Phillip

I could keep writing about Australia in pieces--snapshots of curtain figs, fake Aboriginal villages, croc-prone waters, curlews calling in the night--and I might, but at the heart of it all is Phillip.

For me, our honeymoon was perhaps what it should be: the fact that it was the two of us together exploring the world was the best part of it all. We could have been anywhere, and as long as he was my partner, we would have found our way. For me, it was those small moments with him that made the experience. When, somewhere between Rockhampton and Townsville, he suddenly pulled the car over and asked me to take photos of the grassy mountains, near monoliths, at our side; those are some of our best and favorite photos. When Auntie Florence started calling him Prince William and he blushed and shook his head. When I watched him jump full on into waves as they hit Trinity Beach, joyful like a child, and snorkel in the distance for hours on his own personal journey of the Reef. When he dropped his Coke into Paul the five-meter croc's enclosure because I startled him yelling "Mosquitoes!" as he was photographing ants on the ledge. When he lifted a kangaroo's tail to feel its heft and lounged next to one to get the full effect. When I thought he was taking photos of me jumping--a classic beach pose--in the shallows of Hervey Bay but when I asked if he got it he said he'd been taking a video because I looked beautiful. That's my husband. That's my best friend. That's the man I'm so grateful for, who took this leap of faith with me and went abroad, went to my grandmother's homeland, and when we got home we wanted even more of each other because we get so little sustained time.

I loved all of our time in Australia, but I loved it more and because I shared it with Phillip. That is the real story.