Trip Start Dec 03, 2004
85Trip End Nov 31, 2005
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If you're ever on Greyhound and the driver says something "could be ages," I'm going to let you in on a secret: this means five hours. We sat in Musswellbrook, outside the train station, in the dark (no lights on the bus because when it was on it made that shrill whining beep), trying to sleep, everyone of us seven passengers lolling over our seats with our shoes off, stinking up the confines of the bus. Fortunately I'd been able to get ahold of the farmstay people and they were willing to come to Wallabadah at 2:00 in the morning to get me, otherwise I'd have been stranded on the side of the road.
So, finally, the bus pulled up in Wallabadah, a tiny town that seemed to consist of one darkened hotel/pub, I pitched my tired self off and met Peter Hatfield, one of the owners of Castle Mountain Farmstay. Peter has only one leg and gets around on crutches, but he does a great job running the farm and doing construction work anyways---getting up and down ladders, driving, riding on ATVs, none of this is a problem for him. We get in the car and there's a half an hour jolting ride down on a gravel road into the dark before we arrive at the farm, which truly is in the middle of nowhere; it's a 2000 acre property. I'm staying in one of their little "dormitory huts" that they've built for backpackers at the farmstay, sharing it with a Swedish guy named Reto, who thankfully sleeps soundly through my stumbling in and bunking down.