Van Morrison: Days like this

If I could take a photo of what is directly in front of me, it wouldn't do it justice.

Not one bit.
Not even for a second.

Because in front of me is the bay at Robe, South Australia. And it spans 180 degrees around me.
You can't even capture that with a panoramic setting on a camera.
I've tried.

Forgive me for momentarily sounding like a tourist write-up, but there is aqua blue water for miles and glistening sunsets and far off, faraway in the distance is some white sand wrapping the edge of this bay - forming what is known as Long Beach.

This is what just a fraction of it looks like:

We've arrived and said we would stay 1 day. It's now been 4 days already and we plan to stay another few days before making a slow ascent to Adelaide. The beautiful weather is hard to farewell and the simple, peaceful location makes it feel ridiculous to leave.

But Robe isn't all we've done in this last week.

We started this week at Port Fairy, a lovely sounding name that conjures visions of fairies and magical beachside fabulousness.
But Port Fairy insisted on being overcast.
The whole time.

We went for a walk along the beach and the foreshores shivering in the wind, but were mostly relegated to Morrie and games of yatzee to pass the hours.

Port Fairy is, I imagine, I really pretty town when the sun shining.
In fact, my mum sent me some pics of her visit there, as a sort of 'cheer me up' intention when we were there, of her sunny visit to Port Fairy. Like, the postcards - it has seen better days than these.

Also, no need to be alarmed, just FYI - the town is based on a lie.

There are no fucking fairies.

But what I did discover in the rain, at Port Fairy, is that my proximity to these nomads of grey are bringing out some sort of weird old like person in me.

I've been wearing my raincoat jacket.
Alot.

I wear instead of jumper some days.

It's grey and some sort of purple colour and it does NOT look amazing.

It does come in handy when we're in the rain, getting Van Morrison prepped for bump-out or settled for bump-in which is how I came to wearing it in the first place. I had packed it for emergencies only and it has become a regular.

It's aged me thirty years.

I guess if nothing else, it helps me fit in.

We high-tailed it outta Port Fairy, our last taste of Victoria and headed inland to Mt Gambier in South Australia.

There's a super massive Blue Lake there - it's like vibrant royal blue. And that's all.

It was also a super place for getting some supplies and eating out, but aside from the Blue Lake, not much else happening.

We did discover a stray cat in the caravan park, an Abyssinian and this little kitteh was so cute -  it was all about cuddles and clawing at my shoulder.

The cat made me miss my Kiki so very much.
So it was tres exciting to call Mandy, Ray, Bree and Monique - most fabulous cat-sitters and see little Kiki on Skype soon after!

We day-tripped out to the Coonawarra wine region - to a town called Penola.

There were fairies here, the Cabernet Sauvignon fairies and their delicious fruity treats.

What's even more fabulous about this wine region is that every cellar door is a little driveway off the main road.

Yes, the main road.

You can literally drive straight and turn off at each left in one direction and then drive straight back the other way with more left hand turn-offs.

We discovered that 2008 was a good year, went over budget with wine selections and I designated Husband Man as driver.

When we got home I was in a red wine haze. It was fabulous.
For me.

While at Penola, we told a lady of our intention to travel to Robe next. She suggested the Sea-Vu caravan park and the next day, we packed up and headed to Robe.

We were allocated a spot with a good view, but Husband Man's reversing skills were not tip top on this day (see original site in below pic under that nice tree there).
So we got into a different site, still with good view and settled in with some wine and cheese.

It wasn't long before we were chatting to our friendly neighbours and the van park filled up.

Two months ago, I wasn't interested in striking up friendships with annoying neighbours. The idea of it really seemed pointless, everyone was always moving out or moving on.

I've spent a good 10 years in Sydney avoiding small talk with the freaks that live next door, with exception of Hot Stuart, a guy that lived next door to me and my mate Gareth for a time. He was some sort of model and was always smiling and walking around without a shirt on - how was I meant to ignore that?

My general (unfounded) dislike towards neighbours has been slowly slipping away - it all started with Mal and Sue at Mallacoota. Here at Robe we've been hangin out with Linda and John from the Mornington Peninsula in a van to our left and Greg and Kath from Wonthaggi in a van to our right. We also met a couple from Ballarat.

I have socialising evidence when everyone pulled up a chair in front of Van Morrison for a chilly evening drink:

Aside from much lazing about and acting like we're on holidays we've gone on massive walks, been fishing and wandered the town.

We also went to Beachport for a day trip.
We walked to the end of the 700 metre jetty and went for a tourist drive to see the beaches.

I've been swimming in the ocean at Robe in the late afternoons - cause it's so damn pretty - much to the horror of some of the fellow caravaners parked nearby who let me know exactly what they thought.

Apparently the water here comes straight off a current from the antarctic and is the coldest in the area. But I'm still splashin about in there like a lunatic. Admittedly, it took a little while to warm up and it wasn't all that long until I realised I couldn't feel my feet.

But it was all worth it to warm myself up afterward in the afternoon sun and wait for the magic of the sunset on days like this.

So as you can see, it's not that easy to depart this little seaside town, that we've indeed got a mighty big crush on.

life in mini

After quite a few questions of late on exactly how on earth we've squeezed our life into what is essentially the size of a large lounge room rug - I thought I would shed  a bit of light on what i've been referring to as "living in mini".


Van Morrison is, on the spec sheet - 4.87 metres long and 2.13m wide. By comparison, and there's alot of that going on at caravan parks, it's pretty small. 
Not uber small - but not like the full on contraptions of the modern day vans. I don't think they even make our brand of caravan anymore. It's a Millard, and the year it was released, it was Caravan of the Year.
Now it just looks like a piece of old tin amongst all the reinfocred plastic/ metal fabulousness of the Jayco's and Coroma's.


The interior shows his age a little, but everything that is meant to work is working.

What we do have:

1. Lots of power points - so we can charge all of our gadgets, boil the kettle, make toast or blow-dry my hair.
The power also connects us to refregeration and the fridge is pretty much the only thing that is quite obviously designed for hobbits.

2. Hooked up to the gas cylinders - there's an oven, grill and 4-burner stove top. Using this to cook also heats up the van on cold nights. Win.

3. A sink and a tap. Well it's not exactly a tap, it's more of an outlet that you have to pump to bring the cold water up the pipe.

4. Storage - this is where caravans come into their own. There's lots of places to put pots, food and supplies and then if you lift up the couch seats - there's extra storage underneath. They've all got special little catch locks so they don't open when we're moving.

5. Two wardrobes and some drawers. We're not living out suitcases. 

6. A roof that pops up - so you can stand up straight (this has been tested by Doni, my tallest friend) and it also lets lots of air in the window flaps, which is good when it's hot.

7. A table that's bolted to the floor - an L-shaped couch surrounding the table.

8. A normal, comfy double bed at one end and a couch that converts into bunk beds at the other end.

9. Flyscreens and a screen-door. Essential.

10. We also have an annex - that stripey canvas contraption that you see attached to a caravan when they're parked. We've not attemped to put ours up yet, it's got a truck load of ropes and pegs and zero instructions. We'll get to that when we have a nice sunny day, some spare time and a good amount of watching grey nomads who won't be able to stop themselves in offering to help us.

What we don't have:

1.There's no microwave - and so far we've not missed it. Because we're living out of a bar sized fridge - there's not really enough room to store leftovers to reheat or additional frozen things to defrost. This of course makes grocery shopping more frequent.

2. No TV. This was an active decision we made cause we're pretty sure that we'll be technologically occupied enough with our laptop, phone, ipod dock and digital radio. If we get desperate to watch TV, we'll go to the pub.

3.We don't have a toilet or shower. This means schlepping it in the dark to amenities blocks in the middle of the night (no matter the temperature or weather) and showering in flip flops.

4. A washing machine - something I only found out yesterday exist in some caravans.

5. Air conditioning. But we do have a portable fan and heater with us to plug on in when we're desperate.

It takes us about 15 minutes to pack it up and attach is to the car for bump out and about 10 minutes to take it off the car and set it up for bump in (not including any reverse parking - that can take from 5 minutes to a half hour depending on how sadistic the caravan park owner is when they allocate you a site).

So living in mini isn't really like camping at all.

Van Morrison: The way young lovers do

By my calculations, we're at day 15.

I would like to point out that I have now driven with Van Morrison in tow... for the first week I was too afraid and left it to husband man. It's not as hard as it seems I am happy to report.

However, I promptly fled from the drivers seat when we came across our first time to reverse park the ensemble.
That is seriously where one looks the most stupid. And I can't possibly have my usually very awesome reversing skills questioned without any practising.

Husband man gets a gold star for pulling that first time reversing off unscathed and backed old Morrie in after just 3 attempts to wrangle at Mallacoota.

And Mallacoota is also our first time in really getting to know some grey nomads.

Obviously being 30 years their junior, husband man and I must look like a fascinating new species....

...Because, these peeps are watching EVERYTHING.

They were watching when we were winding up our back right metal foot into it's metal lock position before leaving Eden and as I struggled to wind it right in with my special metal stick thing.
They were watching when I called in the muscles and got husband man to use force to wind it right in and secure it.
And they were watching when the power chord snapped between the metal foot and it's lock position.
They saw the spark.

Yes. It was still plugged in.

Yes. That's power between two pieces of metal, touching metal held by husband man.

And they were watching as we cursed ourselves for not having bent down to check what the blockage was and reminded ourselves of how stupid it was to still have the power plugged in.
Add that to the ever growing checklist.

We know they were watching because one friendly chap came over to let us know - smirk on face, as we threw that chord (and fifty bucks) into the bin.

Perhaps from his lofty perch he could have wandered himself over about 2 mintues earlier to report that the chord was indeed postioned inconveniently (as seen below in shot taken day before).

No deal - it seems that we, the new species clearly must not be disturbed, but observed in order to dispense useful advice after the fact.
Thank you helpy smurf.

But that was Eden.
In Mallacoota - husband man got a thumbs up and an invitation to sit under the awning of our neighbouring nomad and swig beer for his first reverse park success.
We met a wonderful couple, Mal and Sue from Melbourne and they had all kinds of actually useful advice having done a tour of Australia. We've got a raft of tips that will no doubt come in handy.

That said, we learnt that we had however given Mal night terrors for the two nights (and probably even still now) with what he deemed as ill-preparation.

Almost everything about the way we went about our trip terrified Mal.

There was a number of concerns, the main being:
1. the fact that we bought a 30 year old caravan on a Sunday and left for our country tour two days later (best to do a short weekend away first to test things out, especially when buying vintage)
2. answered his question to how many litres we get out of the fuel tank with a response that included the fuel light going on (stop at every fuel station, best not to get below half he says)

I am pretty sure that another concern was that I was driving the vehicle.

What i've learnt so far is that blatant sexist comments are not just acceptable, but a basic human right when it comes to caravaning.

When Mal saw us pull up to our site at Mallacoota and me in the drivers seat he later told me that  he thought "uh-oh, that bloke's lost his license and so she's doing the driving".

Later that same day while was in the laundry, staking my claim on a washing machine because husband man had to go and get us some gold coins to make it work - another chap wanders in to get his washing out of a machine.
He gives me a look of disdain and says "you've got it the right way around, my wife sent me in here to do the washing - what world is this".

None of this really offends me. I'm not going to burn a bra over it.

I figure that these chaps have stepped right out of an era where subservient wife-ing was acceptable practice.
 If anything - I plan to collect these little gems and create a museum of hilarious in my head.


We farewelled Mal and Sue and fishing-man Mick after a few days and headed to Seaspray. This being part of my choosing destination by sound of the name.
It's at the start of 90 Mile Beach and as Mal had fairly accurately described it "too much sand and shit to swim".

But the sunrise was ace.

And it's here I discover 'Carnie of the week'. This guy was a most classic and high quality form of bogan.
Unfortunately, due to fear for my life, I could not attempt to happy-snap the guy for your viewing pleasure. So imagine no teeth, some sort of unkept bearded growth from his chin, cheeks, neck and a boozers incandescent glow.

He appeared to be a part of the permanent site, right next to where we had parked and some kids (presume they're related to him) were playing cricket on the grass outside.
The smallest kid is doing the most running around, he's about six years old, the others are all teenagers. 
And I hear old mate say (through his gums) "Nathan, I can see what they're doin to ya, makin ya run round like a little nigga", quickly followed by "Caaarn then, hurry up, I gotta go get another beer".

Awesome role model. Birkby, that one was for you!

Next day we go for a drive along the 90 miles of road behind the sand dune along the 90 miles of beach. We pull into an old dirt road and head through the dunes.

There's nothing and no-one for miles.

And as it turns out, it looks alright for a swim. But i've got no bathers with me.
So we go swimming in the nudes. It was quite possibly the most fun i've had since I was five years old when it was a condoned practice to get about without your togs on.


We left Seaspray and visited Melbourne for a night - staying with my Uncle Ken and cousin Madelyn, my Aunt was out of town.
We feasted and drank wine and stayed up past 9.30pm.

I took pleasure in the simple things like walking down a hallway to the bathroom in the middle of the night and showering without flip-flops on.


Then we headed on to Queenscliffe for a night. Aside from seeing some fabulous architecture to house the weekend abodes of Melbourne's elite and an awesome view of 'The Rip' that heads out into Bass straight - nothing particularly noteworthy happened there.

Next stop Anglesea.

We convinced my good friends Jamo and the Doni to come down for a weekend out of Melbourne and stay with us for Friday and Saturday night.

With the arrival of Doni, husband man now had new fishing friend and the whining fishing company that I provide was cast aside.
They got up in the 7's to try their luck and when they got back we went for a super long walk at the beach at Point Addis.

Doni was obsessed with picking up everything on the sand, expect for the dead penguins, of which there was about 7. Exhausted after lunch, Jamo and I chilled with Morrie and the boys headed off for more fishing.

Some hours later Jamo and I found ourselves on some huge bouncing floor in the childrens playground at the caravan park.

This was the most fun ever.

Except for all the crying kids that had stacked it and were littered around the edges.

Only glee for me though.

Boys bring home some fish (from the takeaway shop) and then announce that they'll be heading back out at 9.30pm, down the road to Lorne because it's a full moon (the biggest full moon in 18 years) and that means that there will be truckloads of sharks to catch.

Again, I am thankful for Doni and his fishing company for the husband man.

We send them off into the cold cold night. They fish until 2am.

Nutters.

We bid our friends farewell and head to Marengo, near Apollo Bay on the Great Ocean Road.

We went for some bushwalking and saw the oldest lighthouse in Australia in the Otway National Park. It was our first encounter with overpriced tourist payment scams. But the view was pretty good.

I was totally thrilled when able to purue my ever growing obsession with photographing wildlife. We discovered two sleepy koala's in a tree and a wallaby very nearly jumped us off a path to a beach.



And now we find ourselves at Port Fairy. Chosen specifically because I believe in fairies and I am hoping this is where they come to hang out.

It's very beautiful and it's very cold here. And I just heard some kind of warning siren without knowing what the warning is for.

My only regret this week is that we never gave Mal and Sue our contact details, so they could check in on us.

I really hope that Mal isn't losing anymore sleep worrying about this new species of caravaner he's discovered. Cause we're fine - vintage caravan and all.

fishing: a complex sport

Fishing perplexes me.

I totally get all the meditative, calm benefits of being on the water and the idea of being able to catch your own dinner. I get all that and i've even been convinced to throw out a line. I've spent an hour or so attempting to master the sea and bring in the fish.

And while I am sure I will find myself doing it again, it really is an odd thing to participate in.


Firstly, fish eat fish. You lure a fish with a fish. Or something pretending to be a fish.

That's canibalism, yes?

It's weird. 
But I figure that if they're happy to eat themselves, then there's no harm in me eating them.


Secondly, people (mostly men) can participate in this sport for hours.
Actually do one thing for hours and hours.

They're just throwing string into the sea. Or the river.

And they sit there and obsess over what they're 'feeling' on the line. It requires patience and time. It's akin to some sort of gambling addiction given the fact that people willingly throw money and hours staring at something and are spurred on by the slightest of hints towards a win.

We met a guy that had 'a couple of nibbles yesterday' and then spent all of today in the hopes of 'hooked him' rather than a nibble.
All day.
I saw his sunburnt face at 5pm.


Thirdly, if I put my pessemistic hat on (just for a moment please) in just 2 minutes I can list of all the shitty things that happen 90% of the time that someone is out fishing.

The list is:
1. Line snags on rock
2. Line snaps cause you got over-zealous with your yanking on what might have been a fish
3. Bait not secured well, falls off hook
4. Fishy too clever for dumb human, eats bait and doesn't get hooked
5. Sinker not heavy enough, waves wash line ashore
6. Current too strong, other humans too close, line gets tangled with someone else
7. Get fish in, slippery little sucker gets away
8. Get fish in, is not 'good tastin' or too small and have to throw back (surely this is torture)
9. Think you've got something awesome hooked on, find out it's seaweed
10. Wind too strong and you can't feel anything with a bow in your line

That literally took me 2 minutes to list, yet, despite this list of clearly annoying things that generally mean one has to spend eleventy-seven hours re-casting and re-tying sinkers, hooks and baits to the line - people still do it.
For fun.

Fourthly, it stinks. Nuff said.

So to recap - condoned canibalism and hours spent working against a list of annoyances for FUN that leaves you with stinky clothes.

Talk me through that three times slowly.

Seaspray: what's in a name

OK - so an acceptable way to pick anything is surely to base it on whether you like the name of it or not. It's how I would pick a horse in a race or a favourite child in an anonymous playgroup. So why not apply it to how we pick towns to visit?

And the theory is working. In the last week - we've picked out Tilba, Eden and Mallacoota.
So when I picked Seaspray - I was sure it would be a winner.

Winner it is.
We drove into this quaint little seaside village at about 4pm. And the only person we saw was a woman who was taking a cake on a plate to her neighbour.

The van park is on one side of the sand dunes and Ninety Mile beach is on the other side facing itself at south east, but more east and being ninety miles of it - there isn't a single headland or curve to stop the onshore winds.
The beach is impossible for swimming with huge troughs and rips within rips, but makes for great fishing and a great stroll.

There's beautiful trees and the whole town is completely quiet. Being the Monday of a Victorian state long weekend - the park had been packed with people until the morning. But there are literally 3 other vans here now and one person at a permanent site.
It's still.
Nothing is moving and it smells of it's namesake - seaspray.

When it's night time, I'm generally used to some sort of background noise, like cars or neighbours having a barney and various intrusive lights coming into my bedroom windows - all the more aparent since living in van morrison.

But not here.

Here there isn't a single street light. And the background noise is the ocean waves breaking which is nice and soothing.
But everything else is very still. There isn't even a dog barking.

I found this somewhat un-nerving, as the silence means that any tiny noise is totally amplified and absolutely foreign - telling my brain that the noise should not be there.

And at about 2am in the morning Seaspray is no longer a winner.
It's gone from peaceful seaside loveliness to frickin terrifying.

I wake up to some windy distrubance and what appears to be the sound of someone walking circles round the van in flip flops. I am listing really carefully and making not a single sound so that I can be hearing exactly what is going on.

Then there's a BANG.

A massive BANG to the back of Van Morrison, right next to where our bed is.
I'm thinking that if that flip-flop psycho making some sort of move and I'm gunna stay real still so they think no one is in the van.
And right on queue, husband man starts blithering and grumbling at the top of his best sleep voice 'did you hear that?'.

Yes, that's what he asked.

Not only does he blow my pretend-we're-not-here cover and alert the banging psycho outside, he asking me if I heard a really loud freekin BANG.
Surely he knows that if it woke him up - old sleep through anything man - then obviously I would be awake and would have heard a BANG. We're talking about a man that only wakes up to his alarm when I stick my finger in his rib cause it's woken me up.

So I fret about and complain about being scared and he declares it's only the wind.

Wind.
Wind?
What sort of wind bangs things like that.
Not any sort of nature type wind, only the wind behind someone's giant big machetti I would think.

I whisper to him about the flip-flop person who is now carrying a machetti.
He goes back to sleep and not only do I have to deal with the psycho in flip-flops, but also come to terms that husband man is clearly not going to get on out there and have a knife fight for me.

So I continue to lay very still and listen, the easterly wind picks up a mighty pace and shakes old Morrie around a bit. It's whistling away (pretty rude really when there's a psycho on the loose) and it's gaining moment, whipping at the sides of the van.

We get another BANG and husband man wakes again. And this time he stays awake with me for the next hour and a half cause I'm dribbling crap to him about every psycho story i've ever heard and i'm sneaking a peak out into the pitch black outside from time to time just to keep my imagination well fueled.

There are several more bangs - which husband man goes outside to investigate - turns out it's the back tin window cover moving with the wind against the back of the van.
After a while I realise that the flip-flop noise is actually the sound of Morrie's canvas pop top material crinkling against itself in the wind.
And while I realise that it's all 'wind' causing this disturbance and realise that husband man is right, I don't quite believe it for some time because my brain is still telling me that it's far too convenient a noise distraction for any would be killers. I continue making exit strategies in my head and how to quickly get to the knife drawer.

Eventually I had somehow drifted back off to sleep. And at 6am I am awake and alive. There's no noise. You could hear pins drop. 
The wind has gone and it's completely silent again. We go to the beach to try catch some fish and watch the sun come up.

I conclude that Seaspray is not for anyone with an overly active imagination based on watching far too many small town horror movies - namely Wolf Creek.

We've got one more night here and I am hoping for less easterly wind. 

too cute

I've never been one for taking happy snaps of random wildlife, or indeed birds.
But this little lorikeet pretty much let me touch it's little feathers and sat there on the tree branch outside our van at Narooma talking and posing for me for about 20mins.

Just far too cute to not get a mention really.

Van Morrison: Ordinary Life

We're at day 6 and have had lots of fun with old Morrie already.


First NRMA call-out (on day 2, some kind of record much?).
Right after leaving Mitch and Jody on the outskirts of Canberra we avoided ANY reversing of the van, so went went round the petrol station 3 times before getting the angle right to pull up at the pump. First fuel entry, no problem.


Then, about 100 metres out of the petrol station, and through a round about - Van Morrison's vintage power plug into the car short fuses the electrics in the Hilux. And we're now on the side of the Federal Highway for our first call to NRMA.


It's right about now that I am pretty sure that if there ever were people, like actually alive people, performing everyday miracles - it's the roadside assistance people. These people are surely lowering stress everywhere they go with their absurd knowledge about all things car and mechanical! Amazeballs.

So we get back on the road and book Morrie in for a little van doctor appointment the next day at Batemans Bay. Trent from Batey Bay, another mechanical superstar fixed Morrie's wiring and we set off to Narooma.

Narooma is where we got to test out Morrie's waterproofing.
Cause it rained and rained like no mans business for the whole day and night. Can't complain though, the sound of the rain on Morrie's tin roof was actually quite lovely.
But continuouse running water meant I had to schlep out through the rain half a dozen times in the night to the amenities...

Cut to 6am and this is the first time i've seen husband man awake in the 6's.
He dragged me out of bed to hike down some super steep and sharp rock headland to do a spot of fishing off the rocks. Yawn.


And while I spent a whole lot of time not loving the whole sit-in-the-rain-and-watch-a-man-throw-string-into-the-sea thing - I was totally thrilled by the pod of dolphins that swam by and the seal that was diving to get some fish of his own.
This is the first intallment in a series of husband man being outsmarted by the fishies. And no fish for dinner.

As we were about to leave Narooma, our neighbour in a tent mentioned a place called Tilba for a brief stop in. I totally recommend this increadibly cute little village - it's set in a steep valley, with rolling green hills and mountain mists and all the wooden houses are painted different colours.
If you have the means, I highly recommend a brief stop in for some country crafts and cheese tasting.

Eden.

It's the next stop and it's as good as it sounds. Spent a night, in a park wedged between a river inlet and a seriously spectacular bay/ beach. It stretched for miles with yellowy rough sand.

Drove out the Ben Boyd National Park and checked out the Pinnacles red/ white clay cliffs - straight to the beach.

Up again in the 6's and we had our 2nd encounter of husband man being outsmarted by fishies in the morning. The waves were so clear you could see the fish swimming in there.

This time it wasn't raining, so my interest in the fishing scenario lasted longer than at Narooma - but when a pod of dolphins was approaching we abandoned the rod and went for a swim with them all.

Am now certain that the best way to start the day is being the only people at the beach, swimming with dolphins. Going to be hard to beat!

acceptable caravan park behaviour: no need for pants (trousers)

First night on tour and I have discovered that it's perfectly acceptable to wear just underwear and t-shirt at caravan park.


This information finds me as i am fully dressed in pj pants in the bathroom and a mother-daughter combo sets about in 'long' t-shirts that aren't quite long enough to be a 'nightie' and leaves me wondering if they've not heard of pyjama pants.


Am figuring that the issue is not with the pants-less people, but with my city transition into the randomness that be the actually probably normal people that I'm going to find along this way.


Permission now seemingly granted for lack of pj pants like no mans business from here on in!
WIN.

Van Morrison: Caravan

We've named our caravan 'Van Morrison' (thanks for that Wally) - and so have decided to name some of the posts in honour of our travelling home - with a Van Morrison song title. As it turns out, he once wrote a song called 'Caravan' - how fitting!

So after pretting up the place a little and packing the pack out of every nook and cranny for the last few days the time has finally come to bust a move out of town.

I can hardly believe it, but we chose a Tuesday to get on the road and start our tour of Australia. The Tuesday hater in me was a little concerned about the choice of weekday, but thankfully, Tuesday was kind.
We left Orange in the mid afternoon and went as far as Yass - thought it would be best to take it slow and check that we were able to drive with the van, before going a distance.

So some 220kms later, we're having our first celebratory beer, first meal and first sleepover in Van Morrison.

Hoorah for that!

Next stop - the southern NSW coast, via Canberra to visit our fabulous friends Mitch and Jody. It's pretty much the best to be travelling and able to see friends along the way!

Here's to seeing more friends and making new ones on the road to come...

Tuesday Special: pack up and go

We've been packing. Packing the whole weekend, because in a week, we leave for our trip around Australia.
It's so exciting, even though the packing is exhausting.
There's 2 categories of packing - stuff for storage, stuff for caravan trip.

What's hardest to work out, is what to take for the 4 months. We'll be going through different seasons and in places where it's warm in the day, but cold during the night.
And even though it's technically camping, surely there is still a need for options on essentials (perhaps 4 different face moisturisers is too much?).

But the process of  packing up for storage gets me to wondering...

Why on earth do I have that many things in my bathroom cupboard?
Why do we have so many wine glasses?
How did I fill an entire vase with lip glosses and balms?
What was I planning to do with all the birthday cards I have kept from the last 5 years?
Perhaps my husband was right when he said I have a scarf for everyday that it gets cold in Sydney (all 35 of them).

I think the packing has led to some sort of self-discovery that can only mean (and all equally terrifying):

1. I buy too much stuff (surely not)
2. My sentimentality is leading me to be a hoarder (omfg)
3. I have some sort of addiction to having options

As a result I've been fairly ruthless in the op-shop handover and have worked against my usual self in deciding what to take on the trip.

Husband man and I have decided on no TV for the van - it's digital radio, ipod and the interwebs and I've got about 30 books I haven't read + some board games.

I've still got too much stuff in the 'taking with' pile (the 6 hoodies are clearly not necessary) but I can do one final cull before we actually depart.
Maybe.

Unfortunately, one thing in the 'not taking with' is our Kiki.
We thought she would be ok to travel after doing lots of research, but her vet has advised that it's best for her to stay in a more permanent home for the 4 months.

This is Kiki in packing protest:

So she'll be looked after by Husband man's lovely brother and wife + their two daughters.
I just know that she'll be thrilled about being dressed up by the girls and carted around the house in shopping bags!!
I am so thankful she'll be staying with family and that they're excited to have her.
Our nieces have already made her a special box house with streamers and a blanket - welcome to your new home Kiki!

So here's to packing and by default, a bit of spring cleaning. I reckon there's nothing quite like moving house to force a bit of life clean-out.

Here comes fun....