After I had freshened up, a couple who had been camped in this one spot before me waved me over. They offered me a cuppa tea and bickies, or cookies. The Aussies called cookies sweet bisquits, and shortened nearly every word over one syllable down to something ending in -ie or y. Thus we had bickies.

Although elderly, the man insisted on collecting the firewood I would need for that night. I was a woman, you see, and he didn't want to see me hurt myself. Then he ratcheted into the desert on stiff legs.

Their generosity continued. Later they discovered I that my Coleman stove had broken the first week of the trip. I'd been cooking over an open fire ever since. They offered me a propane tank and burner which they never used.

Before going on this trip, I had given away many possessions. I had needed to lighten a life that had felt pretty cluttered. Although I had always tried to give freely during my life, in Oz I was flooded by gifts from near-total strangers.

Even a cuppa was more than just an offer to share tea or coffee. It was an invitation to share an evening, to spend time completely free of obligation. Nothing was expected in return except a laugh or a pat on the back.

I gradually understood that everything I had given, materially and spiritually, was being returned to me tenfold, a hundredfold.