Here, in the leafy colonial suburb of Hillside, the streets are amply wide for the sparsity of vehicular traffic. A woman, elegant in her gait and posture, is the sole pedestrian as she passes (probably no longer noticing) the patterned walls that keep the in from the out, and which provide a back drop for audacious red flowers. Who knows who you will pass on these streets: people gentle in their request for a referral for some work; a man sharpening his axe on the tarmac’s edge; an ageing security guard, proud in his work and cap, but who one suspects might struggle to catch wily intruders; a mother gently tugging the hem of her child’s jumper into its rightful place, as she sees him on his way to be educated for a brighter future; the early morning contrasting purpose of those either on their way to work (on foot, on their own bike, or 2 small children on the cross bar of a bike being pushed uphill by their father) or those jogging for their fitness; or patient and stoic sellers of small quantities of produce, from whom you can buy a small bunch of healthy-looking kale for peanuts, or you could buy some peanuts themselves. If you catch their eye and smile, most will wish you a good day. And if you stop to chat, most will ask you “How is it?”, which is a typical question that might be about me or Australia. My reply to the latter goes something along the lines of “The weather is similar, but here it is warmer and dry over winter. The people are friendly but here you have a great sense of humour given your circumstance. And the economy is not perfect in Australia but at least it is stable”, which usually elicits a chuckle, an “Oh, it is bad”, and a low-five slap of the hand followed by a handshake. As you reach your destination—the local Spar—you might find yourself in conversation for 15 plus minutes with a well-educated check-out lad who grows 140 varieties of chillies in his garden, is interested in Australian politics and indigenous affairs, and, like all the others, is maintaining hope for a brighter future.