This was my Australian experience, growing up in Coffs Harbour, a small but developing coastal town on the eastern coast of Australia. Our town was surrounded by mountains and ocean, sand and salt spray was as familiar as sky rise office blocks are in the city regions. The essence of life seemed to be hidden and perhaps, mediocre? Streets blended into each other. Similar suburban houses stood next to units with well controlled gardens that were trained to stay in their place. There were rows upon rows of streetlights, lengths of black bitumen and a multitude of cars in the standard red, yellow, blue and white.

Shopping centres teemed with life all day, everyday, and most of the night. Personality-free, trouble-free faces kept kids in line, steering rebellious trolleys through narrow supermarket aisles. It was always familiar, but also surprising to me, to see all these people appear out of nowhere. I wondered where they came from, who they were and what their hopes, dreams, and values were? Did they live out a lifestyle that was better, or in some way fuller than what I had? I was bought up as though an only child, with little social interaction beyond the far off family who visited twice a year. The masses of humanity that lived behind their own doors were a complete mystery, like a foreign country with a foreign culture. I barely knew they were there. On hot summer nights we'd sit on the patio watching the deserted street, and occasionally say hello to someone wandering past, though I never knew who they were. If dad wasn't out there smoking, I wonder if any of us would have known these other people existed?

We lived near the centre of town. The street was a main road as there was a school at the end, yet except for 9am and 3pm, the noise of traffic had minimal competition from the noise of living. The only exception was Christmas day, when the few resident kids were out trying their new bikes. During summer the occasional dissident skateboarder used to drive my father wild as the day stretched into evening through daylight saving. Aside from that, few people spoke to each other and nothing really ever happened. Life was lived behind closed doors.

My street was greener than many others, natural and overgrown in short bursts at both ends. The only trees to be seen were in the middle. They were lucky to be nurtured by the Council, whose protection saved them from the residents. There was a strongly felt need to knock them down, before parts of their houses or cars were desecrated by falling branches. Sadly, my parents fit into this category. I would have loved an overgrown garden that was an oasis of living, thriving life.

The town was, and still is based on money, and fluctuates with it's success. People come for two reasons: the lifestyle, and the opportunity to create a growing business and pursue development. They tolerate the lack of services the ad hoc pursuit of financial growth has provided, Many have failed in business and in life, but it's not all bad. There are some compensations for a resident. There are rolling hills bordering the beaches, country drives with views and clean air; all manner of outdoor recreations and progress in cultural areas. Sports abound, and education now covers all needed levels. It was the kind of place you moved away from to get a life, then when you had it, you moved back to bring your kids up there. I saw that happen many times. There is still a high proportion of unemployed, aged, disabled and welfare case studies. Nameless, faceless numbers, never adequately provided for by the Government sector. The homeless create trouble in the mall, and drug use and crime are problems.

I guess in many ways it is no different from any other regional town on coastal Australia. What makes me sad is that as my tiny town developed into a city, people stopped being friendly, and long ago they stopped trusting each other. Bad debts lead to bad feelings, and with a tourism economy, nothing is provided for the residents by Council. No festivals, no free entertainment, no sense of community is built. I am glad I left when I did. Twenty-one years there was more than enough. It was time to move on, go on to something better. I have had opportunity to go back and visit, but have never taken it. I have memories and experiences of the town I would prefer to leave behind. The town has moved on, and so have I. What happened there is better left there.

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