So many things are addictive about travelling. Nomads got it right. They know what it’s like to appreciate a moment in time for what it is. They don’t let these moments pass them by, they are skilled hunters, chasing down memorable encounters with strangers and foreign places. They are master appreciators of life. We nomads see giant fig trees not just as an aesthetic addition to our manscaped environment, but as places for temporary residence. We see friendly strangers not as anonymous bodies walking the streets but as potential lifelong companions. I am so used to showering in decrepit, brown tiled shower blocks, to think about showering in the same place day after day feels abnormal. I am so used to sleeping on anything that isn’t hard, that to return to the same comfortable nest every night will feel ridiculous. Above and beyond anything else, I am so used to sharing meals and stories in the homes of people to which I hold no history that to sit down with my own family and eat and laugh, will feel . . . good.
The East coast is our time to shine and in particular, the Coolangatta area. It was my stomping ground as a young kid for many years. It’s the place I learnt how to surf. It’s the place my brother and I would spend flicking basketball cards out of the windows of tall apartment buildings, clearly a long time before we knew anything about litter or recycling. My dad’s side of the family are all up here and I’d been looking forward to a family injection for a long time. Last night, John, my aunty Therezze work colleague was kind enough to put a roof over our heads and quality food in our bellies. I woke up this morning outdoors on a mat, content and happy at our situation. I’d seen my Aunty the night before, I could smell coffee in the kitchen and I had just heard someone say something about raison toast with butter. The way to my heart is through a breakfast, it’s my Achilles heel.
There are no ecstatic details when it comes to riding 30km’s with a raging tailwind. The ride is barely worth putting clothes on for, let alone shoes. Apart from the smell of toasted raison and free coffee, it was refreshing to wake up in a normal residential home that was executing a lot of the things we are advocating. John, an agriculturalist by trade, has a hanging wall of herbs and greens, his own thriving vegetable patch which eliminates his need to buy nutritionless, over priced imported groceries, and one of the most beautiful and practical macadamia trees I’ve ever seen. Now when I look at the expensive packet of macadamias at the supermarket I’ll laugh and remember sitting under the tree eating dinner and literally having nuts fall on my head. Free food, free laughs. John and his wife Marilyn, are massive on looking after our only vessel, the human body. It’s no wonder they are growing their own food in the back of their suburban Surfers Paradise home.
Riding into Palm Beach and seeing my whole family was to my frame of mind what a personal female Swedish masseuse would have been to my knotted up legs. For the first time in a long time I truly felt like we were almost home. Sitting down in a family place with familiar people was refreshing to say the least. Getting to surf Duranbah with my soon to be brother in law was also floating somewhere in that refreshing category. I can sense our nomadic lives slowly fading with every day and every familiar face and although I welcome the re-initiation into our respective zones of comfort the true weight of what we are leaving behind is slowly pressing on my thoughts. Let’s just hope nomads retain their spirit despite the clean white tiles of the consistent shower or fluffiness of the familiar pillow.
Quote of the Day
“I can’t believe everyone doesn’t do this” – Adam ‘Mr Tamborine Man’ Brissenden, commenting on John’s foolproof way of avoiding artificial, expensive produce with his own suburban food forest.
TG
tom@mypower.org.au