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Oz and Effect1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | Itinerary | Home
Kilometre: 294 The Princes Highway runs from Sydney to Melbourne, dipping and weaving through the mountain ranges hugging the coastline. On a map, the road looks like a long cord strung above a porch from which dangle a series of glowing lamps, each lamp along the way a perfect beach, a quaint town, a unique sight. We’d decided to give Jess and Grace some control over our itinerary, even though this meant two things fought daily for the number one and two ranking: the beach and ice cream. Pebbly Beach was one of our favourites. It’s been dubbed Kangaroo Beach since the marsupials are known to nibble on the abundant marram grass and hop into the water for some pouch-surfing. The day we were there, the only evidence of kangaroo was kangapoo. But the place was ours. On a kilometre-long crescent beach bookended by rocky headlands, we saw perhaps another half-dozen people. We splashed and played and beachcombed for hours, feeling as if we’d been dropped straight into one of those ads where tanned bodies gaze at cerulean waves lapping the shore. The sole difference was Grace shrieking with delight every time even the smallest ripple of a wave neared shore. “Here comes another one! Yeagghhahh!” This sequence was repeated at full seven-year-old volume approximately every eight seconds. Advertisements don’t often feature this kind of activity for some reason. Kilometre: 316 His name was Roman. One seemed enough – like Tiger, Madonna, Sting. We were in Mogo, a somewhat prettified little town full of shops and cafés and a recreated gold field. After leaving the campground at Murramarang National Park (where we’d watched kangaroos graze mere metres from the RV), we wandered into Roman’s Leather and found the eponymous tanner hard at work. A Chilean by birth, Roman plies his trade with good cheer and mostly unintelligible English. Jessica finally settled on a kangaroo leather bracelet. We got talking to Roman, and he mentioned that Nicole Kidman regularly came in to shop, explaining that her parents still lived just around the corner in Rosedale. He waved a blasé hand through the store, like Lagerfeld dismissing sycophantic compliments. He was irresistible, even to Nicole Kidman, apparently. Our stopping point that night in Merimbula, at the Merimbula Beach Holiday Park, had the enviable position of occupying the headland girding yet another perfect beach. We noticed that the surfers were wearing body suits, and our own swim the next morning became a series of dares involving instant submersion. Jessica’s journal entry read, “We started off our day with a chilling swim in the South Pacific. The water was beyond freezing. I finally dove in, screaming as I protruded from the water. After that we left and stopped for lunch in Cann River. Then I retched onto my lap.” Grace managed to paint the picture for us before we’d even pulled over. “I told you, Jess,” Grace said. “I told you, you were eating too many olives at lunch.” Kilometre: 745 At Metung, just past Lakes Entrance, we gave ourselves a night off from the RV to stay at the Moorings, where the balconies opened straight onto the dock. After getting settled, we hit Lake Victoria to do a little fishing. Out on our boat, Grace pointed at the bait and said to Cathy, “What is that you’re putting on the hooks?” “Mussels,” said Cathy. “Whose muscles?” was Grace’s entirely logical reply. We caught no fish, though Grace did snag a sea creature resembling a lobe of brain. Hauling it aboard caused the girls to recoil. “That is dis-gusting!” I tipped it back into the deep, and Grace watched her catch sink and disappear. “It’s like a brain,” said Grace. “Exactly,” said Jess, with B-movie portentousness. “The Brain of Doom.” |
