We stopped at Menindee Lakes earlier this year. We were careful to hit off-season and were delighted to find the place pretty much deserted. We could free camp right next to one of… Continue reading
The people of Wondai clearly were impressed. No-one sat near them as they sat facing everyone else, side by side, in the front, right in the middle. If this was a kingdom, they were king and queen. A wedding – the bride and groom. I was surprised no-one stopped to genuflect on their way to the salad bar.
I LOVE not having any power and being stuck in the middle of nowhere. It is just like camping, with a tent, only instead of a tent and few things, you haul around this room with all these electric gadgets you get to look at, at night, in the dark, eating raw lamb chops because you have nothing to cook them on.
And of course I did not scream out. We were in a public place and I am a Canadian. I did not want to get Derek into any kind of trouble for running over and killing his wife, and I certainly did not want to disturb any of the other campers.
We couldn’t pass them. Well, we could have, and then they would have had to paint another sign showing an overtaking caravan smashing into an oncoming caravan with cows and kangaroos flying everywhere. I am not sure they had a good enough artist for that and asking people to stop and see a slide show before they continued down the mountain was not really practical … I mean without a popcorn stand or something.
Derek had a big plan of where he wanted it but it was going to require quite a bit of work. The temporary plan sounded iffy to me, and mainly because we lived down a dead end narrow street and we would have to turn the caravan around to back it into place. I panicked just thinking about it. With all those neighbours out milling around, laughing at us . . . what would I feed them?
I tried to think of romantic names that conveyed this phase of our life where we were going to just follow the wind but they were all so cliché. “Hearts Song,” Wind Dreamer,” blah, blah, I didn’t want some play on words or some stupid slogan that would end up on a t-shirt or the side of the van.
And then it came to me.
As we picked up speed, the caravan felt so heavy behind us, and even though we had all the best in stabilizers etc loaded on our unit, it felt like the caravan was swinging every which way. I could feel my fingers clawing through the leather on the door, to the metal. I am pretty sure I was not breathing because I passed out at one point. I think Derek was relieved . . . that I passed out. When I am tense, I can be as quiet as can be and still spread and share that tenseness all over the universe. I emote well.
I liked even less that people were trying to help me and calling me “dear.” When did all the “patting” start? And, isn’t there some kind of a law that prevents random strangers from deciding you need to be patted and cooed at and talked to in that annoying voice that is all patienty and baby sounding? It sounds oddly like a preschool teacher talking to her kindergarten class only without hand puppets.