In the 70s my grandpa's brother Jack Griffiths emigrated from Wales to Australia with his wife Enid and their kids Pam and Lynn. The family flourished, and there are now two more generations living in the area of Tweed Heads.

(They weren't the only Griffithses to move down under. Over the last couple of weeks I've been shocked by the number of Griffiths Streets, shops and even islands dotted around!)

Tweed Heads is all of 40 minutes drive from Byron Bay, so our first morning in the surfer town I rang Aunt Enid out of the blue and at very short notice we arranged that Sarah and I would pop around to say hello the following day.

We spent the intervening night testing the limits of our campervan by sleeping in a motorway lay-by – a trick not to be repeated – so were most receptive to the spoiling we received at Aunt Enid's the next day. Despite having celebrated her 90th birthday earlier this year (by travelling 200km into the outback in a campervan), she had clearly been slaving away in the kitchen all morning. Soon after we arrived we were having high tea complete with chocolate cake, Victoria sponge, an apple tart and last but definitely not least...Welsh cakes!

Everyone was there to meet us. Pam, Lynn, Pam's daughter Elizabeth, her husband Mike and their baby boy Charlie. Lynn regaled us with stories of going to Sully Primary School with my mum as we sat out on the balcony and watched trawlers and dolphins in the river below.

After tea we took a drive into town to see the state border and what was one of Uncle Jack's favourite walks. Half of the town is in New South Wales – the part called Tweed Heads – and the other half is in Queensland – Coolangatta. We parked up next to the border and walked around the 'head' itself, criss-crossing between states. Below us crowds of bobbing surfers in the bay, and in the distance to the north the high-rises of Surfer's Paradise floated like a mirage.

Not having really understood the scale of Australia, we were planning on driving on from Tweed Heads to Noosa that evening. On sharing our plan we were met with sceptical looks, and it was explained to us that Noosa is a good five hour drive away. With very little persuasion, we agreed to stay the night at Mike and Elizabeth's house and tackle the drive in the morning. We had a wonderful evening being entertained by Mike, Elizabeth and Charlie. We traded travelling stories with Mike and Liz and they told us all about their time in the UK, and Charlie presented us with various of his favourite toys and also showed us his brand new racing car bed. Pam then brought by a 'back up' casserole she had prepared and we went to bed in a luxurious double bed in the guestroom glowing with the warmth of their hospitality (and wine).

Thanks again guys for having us!

Byron Bay was the southern-most point of our 2 1/2 week Aussie Road Trip. Over the next couple of weeks we plan on driving north all the way to the end of the road at Cape Tribulation, stopping in on some far flung family in Tweed Heads, the Whitsundays for some sailing, and Port Douglas for a day's diving on the Great Barrier Reef. Lots to do, and lots of ground to cover!

We rolled into Byron just after sunset, the remains of the day a deep orange scar over the dark waters of the bay. We were staying at a campsite just out of town, and used our little gas stoves for the first time to cook spaghetti bolognese by torchlight. This proved tricky - we made a note to do our cooking before sundown in the future – but we managed. It must have smelled good at least, as we managed to attract a curious possom out from the undergrowth. He darted out from under our car as I was serving up, then darted back when I shone the torch on him, to Sarah's relief.

Not having been able to properly see the town the previous night, the next morning I was a little trepidacious as we drove back into the center. Having heard so much about Byron Bay as a surfing mecca, I expected it to be a little over-exposed, potentially filled with cheesy surf-themed bars and gap year kids getting smashed - like Newquay but with sun.

I was pleasantly surprised. Bryon is a small town, really only a few blocks of low rise buildings occupied by a mix of surf shops, coffee bars and restaurants. Not much to look at, but the whole place was wonderfully laid back. Lots of locals were happily ambling up and down the streets towards breakfasts and morning cappuccinos. It reminded me a lot of Hossegor in the South of France – another relaxed surfing town.

Of course, we weren't there to hang out and drink coffee all day (although we did actually spend a good part of our time there doing just that) – we were there to surf!

The next morning saw us wet-suited and wading into the cool waves of Byron's Main Beach. Jeff our instructor (a 40-something professional surfer dude who was the spitting image of Steve Tyler - Aerosmith's lead singer and Liv Tyler's dad) assured us that conditions were pretty much perfect – 1 to 1.5 metre high waves held up by a light offshore breeze, combined with a virtually empty beach and not a cloud in the sky. Perfect for Sarah's first surfing experience, and for me to demonstrate my remarkable ability to swallow large amounts of sea-water.

She was an absolute natural. Within 20 minutes Sarah was paddling, standing-up and cruising into the beach with a big grin on her face. Despite having several surfing holidays under my belt, I was less successful. It was a question of timing. I alternated between catching big waves late or small waves early – the former threw me off the front of my board and rolled me along the sea-bed, the latter required a hefty amount of paddling for not a lot of riding. After half an hour I was completely knackered and so decided to spend the rest of the lesson sitting on my board out beyond the breakers catching rays rather than waves.