We intended next to visit idyllic Byron Bay, a thousand kilometers up the coast. The Coast Highway north of Sydney had been cut by torrential rains and attendant flooding. No traffic was getting through at Coffs Harbour.

We selected a more inland route north, the Putty Road. We stopped for lunch in Singleton, where I photographed the town hall, a building emblematic of Australian architecture gone slightly wrong.

We continued onward via the New England Highway, which led us through Grafton Range and Washpool National Parks. This region has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site, owing to the presence of an ancient rain forest, home to some of the oldest plants on earth.

Grafton Range is a primeval place, where a twining vine embedded in the bark of a coachwood tree exemplifies the struggle for existence.

We walked a short trail to Boundary Falls, swollen from the recent rains.

This place is really wet. Well, it is a rain forest. Fungus grows in profusion, as do epiphytic plants, vines, palms, trees and mosses.

So does something else. When we switched driving duties a few hours down the road, we noticed three well-fed leeches had fallen to the floor of the car. Apparently they attached themselves to our ankles as we pushed through streamside grasses, angling for a good shot of Boundary Falls. They bit us through our socks. Laura won the leech popularity contest, two to one.

North of Grafton Range, we left the rain forest, cutting through a sweet region of mixed forest and grasslands.

I think of New England as being particularly American, as if trademarked by us. But of course, New England was named by the British when they owned most of North America. Upon losing the original, they apparently lost no time creating another in Australia.

Someone in the Roads and Traffic Authority is deeply concerned about motorcycle safety. I saw scores of signs instructing motorcyclists. The curves seem hazardous for any type of vehicle, but for some reason, warnings are directed at the two-wheeled variety.

The sign on the right informs us we’re in a “motorcycle safety enforcement area.” Apparently you will be safe—or else.

You think you have termite problems? Termite mounds dot the Australian landscape, some as tall as I am. I get the impression you don’t mess with them. Best to just leave them alone.

I read that Australia is full of creatures that can annoy, sting, wound, or kill you. Between leeches and termites on steroids, I’m starting to get the picture.

Tired and punchy from the strain of hours of driving on the left, we looked for coffee. We pulled into the New Italy Museum Complex, a sort of roadside café grown out of control. A tribute to pioneering Italian immigrants, the museum includes this statue. I like the dog.

Billed as a “driver reviver,” the café closed the minute we arrived we arrived, so we continued on, unrevived.

At last we regained the coast (más o menos) at Ballina, a half-hour short of Byron Bay. We knew we had reached the ocean when we saw a giant shrimp atop a strip mall building.

Giant shrimp notwithstanding, Australia is proving to be extraordinarily beautiful. Beaches, rain forests, savanna, mountains, bucolic farms, I’m realizing that Australians truly do live in Oz. I suspect they’re keeping it a secret, how good life is here. Even when it’s raining.