I forgot my camera charger. I packed everything I could possibly need for at least a month EXCEPT my camera charger. I am in the most scenic place in the Australian countryside and I forgot my camera charger. It gets better. My camera ran out of charge after ONE photo. One photo to prove I’d been there. These days, the common saying is: ‘pics or it didn’t happen’, but isn’t there something illusory about it only happening in my memory? A transient experience fully removed from the usual digital dependences back home.
We had headed away for a remote weekend, well a bit more remote than I had envisioned. The Aussies might call this countryside but I call this wilderness. I didn’t realise the isolation of the place until google maps cut out with still 25km to go, and we pulled into a dirt track with only some handwritten instructions on how to find the place. Really forcing us into this digital detox…
It had been one of those weeks that I didn’t think existed in Australia: a week punctuated only by deadlines, emails, and outlook calendar notifications. Each morning that I logged on, the thought of a complete disconnect had hovered like a carrot, luring me to keep plodding until Friday. I shut the laptop down, writing my favourite words as a final email: ‘I am sorry – (I am NEVER sorry) – I am currently Out of Office.’ With a full car, for only 3 days, I hopped into the driver’s seat and embraced the Friday night traffic with all the other Sydneysiders escaping for the long weekend.
The roads cleared as we hit the Southern Highlands, an orange sheen bathing the tarmac in that golden hour glow. Even the most mundane things can seem romantic out here. As the roads got dustier, a blanket of stars clung to the sky and the whole scene felt rather idyllic. As romantic as this was, I was starting to regret leaving so late as the tracks became less visible and we were greeted by multiple wildlife warning signs. We pulled onto a farm track, nervously ignoring the ‘No Trespassers’ sign, and descended steeply into the Valley, once again giving our new car another off-road challenge. We crawled downhill and scanned the dimly-lit landscape for our tiny home. As we got close, a kangaroo bounded into the car’s beam, completing the true Aussie bush welcome. We watched him hop over the hill – just like a cartoon – before pulling into the makeshift driveway. With no signal, no wifi, and now hyper aware of the wildlife that surrounded us, we wrestled our things into the house and then just stopped and listened. It’s amazing how much you can hear in what you first think is silence. I fell asleep to a different world awake, feeling a sense of calm that only the country can bring.
I woke up to a fuzzy peach sun trying to burn through the mist that had settled in the valley. Birds were warming up for their daily chorus and a cloudless sky promised a hot day. I dozed in the light, aware that, for the first time in a while, I had nothing to do and nowhere to be. The morning stretched out before us, marked only by the number of coffees we had drunk. After a morning of pottering, we headed out to Mittagong to stock up on supplies. A slightly fruitless journey around the market, as pretty as it had been, led us to a trusty Woolies and a local butcher. A final stop at Artemis winery for the essentials and then back to the tiny home for 48 hours of complete isolation.
By the time we had returned, the afternoon sun burned relentlessly. Drowsy from the heat, we lounged around all afternoon snacking on cheese and wine, reading and drawing. The hours blurred with the wine and I got up on woozy legs to find some kindling ahead of dinner. We wandered through the farm trails, eager not to stray from any path as we heeded our host’s warning of snakes. Arms full, we prepared the fire and started cooking sausages. The sun slinked from the sky behind our topped-up wine glasses. We drifted off early, a day of wine, sun, and not a lot else giving us that sought after zen.
Trying to maintain this feeling of tranquillity, I crawled out of bed in the morning, convinced that 10 minutes of yoga would cancel out the multiple bottles of wine. I stepped out into a hairdryer wind, amazed at how hot it was already. Amazed, and slightly concerned. The day stretched out ahead of us, temptingly empty. As the temperature climbed, I grew slightly restless and dragged us out for a walk and a swim. I quickly realised that the threat of Australian wildlife was not quite as soothing as being ‘out in nature’ back home, and every step was accompanied by me clapping and stomping so as to make sure that every animal knew we were coming. This might have slightly defeated the purpose of a peaceful country getaway. “Stomp, stomp, stomp, clap, clap, clap”. Ah, the harmonious sounds of a Sydney-goer in the fields.
We retreated quickly back to paths as I remembered that water tended to attract the wildlife that we didn’t necessarily want to bump into. Finding a safer way down to the river, we crossed the bridge and looked at the cool water eagerly as I could feel my body radiating heat. Having located the perfect spot, we turned around to cross back to the other side when something caught my eye. I stared ahead at the bridge as I saw a brown outline slither across, not even glancing back at us. My first Australian snake. My first one in the wild. My first brown snake. The famously aggressive and venomous brown snake. Quickly abandoning any hopes of a dip, I grabbed James and pointed ahead. We waited, eyes glued to the snake as it headed into the grass. Reluctantly, I pushed on – still refusing to take my eyes off of it. When we made it back across the bridge, I swiftly marched up the hill and back to the home, having had enough of nature for now.
I spent the rest of the day pottering slightly closer to the house, eyes peeled for any branch or twig on the track that looked suspicious. We finished off the day with another caveman BBQ, still listening out for any rustling, and then collapsed into bed for a final night of wild sleep. In the morning, we relaxed more into the sounds around us, hesitant to start packing up our things. A final challenge was thrown into the mix when we started to take our things to the car and found that the entire rear windscreen had been totally shattered. The downside of our digital detox was becoming clear as we plodded across the farm to find the nearest house and borrow their wifi. After realising that no one could come to fix it – it was a public holiday, after all – we returned to the car armed with lots of cling film and tape. Praying it would hold, we crawled along the track, holding our breath on every cattle grid. Finally, hitting the motorway and anxiously awaiting the sound of shattering glass, we drove carefully home back to the safety of the city.
All in all, a much-needed respite from the constant ‘on-ness’ of the everyday and an interesting first foray into the Australian countryside. The Scottish highlands and their devilish midges seem much more PG-13 now!
Comments