Finding Inspiration in the Australian Bush

Camping out in the Australian bush

People often ask why I chose to travel to the other side of the world for finding inspiration in the Australian bush. For me, the answer is simple. For others, it seems difficult to understand.

Together with Pierre, my husband, we rented a car at Perth Airport and set off on our journey. The first night was a disaster. We hadn’t yet reached the bushland, and accommodation and food outlets were scarce. In the end, we dined at McDonald’s and slept in the car — Hotel Mitsubishi — surprisingly comfortable.

Day two marked the real beginning of our adventure. After stocking up on camping gear and supplies, we headed deeper into the wilderness. That evening, we found what seemed the perfect campsite: an abandoned quarry with enough space for our tent — or so we thought. The ground was too hard for the tent pegs to penetrate, but fortunately, a little further on, the earth proved more forgiving.

The next morning, soothed by the warbling butcherbirds among the rustling red gums, I began taking notes, mostly the old-fashioned way with pen and paper, as internet connections in the bush are rare. That, too, is one of the advantages of writing in the wilderness: no distractions, no interruptions.

As the sun climbed higher and reached the trees, the butcherbirds and parrots disappeared, their songs replaced by the harsh, melancholy caw of crows and the chatter of smaller birds.

After three days on the road, we drove into Kalgoorlie, where the temperature reached 44°C. Tired from the drive and desperate for food and a cool drink, Pierre and I stopped for lunch before continuing on our way. There was something about Kalgoorlie’s old shops — faded, weathered, and in need of paint and repair — that stayed with me. Perhaps it was the town’s gold-mining history. I could almost hear the wagons and horses of another era swirling through my imagination. The lives and voices of the people who had struggled in the outback seemed to haunt the streets, urging me to write, to be inspired.

From the Stirling Range to the brilliant blue ocean where white sand and rolling foam line the coast, inspiration never faded. The vast wheat fields, rusty barbed-wire fences, dead trees grey and brittle with age, a lone rabbit darting through the scrub, and the elegant yet deadly western brown snake were all captured through the lens of my camera and in my notebooks.

At last, it was time to say goodbye and return to France, where memories of my search for inspiration in the Australian bush would remain with me always.