Our Australia trip

We had a slow start this morning, during the night it got so cold that the grass was still white when we let the dogs outside. They only wanted to go outside for a quick whizz and were back quickly. I got frozen fingers, nose and feet making breakfast and Marjo didn’t even let me get close to get some warmth. Luckily Nossi fulfilled the role of foot warmer.

Then I did a walk around the camping with the dogs, had a look at a fellow camper who traveled with a large GM 2500 ute customized with a sleep on unit and a Hobie foldable trimaran on the roof. The truck itself was already big and high, the sleep-on unit made it even bigger and the Hobie on top made it a monster.
The hobie itself was pretty cool though. It had two seats in the middle with a main sail but also foot propelled flaps to move without wind and an electric outboard for when you get too tired without wind. I looked it up but the thing complete costs well over $5k and weighs a tonne. Nice ideas but not for us.

The feature of this camp is a hybrid toilet. I’m sure all green blog readers start itching and moving to the edge of their seat in anticipation of what this is. Where most remote campaigns have toilets that are nothing more than a toilet pan, seat and lid above a big hole in the ground with associated yuck smells, this hybrid contortion has a little metal lid under the seat with a spring (I’m guessing here because it is still too yuck for a close up investigation). Once seated and producing yuck, it falls on the slippery metal lid and the weight makes it open and flap back again. I can only hope that they have seriously road tested this feature as I would not like the spring be too eager and flap back the yuck where it came from. It seemed to operate well though. The toilet paper is not heavy enough to operate the flap and once you close the lid there is a foot operated big rubber button that (by the sound of it) flushes some water on the flap which again makes the flap flip. I haven’t worked out what the hybrid part means, but it seems to operate well.

We slowly packed up and were on the road by midday. First we tried to take a shortcut and the GPS agreed. That brought us to Tinnan Bay over a beautiful tarmac road. It was the end of the line though. There is only one way in and out of Tinnan Bay and it is that beautiful road. Well Tinnan Bay road is for 5 km nice (probably paid for by Tinnan Bay) and then the remaining 7 km is horribly unsealed with corrugation, potholes and exposed stones.

The bus doesn’t like corrugated roads and any speed above 15 kph makes everything shake and rattle like there is no tomorrow. So we keep the speed down and a 7 km road takes then about half an hour.
The bus is great but not the fastest. The engine works a treat but is 30 years old and has not the modern oomph of turbo diesels. This means that although there is enough power (torque) to get up any hill, it doesn’t get you there very fast. Us optimists have found one big advantage…..you never end up at the end of a traffic queue, we just create them.

We have agreed to go to Agnes Waters, just south of Gladstone, where a good kiteboarding centre is. I will take kiteboarding lessons there and see if it is captivating enough to buy the gear and do the sport. The camping that we have put our eyes on there is 1 km out of Agnes Waters and has only cold showers. The deal is that tonight we will have hot showers so we can stay a couple of days at the Agnes Waters camping.

While driving we look at options and see a turnoff for Woodgate Caravan Park, on the beach. Of course we miss the turnoff and stop a bit further to make a coffee and discuss options. We call Woodgate and they have a spot. It seems to be a Grey Nomad place, meaning that half Melbourne camps here. They close the door in the cold in Melbourne, drive to Woodgate and stay here 3 to 6 months in the relative warmth, play lawn balls, walk the beach and do some fishing. Living the live.

Well, this again is not our camping. The sites are close to each other and the dogs need to be on the leash, even on the beach! We will stay the night and do some laundry, take a hot shower, have a fancy dinner (fish and chips) and will hear the State of Origin from all the caravan tv’s. The bloody Melborians will side with the Maroons so I will be a lone Blues fan. Go Blues, go! This is the only evening I regret we have no working tv!

The day started early with another cold night and early visit from Nossi. We decided that three nights of Amamoor was enough and that we challenged luck long enough. During our stay there was no visit from the ranger and we saved ourselves the camping fee. After having seen the Muster fees, I’m sure they won’t miss our contribution. At least there are fewer wood fire size pieces of dry timber for the ranger to worry about.

While packing up we spoke to the owners of Rosa, Nossi’s friend. They were trialling out their new Winnebago Escape, a nice compact Campervan costing a small fortune and were not very happy. Lots of things that sounded great in the showroom worked out to be not very functional, defunct or plainly annoying. They were planning many changes before going on a trip around Australia later this year. Perhaps my mirror construction is not so bad after all……

Now pretty efficient in packing up, we left the camp ground at around 9.30 am, tried to remember the way back, which gave some “yes, I remember this” and “hmm, doesn’t look familiar”. When you’re over 50 those memories don’t come automatically.

We made it back over the creek crossing, the hilly road and passed through Amamoor where we saw a post office on the way to the camping. Marjo went there twice, once without wallet and once with dog and wallet (I don’t dare to let her go without someone to guard her wallet anymore) while I exchanged black water (the yuck stuff) for fresh water at the local public toilet.
When I drove back to the post office annex general store annex only shop in Amamoor someone shouted. That appeared to be the sign for the train and soon we saw the train pass….a small locomotive with only one carriage. I hope that this is not the typical public transport around here and that it is a rehearsal for the Muster or something.

While waiting for Marjo who had to hear the complete life story of one of the store’s customers, I rang the kids to catch up after three days of no communication and we saw Rosa’s owners drive past. Then we gave the GPS instructions to find us the way to Log Dump camping ground with a stop in between at a Woollies. Instead of making that simple, the devious piece of software guided us around and through Gympie. If anything is fun with a heavy bus and trailer then it is up and down the hilly and narrow roads of Gympie. Not. At least it appears to be a nice place when you’re not driving, Marjo says.

We stocked up on food and booze and Marjo got Joran’s favorite Pecan Pie. I got the honour to precut it for easier travel and managed to get it on my face, my pants, the steering wheel and Marjo’s pants (only because it ended up on the outside of the plastic box). Yummie but sticky custard.

Then we drove to Log Dump. The GPS did alright this time, but now the camping guide misled us. Without exact locations such as useful coordinates it described a route with a wrong road. The turn off onto Tinnenbar road seemed to have been permanently closed. Ringing he Queensland Government resulted in a “We’ll call you back’. Used to the inefficiency of the NSW government we took control and decided to continue along the Permanently Closed road. After 50 meters, the phone rang and Bruce, the local ranger explained that we had the wrong road. No way to turn around of course. So, like a drunken monkey, I reversed the bus and trailer. This is extra difficult because the bus is wider than the trailer and as long as there is no trailer visible you’re going straight. As soon as you see the trailer (through my newly constructed mirror) it was too late and only sharp correcting could somehow fix it. This all meant that it took ages to drive the 50 meters back in reverse. Then we understood that the correct road was further down. When you ever bring up this story with Marjo don’t believe her when she says that I misunderstood. It was Bruce who couldn’t explain it. Another interesting turn later we finally got onto the right road. A road that doesn’t even exist on Google Maps or our beloved GPS. Before heading down this road, we asked a couple of guys towing a tinnie and they confirmed. Seven kilometers of dirt road later we found the Log Dump camping.

The camping is on a river that connects to water where dugongs, turtles and dolphins live. Marjo had the thought of checking it out in her kayak, until she heard that only 2 kilometers from here signs are put up to warn for crocodiles. She believes they can swim these two kilometers without any problem. I think it’s too cold for them but then again, I’m not a kayaker……

After a lovely meal (compliments to the lovely chef) and a fire that was determined to make me smell of smoke (again) it is time to layer up and get under the doona. Sweet dreams.

Amamoor Camping Ground was a winner, a large site with grass, trees, bush and a creek.

It was a bit strange though; on entry we saw many dilapidated buildings (I always wanted to use that word, you could of course also say buildings in disrepair or ruins in wording) and also the many tents but hardly any people. On further inspection we discovered that this was not a ghost camping – would that have been a story – but the preparations and stalled facilities for the annual Gympie Muster festival. For amateurs, like me the Gympie Muster festival is:
Amamoor Creek Sate Forest Park, located just outside of Historical Gympie, creates a picturesque home site for one of Australia’s largest outdoor Music Festival, entrenched in community spirit far removed from ties, clocks, suits and schedules. Thousands of festival goers are attracted every year by the smorgasbord of diverse programs rich with our country’s finest musicians, the bush land setting laced with inviting whiffs of campfire cooking and fresh bush eucalypt, the easy camaraderie created by companionable patrons all set to simply enjoy themselves, “there are no strangers at the Muster, only friends you haven’t met yet”

Apparently it is very popular with 70,000 tickets over the four days and already late June the main camping site was booked and marked by roped off areas with empty tents on it. Crazy.

We had a good time there, the dogs roamed free and Nossi found a friend Rosa, a 2 year old poodle with whom he made crazy loops around the camping. Marjo found another opportunity to put the boat to water and had to paddle fast to outrun the stream. Five minutes later she found another obstacle upstream so although it was fun, there wasn’t too much to explore. The river seems to be littered with crossings, fallen trees and the like.

I spent some time totally redesigning my mirror setup. With parts bought in Canungra and use of most the tools I brought we now have a solid passenger mirror. It will never earn any prices of industrial design or make it onto mean stream cars I guess, but it seems to do the job.
Also I puzzled with the drawers inside the bus that are kept drive safe with a piece of timber. Every corner Dotti looks weary up as she realizes that when these pieces of timber fail, she fears she will be the recipient of drawers plus contents. Not that this can happen, but nevertheless I’ve now made an extra lock/stop.

In addition to being the stage for Marjo’s exercise and kayak adventure, the stream also provides an excellent base for fossicking. This time no gold or gemstones but just pretty rocks. And there were plenty. I have learned that in admiring Marjo’s finds, I sometimes need to be more critical. Certainly with more than 11 months to go, one needs to be very critical about the number of rocks we can carry. So although all the found treasures have all unique characteristics and are pretty, we can only take a few. I must say that she is getting smarter about hiding places in the bus and trailer and there are plenty. Just need to be careful when eating things like nuts I guess.

With more time we had fun playing a game of Kubb, a simple but fun game from Scandinavia involving a King, his Kubbs and Batons that my mum introduced us to and I made with my brother when he visited for my 50th. The good part is that you can play it almost everywhere with 2 to 12 people, it is easy to learn and you can play it with a beer in one hand and a baton in the other.

After three days a shower moves from ranked a luxury to something that is front of mind. With nightly temperatures between zero and four degrees a cold shower becomes a very refreshing exercise. I think next time I will repeat my backflip into the stream as in Uralla.

During one of our coffee/tea/booze breaks Nossi ran away madly barking. Then we saw a beautiful Guana walk up the tree. It didn’t mind us taking pictures until I came too close and she climbed higher and behind the tree.

While I was busy with extended renovations Marjo made some interesting bush walks with Dotti and Nossi and collected no firewood (it is not allowed to collect any firewood at Amamoor), and we had a nice fire every evening. Close to 9 pm it got so damp (dew) and cold that it was hard to pick up the not collected pieces of wood. Then we layer up and crawl under our doona’s with added comforter for an undisturbed night of sleep.

Now Dotti is fully normal again with a full night of sleep (the only remnants of her out of sickness is an octave higher bark) Nossi has decided that things get too cold at night and at around 5 am he sneaks in our bed and warms up our feet. He is smart enough to warm himself between the Donna and the comforter so as to be warm and not wake us. We don’t mind the extra warmth for now.

Posted from Tuan Forest, Queensland, Australia.

It worked a treat! No getting up in the middle of the night and we had to wake Dotti up as we wanted to leave early. Marjo wanted to see Eumundi markets which are between 7am and 2 pm and just over 100 km away. In bus time with a GPS that makes life hard and hilly hinterland that means at least 2 hours.

We circled mountains and did 20kph at an incline of 12% up and also in second gear tried to minimize revs while coming down the other side. The landscape has changed dramatically from the farming to much more rolling hills and immediately the inhabitants also are very different with produce on he side of the road, yoga retreats, protest signs against some quarry and the like. With Glass mountain to the right of us we get closer to the Bruce Highway and then towards the Eumundi markets. At one time we were sure we got lost and somehow ended up in Windsor as suddenly we passed Ettamogah pub, but it appears they are twins.
Getting closer, the traffic gets more dense and it seems that at around 10.30 am we are late. Cars parked everywhere, people seem to come from far to visit the markets. We toss a coin and Marjo gets the unlucky draw (or was it predetermined) to visit them while Dotti, Nossi and I drive around and find a nearby rest area.

Eumundu is probably not known because of its pittoresque rest areas as it is a little run down and full of dead tree limbs. Exactly what we needed as if anything, Queensland camp grounds don’t have any firewood. Where in NSW it is common for timber workshops to dump their offcuts for use by campers, Queensland only put up signs announcing that it is not allowed to gather any wood in the surrounding woods. As a result you see people camping with a car loaded full with camping gear and a trailer filled with logs. Apart from being continuous on he lookout for places to dump waste water and take on fresh water we are also now keeping a watchful eye on firewood opportunities. Don’t get me wrong, Queensland farmers are entrepreneurs and offer a 10kg bag of wood for $10 but that way we will have to cut our trip short and find work to earn money for firewood. Would wood chopping earn a good wage?

Eumundi markets are a success according to Marjo and I’m now munching on the dukkah (some crunchy bits you dip a piece of bread in after wetting it (that is he bread) in oil) that she got there. Then we continued onto a campsite that we looked at in our camping guide. Our strategy is now to find a few free campings (as they tend to be less structured) with a paid camping as fall back. With our version 6 of the camping guide we will not face the issue of campings that have suddenly decided not to allow dogs. Our strategy seems to pay off. We first looked at Amamoor Rest Area, and although not too bad we decide it is too close to the main road of town.

Then we continue over a part tarmac, part gravel road, creek crossing and arrive at Amamoor Creek Camping. This looks nice, quite big with quite some tents but plenty of opportunity to not have to hear your neighbour’s stories. It seems to require registration and the sign gives the website and also 24 hour phone number but with zero reception that remains a fantasy. Ah well, we’ll see.

Another night with four times a Dotti break, twice Marjo and twice me. If this is how it’s going to be with grand children then I’m not so sure. At least no rain! The sky is always blue in Queensland but now half covered with clouds. Not too bad. It was a cold night with the campground open to the wide fields and a wind blowing. This is clearly farm land and as you know from the previous post a lot of cotton.
After breakfast we packed up, spoke to a family who drove up to go fishing. Being a fast flowing dam it seems that all the fish collects before the point where the excess water flows over the edge. Last night we had a family with two little kids and I bet that the fish was going to be their evening meal. Similar to the couple this morning, the fish must have had cold feet, as the couple last night arrived at about 5 pm and left only at around 9 pm!

Driving away was a bit tricky, with the campground so wet still from rain the bus gets bogged down quite easily and the back wheels turn to slicks, a bit like Marjo’s boots. We planned the route out over grass and crossing slippery bits and made it out ok.

We stopped to look at the rolls of cotton and were somewhat surprised that this is a popular crop but then again we don’t know too much about Australian farming other than that wheat is popular (AWB scandal) and that sugar cane is very popular around Bundaberg which is not far from here. I know that because most sugar products have that name.

The GPS did it again and wanted us to go over a closed dirt road. Marjo didn’t let me. So when we turned off we only had to cross a little river and Marjo looked for crocodiles. It might also have been a big puddle and she could also have been checking for hidden potholes.

Talking about potholes…..the main road inland is the 93, the one with road trains. They should do a better job in maintaining that as it is empty with potholes. I know it should be “full with them” but it feels wrong to say full with holes as the holes were definitely empty. It must be up to the local councils to maintain it because parts of the road are horrible where others are well maintained. At some bits we saw crews of 4, one looking up the road the other one down for oncoming traffic. One carrying a bucket with tarmac and the other with a shovel filling the potholes quickly. They rely on the on storming traffic to pack it down.

Closer to the coast people in Queensland are full of rugby and the captain of the Queensland team for State of Origin must be a local hero as roads, valleys, companies, bridges and dams all carry the Darren Lockyer name or a part thereof. Well we’ll see on Wednesday. Go Blues!

We arrived at Neurum Creek through dirt roads, paddocks and over dams and were surprised how well organized it is. We would call this hardly a retreat, sign posts everywhere and full with families. Definitely a nice environment and well run place. We asked for a quiet, bit private spot but they didn’t have any of those so instead we got a huge spot that the neighbouring kids used as a soccer field. Initially we planned for two nights but decided that being old geezers it was too busy and we shortened it to only one night.

Not wanting to get another broken night we thought that perhaps Dotti was not tired enough and woke us out of boredom, with no tv reception or Internet and all. So we did two walks with her, one before dinner and one just before sleeping. Let’s pray.

The tricky thing with weather forecasts is that they can change, and of course it has. So we woke up with more rain. A look at the various weather predictions meant that almost everywhere in a radius of 300 km it would still be miserable today and then progressively better. So up towards Toowoomba.

While we were still in bed discussing all this Marjo asked whether it was the 24th or 25th. I thought it was the 27th. Funny how that works when you’re traveling without clear purpose that time becomes meaningless. Then we looked on the iPad and said “happy anniversary”, our 27th.

To make it a bit of a special day we had – on a rather boring piece of road between Goondiwindi (by the way, the name is much more interesting than the place itself) and Toowoomba – an unplanned sidetrack. When we saw hand painted signs for winery and olive grove. After a few wrong turns, more turns, steep hills (the bus only could do that one in first gear) dirt roads we were about to give up. Then we saw a ute come our way and stop. It was the owner who said: “are you heading towards the olive grove because I was closing up and need to be at the doctor at 3 pm so have a little time.” Then he reversed and led us back to his place, unlocked the gate and showed us around.

The dogs were quiet in the bus while Marjo and I learnt about how he and his wife bought the 20 acre plot at the same time as many others as a lifestyle block from Allan Bond who planned a big project with marina, high risers, airport and more. Nothing of that eventuated apart from the olive grove and winery (he doesn’t grow grapes or produce wine but sells it from a friendly vineyard). He has 1,600 olive trees and produces 10 tonnes of olives, normally 15 tonnes, of which he gets about 1,000 liters of cold pressed virgin olive oil (first press). That is the best kind of oil and is used for direct consumption on lettuce and other dishes but would be a waste to cook with.
We tried some as well as the wines and bought a bottle of oil, a bottle of Merlot and a bottle of liqueur. We were tempted to buy his place (he sells it as he and his wife are close to 70 and want to travel) but decided against it.

Then we continued to Yarramalong where our next camping spot is, through more rain, avoiding road trains (a truck combination of at least 36 meters length) that race at speeds of 110 kph towards us in a spray of wind and rain or come up against us and overtake. The wind they produce is enormous and would easily blow a caravan off the road.

We didn’t take the turn to Texas although felt that we were in Arizona when we saw the large cactus bushes all along the road.

Arriving at Yarramalong we passed cotton fields (unexpected). The camping is a free one, probably because no one would pay to stay here. The entrance is so muddy that our bus couldn’t make it up the driveway and we had to skirt around it over the grass. Even that got a bit hairy but we got it done. We are the only visitors and when we got out we know why. By now the rain had stopped and there was even blue sky. But the wind was ferocious, and you could really only stand behind the bus, shielded from the wind.
Nossi and Marjo went looking for wood, he had a ball. Marjo grew by two inches and Nossi was dancing. We thought that the place was bewitched but logic prevailed. The claylike soil was wet and clumped under their soles that made Marjo taller and Nossi very nervous about the sudden weight on his paws.

Dotti and I made a fire which got interesting results with the hard wind and wet wood.

Now we are in the bus, the dogs asleep (Nossi nightmares of Dotti stealing his food – which she did and Dotti in heaven after finding bones everywhere and having stolen Nossi’s food) and Marjo and I not far from it. We had a nice dinner with rice, beef and veggies and coffee after. Life is good!

Going to bed with rain and waking up with more is no fun, even if the location is stunning (who cares about facilities).

So we opened the iPad, inquired BOM (bureau of meteorology) and worked out that as long as we would go West the weather should improve. Now, 270 km more west, on the other side of the dividing range it is still rainy and we have lost the confidence in the BOM. We were first going to stop at a powered campsite with warm showers near Inglewood but when we arrived we saw some neatly arranged campervans and caravans close to the highway and the rail line and thought “no”. The next option is Goondiwindi, a favourite place of Marjo but too far west. The rain brought us here and after more probing I found out that the name was the major part of the attraction.

It doesn’t seem much of a place and the camping is not much different from the one in Inglewood sans railway line. We are all neatly camped side by side and everyone of the habitants is inside their caravan or camper watching television with the airco/heater on. We seem to be the only two sitting outside. The rain and cold plus a lack of airco and television could have something to do with it too. The awning keeps us dry and clothes keep us warm, not more we need. The only attraction to this place is the hot shower, we will have two, one just finished, the other tomorrow morning before we will leave for a bush setting. We both prefer the nature above the facilities. Not that we have to complain: we have power, water (fresh, hot and grey), gas, toilet, king bed and watch tv series on our iPads when it is too wet to play with fire. We cold even have a shower but never do as it consumes too much water. Also it makes the toilet wet and no one likes to sit on a wet toilet, at least we don’t.

Dotti is much better now. She eats her meals, drinks well and sleeps a lot. It is hard to know if she is taking advantage of the attention because every night she sits in front of the door and wags her kangaroo strength tail (which sounds like beating of a drum on the bus floor) and we get up (Marjo more than I) to let her go outside to do what she needs to do but I think we will play blind and deaf tonight. Glad she doesn’t read this blog.

So now at close to 8 pm we are sitting outside looking at another massive caravan at silent satellite television meanwhile drinking coffee and blogging (me), and emailing (Marjo) while the dogs lie on their beds (Dotti outside and Nossi inside). We have worked out where we will be going tomorrow.

The weather has not worked very well for photos so apologies for a somewhat bleak post.

What does one do on a day like this….. It all started out normally, Dotti not too harsh on our sleep and Axel actually surprised by breakfast in bed. And apart from a disgusting deed (about that later) he did nothing that deserves mentioning in this post. All the kudos are for Marjo. Not Nossi, who barely left the bus, not Dotti (well she ate her breakfast and dinner) but otherwise nothing to write home about.

Home, interesting word, not sure about its definition (the app says A place someone permanently lives with his or her family) but in our case does it apply to the bus? It doesn’t feel like home although Marjo definitely has made every effort to make it as much as possible that way. Well, that was not what I wanted to talk about though.

Marjo deserves kudos because she is brilliant with art, sits under a rainy awning and draws the most beautiful artworks, in this case mandalas and all from her mind. No examples, just imagination. That’s not all; even when it rains all day she keeps a positive view on everything. Not like those unrealistic sweet comments, but a positive spin. Thirdly she cares about and for all. Be it that Dotti doesn’t walk again in the creek, or Axel gets the most amazing dinners, inspiring lunch ideas, the yummiest snacks and making sure that everyone is comfortable and looked after. I love her to bits.

About that disgusting deed…..before The Rain (the one that lasted most of the day) we went looking for some firewood which is here in abundance. The bush we are camping in is poorly maintained. Vines have overgrown everything and kill trees that are kept upright by the vines. It gives it a bit of a mystical feel but also means that dead trees are dry (not rotten on the ground) and can be reasonably easy cut down. The hardest part is getting them out from the vines.

Marjo had seen one close to our camping spot and I went investigating equipped with handsaw. This tree was fallen down but actually stayed alive whilst growing 10 cm above and horizontally with the ground. While walking around I suddenly heard a loud “pop” under my left foot and turned around. I was suddenly met by the most gruesome smell and had to walk away. My foot sole was covered with some milky slime smelling so foul, we could smell it from over 10 meters away, even after washing my shoe.
It started to rain which resolved most of the smell problem, but when Dotti later went for one of her pee walks, she came back covered in the same smell. She seems to have a knack for getting herself in trouble.
Then we had to investigate where this came from and whether it was not poisonous, since Dotti’s face was covered in the slime. We deducted it back to a Stinkhorn; a relative harmless but smelly mushroom. Accordingly to those who know, you should be very careful with them: “Never eat, or even pick stinkhorns in New Guinea, where the Iban people (former headhunters) call it ghost penis fungus. It’s the member of a warrior who was decapitated in battle, and the twice-mutilated fighter will rise from the ground and pursue you until he cuts off your head with his headhunting sword!”

With that bombshell (you can tell that I watched Topgear on the iPad all day), sleep well.

Today a sleep in, we were a bit annoyed when Dotti was ready to get out again and also Nossi was eager for food, but when we looked at the clock it was already 8.25 am. That’s late in camping speak. Generally we’re up at light and start yawning at dark. Then we fool around for another couple of hours with twigs, sticks and logs and try to evade clouds of smoke to get a little warm. I am sure that the GPS and the fire are working together to get life challenging, but we’re tougher. Hah!

This was our last day in Darlington park. It was a bit too organized for us and too many people. Also not bushy enough. Our neighbours Geoff and Elizabeth were nice but after having heard about their past, their kids and married family as well as their plans until September next year we thought it was time to go.

So we packed up and by ten were ready for the road. Geoff had all kind of useful tips for next campings but being over 50 we can concentrate only on one thing and we remembered their names but forgot all his tips other than that you should always camp at least 5 km out of a town to avoid local invasions. There must be some truth in that as the Uralla Fossicking area is within that radius of Uralla.

The trip to Aratula went without any remarkable events. We stopped at Beaudesert for a coffee that I was supposed to get while Marjo stayed with the dogs in the bus. Half an hour later (could be a bit more) I came back with a coffee plunger, my favourite muesli (Woollies Strawberry) and oat and raisin cookies from Woolworths, bread and white chocolate from Aldi and a new axe from the local farm supplies store. Oh and the coffee with a smile from the friendly girl. With that same smile she charged $5.50 a coffee and that’s when I decided to get the plunger so for the same $11 we can make 100 organic cuppa’s.

Then onto Boonah where Marjo found a new version of the Camping guide (we upgraded from version 2 to version 6), Templin where we admired the historic village and got hold up by cows on the road. Different from the cows on Lamington National Park road on the way not to Darlington park, these were herded by two guys, a four wheel drive and a yapping dog. Nice to see, inclusive of the cow dung squashed by the tires of the bus.

Less nice was the camouflage of the trailer afterwards. We’ll see how long it sticks.

Not much later we arrived in Aratula, sounds a bit like they should have a Khomeini. But they just had a gate with signs that booking was necessary. We are Dutch and have no manners so just open the gate and drive up. A lady as tall as my fingernail and white like the bus used to be came up to us with a rueful look on her face. She just had two days of motocross kids and was about to chainsaw a tree for firewood for a group next week. She spoke kinda loud, perhaps hoping that over 50 and all we would be hard of hearing. We asked if she had spots away from all the noise and she said that we had to look for ourselves, but wasn’t sure our bus could make the nice spots.

Marjo and Nossi went scouting and found a reasonable spot so I got the bus. I told the white pinksize lady and she said that if the old bus could make it that far there would be an even nicer spot further down the trail.

Driving to the original spot Marjo had found the same and now we’re just lighting a fire on the side of a creek, the dogs on their beds, Marjo a wine and me sipping a New.

Now, a nice bus made (home made sounds better) pumpkin soup we are both catching up on email and such using iPads and the 1 bar of phone reception. T h a t     m a k e s     e v e r y t h i n g    g o    v e r y     s l o w . . . .

Dotti was recovering. We thought. Well tonight she still needed to get out and of course it was a clear night and 4 degrees. That was measured in the bus, so imagine the temperature outside. Since she is tough as a nail and beautiful like no one I know, Marjo got the benefit of going twice and I once. So it was only fair that I made breakfast. You know the drill by now with as only variant crisp bread (for the Dutch readers: Beschuit).
We ate that in bed as the sun was just only now defrosting the soil and our beds were still nice and warm. Nossi thought so too and settled under the top blanket between us. We imagined that the 7 hours up and down hill through 52 blind curves did Dotti’s stomach much good so we decided to stay another night. That meant work today. meanwhile it got 26 degrees and we were comfortably in shorts and a shirt.

First we needed to pay the camp fees. Second we had barely any dried firewood and third I still had to do my final expenses. No idea what that last had to do with the rest but Marjo had some good reason to bring it up.
Marjo got with Nossi for a walk and got some sticks, nice to start a fire. Then she did a bigger loop around the camping and returned with some bits of solid wood left behind by people who only camped for a night. During the day it seemed that the majority of the camping people had that idea and now only a few diehards are left. And the homeless like us.
The idea to gather the left overs from others sounded good to me and I did a tour as well. Of course I got the log that measured 40 cm thick and about 70 cm long, iron bark, weighing a ton. I got Marjo’s bike and the guy who left it to us had to see me take it. I barely got the log off the ground but managed to get it on the back of the bike. He hoped I would get on the front and fall which would have given him hysterical fun but I couldn’t give him the satisfaction and walked back, the bike guided by hand. Twice I almost dropped the log but we arrived safely back at the bus.

There the process of slicing started. Two blisters, one broken axe handle and many curses later the 70 centimeters was reduced to half and the missing half reduced to slices of wood ready for the fire. Amazing how something trivial before like pieces of wood for a fire can suddenly mean quite a bit. That evening I was proud to offer my slices of wood to the tongues of fire, while at the same time feeling sad to see it consumed. The warmth was welcome though as it was another friggin cold night.

That afternoon was a multitude of activities, Marjo and Nossi went for a walk where Nossi met with horses, Axel played guitar and is trying to pick up songs he could play before such as Hotel California (Eagles), Everybody Hurts (R.E.M) and Better be home soon (not going to happen).

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Marjo took her bike on her maiden voyage; she thought if it can take a log twice my weight, I can probably trust it.

The creek is quite a bit down a grass hill and makes nice gurgling sounds, nice to listen too, and stimulating for the waterworks. Dotti thought so to and before going to sleep for the night she decided that it was very inviting, walked down, turned into an unplanned run and plunged into the cold river water. Marjo was handy to fish her out and dried her off as good as possible. That night she had to go out 4 times which makes us wish harder and harder that she recovers soon.