A visit to Bundaberg – 20 years after
It had been over 20 years since I last set foot on the bridge where Caroline took her final steps. The moment felt significant as we walked the full length of the bridge towards the town of Bundaberg. The sun had emerged, and the heat was intense. Having just come from a visit to the mayor’s office, I was overdressed for the midday sun.
Standing on the town side of the Burnett River, I was overcome with emotion. It felt as though things were finally leaving me; it was time to lay down the remaining burdens and thoughts I had carried for so long. Hand in hand, Elvira and I walked across the bridge. One step at a time, we spoke about everything that had happened since the last time I had crossed it. It was a moment for release—a timely surrender of events that had shaped so many parts of my life. Thoughts and memories of Caroline filled my mind: the inspirational young woman she was, and what we had achieved in her name since her passing.
Earlier that morning, we had arrived at the council building for a 10 a.m. meeting with Mayor Helen Blackburn, Deputy Mayor Tracey McPhee, and Betty Kao. We talked about travel and how much things had changed for backpackers and young travellers since 2002. The world we live in now is vastly different. I felt deeply honoured that they had made time for us and still held Caroline’s memory in such high regard.
We visited the memorial in the bus park outside the council offices. It stood proudly, surrounded by a couple of benches where people could sit and take in the beauty of the park’s flowerbeds. After taking some photos, we drove to the botanical gardens to see the tree that had been planted two years earlier. I was humbled. It was amazing to see the tree thriving and the gardens looking so beautiful.
As we walked through the gardens, we reflected on the work of Caroline’s Rainbow Foundation—over 20 years of effort to help young travellers, or indeed any travellers, stay safe while exploring the world. I knew we had made a difference. Our advice and presence had undoubtedly saved lives. Realising the impact of our work meant a great deal. Our mission had always been twofold: first, to educate the next generation of backpackers to prioritise their safety with the reminder that “nothing is worth more than your life”; and second, to inspire people to follow their dreams and explore the world. Until now, I had never fully acknowledged the extent of what we had accomplished—it had simply felt like the right thing to do at the time.
It was now time to visit the bridge, a prospect I had been dreading. The memories of 20 years ago still felt fresh. We parked beneath the bridge on the park side of town. I immediately recognised the exact spot. As I walked over and looked up, I saw the railings and pillars. I had forgotten how close she was to the end of the bridge when she was thrown over—just five more metres, and she would have reached the other side. Even now, the memory was heart-breaking. My feelings for her had not changed, though my understanding of what happened and my emotions surrounding it had evolved.
We climbed to the top of the bridge and looked out. Sadness and heartache washed over me, but I knew it was time to move forward. There was nothing more I could do; I had done all that I was capable of. Caroline would have been proud of what we had achieved in her name. I paused, letting the moment linger—it felt like a long goodbye.
We crossed to the Bundaberg side of the bridge, and I shared more thoughts and memories of Caroline. The heat was intense, and we took a moment to rest. As we walked back across the bridge, it no longer felt like a journey focused on Caroline’s final steps. Instead, it was about releasing her memory, allowing it to find its own place in the energy of the universe. It was about letting go of the burdens we had chosen to carry and those we had picked up along the way that no longer served us. It was a moment to embrace the present and allow the future to unfold authentically and organically.
Caroline would have wished us the most magical adventures and would have held space for us, just as we had held space for her—in life and in the years since her passing.
To my beautiful sister, I bid you a fond farewell and wish you a journey filled with beauty. I don’t yet fully know where I’m going or what I’ll be doing, but I know I have found someone I love with all my heart. With each step forward, I walk in my own authenticity, unafraid of what’s to come. I know you would have been excited to see what I get up to. Much love.
Written by Richard Stuttle
