslands, kangaroos appearing in the distance, Sydney's blue water and beaches, the Opera House glowing beside the harbour, and Laxmi finding her own little routine among friends.

And somewhere in that memory remains the Great Ocean Road—a road I did not travel.

Perhaps that is how travel keeps calling us back. We do not return only because we loved what we saw. Sometimes we return because something beautiful was left unseen.