Friday, April 03, 2009


For the next week I'm throwing off the shackles of the workaday world and going on a roadtrip. I'll be traveling over two and a half thousand kilometres from Perth to Broome, visiting local points of interest and camping out under the stars each night.

You may be wondering why I'm doing this. I am after all a creature of the city, enamored with fancy coffee, impractical sports cars and designer furniture. Indeed there has been an element of thinly-veiled astonishment in some of the reactions to my participation in this jaunt. It seems that I am not considered hard core enough to do the camping thing. Take this conversation from earlier in the week:

Other Roadtripper: You have to take your own water into some of the places we'll be going. You'll need to buy some bottles and fill them.

Me: No need. I just bought a week's supply of Italian mineral water the other day.

Other Roadtripper: (expression of equal parts amusement and scorn that can't really be translated into words).

Well pish posh, I say. It's a week of camping, not tunneling out of Dachau. I should be able to handle it.

True, things have not transpired exactly according to plan in the preparations. I was supposed to be traveling in a luxury airconditioned 4x4, but unfortunately this vehicle was involved in a car crash just a few days ago and is thus out of the picture. The trip can still go ahead, since an emergency surrogate 4x4 has been sourced, but it's an ancient model that's about as luxurious as a dead cat. This is just the most extreme example of some minor problems which are convincing me that this roadtrip will not quite fit with my original mental image of “camping”. I was thinking martinis by moonlight. The reality seems more likely to be Royal Crown cola by burning midday sun.

I am filled with trepidation, but resolute. If I am indeed forced to drink inferior beverages, I just won't tell you lot about it. Problem solved.


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