Camping with the aged
Trip Start
Nov 28, 2004
1
49
57
Trip End
Jun 11, 2005
Cooma,
New South Wales,
Australia
Tuesday, February 8, 2005
My task now is to find a place to camp. The area around the mountain contains many small villages and camp grounds with the usual washing facilities, kitchens and bars. But here's the catch - you have to pay. The entrance ticket into the national park that includes overnight camping is for certain designated spots only, with zero facilities. And where does one expect to find those ? They are well hidden.
After a while, I find one - there is a small toilet shed and a picnic bench. And that's your lot. I park up and see there is already one older couple there in their standard grey-nomad's motor-home. They are huffing and puffing at my intrusion. Then I hear Mister Grumpy call out " Plenty of space over there " as he painfully lifts a geriatric arm and gestures with it in no particular direction. Well, I think to myself, if this is what they call the public camping zone, then I'll park where I want. I am nowhere near them anyway, but the old duffer's probably got his reading glasses on by mistake. So I ignore him.
There are wallabies and big flies. Eucalyptus trees and open space. My esky looks up at me with a sorrowful look - for today, it contains no icy cans of VB. I've neglected to stock up. It's back to the stove again to stir up a pot of Jasmine tea. And as I do, the cheerless pensioners make a dramatic about-turn in their attitude and invite me to share with them a large bottle of port. With garlic biscuits and a miniature cheeseboard set - the sort of neatly pre-packaged spread you'd find at the Eastbourne bowling club's summer fete. With its denture-friendly size chunks. And easily disposed of ' enviro-green ' packaging. And because the servings are small, I suppose it's ideal for those on income-support. There's precious little wastage.
I drink and eat and remain as polite as I consider reasonable, given what I assume to be their initial assessment of me when I first arrived. Perhaps I scared them. It would be like George Best arriving in an early 80s Ford Granada with a loud exhaust. A shirtless ape in a council estate corvette.
I drift off into a half sleep with the assistance of many glasses of their ruby port. Content to look out at the mountains through the rear window of my car, head on pillow. There's a thunderstorm in the night with flashes of lightning that crack open the sky.
Next ; Canberra
