Getting in touch with ones inner self is not always easy, getting The Husband to find his inner peace whilst surrounded by crystals and healing aromas is definitely more of a challenge than getting him to set up a folding chair (see previous post).

We started the morning with the promise of a 9.00am start having met up with the Wandering West Australians yesterday, never ones to hurry for any outing because they remain on Clarkie time (a slow moving minute by minute time lapse that only those who have been retired for years seem to be able to achieve) we left at 10.15. Off into the wilds of Northern NSW where the locals sport wrinkled hemp clothing, dreadlocks, 70’s overalls and a calm glazed look in their eye..welcome to Mullumbimbi. We trek in search of inner peace.

We arrive at the “Crystal Palace”..we pay because inner tranquility is not free. The tropical gardens look beautiful, The Husband loves a good garden and looks set to enjoy the experience. We come upon the Buddhist scrolls of peace, you turn them once to three times until you have either chanted the Buddhist prayer or your own, sending the prayers out into the universe…Mrs Clarkie and I commence on our journey around the symbols…we are determined to be enlightened. Husband 1 & 2 march blindly past, no girlie chanting, prayer saying reflective moment for them. They push ahead pausing for but a moment to admire a tall gumtree….we are surrounded by incredible rainforest beauty and they pause for a gumtree. We walk on, strolling behind the men to take in the serenity of it all…..it must be said that the serenity was slightly pierced by the fact that every few feet your saw the signs that stated ” we share our gardens with everyone” please be vigilant or you may step on a very long, scary, poisonous snake or words to that effect. Towards the end of our tough 1km hike, nature calls, I go in search of the amenities, I spy a bamboo fence , no signs but figure they don’t wish to ruin the karma with a big sign that says toilet, and there they are, one of the things I hate most …the porta loo, the drop dunny, the thunder box, all terms for a toilet that no girl in heels wants to experience (ok I wasn’t wearing heels but little leather flats), I venture in, oh the smell. I pump to flush, this is seriously too much, especially since I was trying to juggle a handbag, a camera, a camera bag and a mobile phone. Having completed my visit, I’m proud of myself, job done, I’ve roughed it, kept it natural with all my bodily functions returning to nature, off to find The Husband.

I find them all a path and a few palm trees away, oh look it’s a cafe and shop, signage everywhere….cafe this way….aura readings that way…..meaningful scrolls off to the left…TOILET…oh god I had just subjected myself to an outhouse that had probably seen more greenie defecation and no disinfectant since the 80’s. I resolve to shower when I get home. We purchase two meaningful scrolls, tour the incense and insanely expensive crystal room, have a Chai latte and head back to civilisation.

At this point we find a pub, not just any pub but Middle Pub. Obviously creatively named as it is in the middle of the 2 other pubs in town. We settle the Husbands in, feed them and provide them with liquid happiness and a window to “perve at the Sheila’s” while Mrs Clarkie and I shop. I have an epiphany, the path to peace and happiness is not always a healing crystal, a meditative moment or and assortment of incense, I find myself strolling the streets of this country town with as much vigour as if I was pursuing the perfect pair of heels, and I realise… it’s shopping that provides me with inner peace, a gorgeous fitted bamboo dress, shirt and jacket later I’m feeling about as enlightened as a girl can. As for the men, give them a beer, a pub, a laugh and a good set of tits to look at and enlightenment is theirs.

Leaving Sydney for our first big adventure, a whole month away, we are loaded and packed heading into the great beyond. Well maybe not the great beyond, that would mean real camping and I don’t know if I’m ready for the total withdrawal of 240 volts. Off we go, only to be stalled in the ever annoying Sydney traffic before we hit the highway leading to glamper freedom. Two pair of heels this time just in case, stowed away so that if we actually venture into a real city I can at least feel slightly less bogan.

Two hours into our journey we stop having decided that our mobile kitchen on wheels could supply us with a hot cuppa and breakfast. No McDonalds for us, we are nomads surviving on our own, well surviving maybe a little exaggerated. The cubby house on wheels does come with a full size fridge and a kitchen complete with oven, microwave, Air fryer and a Webber but since I am not really what you would call a cooking guru and we only have a kitchen at home because it came with the house, I’m sure I can conger up something. The husband settling for sugar filled, heart clogging cereal and I a pre boiled egg so that I don’t come back looking like a sumo wrestler, hence no bacon and egg muffin for me. Out comes the jug, we plug her in and…nothing. Why is it not working, luckily my brother rings at this time, there must be a switch, we look for the switch, no switch. A jug requires 240 volts of electricity, so unless you are going to drag out a generator, which we don’t have as we haven’t graduated to heavy duty camping supplies yet, then boiling the jug is not happening, we fail the first stop.

Off we head to our first destination on our journey, Port Macquarie NSW. We arrive, proud of ourselves at parking it and setting up on our own (previously having had the Wandering West Australians as our caravan hands). It’s the husbands birthday and the lack of champagne is noted and leads us on a trip to Dan Murphys (a place where alcohol can be purchased). This is an important part of the Glamping experience as its is needed to calm nerves to reduce the incidence of killing each other due to long term confinement together. We spy an Irish Pub and settle in with a G & T and a Kilkenny followed by a couple of tequila shots in celebration of The Husband turning 55, the ambient sounds of traffic roaring past the outdoor area did not deter us.

Later we celebrate with amazing seafood, great wine and a couple of expresso martini’s, which can all be justified as we walked the 400 mtrs to the restaurant and back. We go to bed putting on the aircon as it was a chilly night, problem being it was on cold. We woke up shivering only to realise we had both suddenly grown taller overnight, feet hanging over the end of the bed. Dam, in all our set up duties I had forgotten to pull out the bed, we resolved to stay in the foetal position for the rest of the night. At about this time having turned off the testicle freezing aircon I note the the hot water service is not turned on. How am I too shower in the morning, “oh dear says The Husband, I forgot to flick that switch, blah blah, gas bottle blah blah.” Well go and do it now, it’s only raining a little bit, it’s 2 in the morning by the way, but hey we will have hot water in the morning. “You can just shower in the public showers”, OMG that’s going a little far isn’t it, the reason we bought the glamper van is so public showering could be avoided. He won’t budge from from the bed to venture into the night and gallantly find the switch. Lesson of the day, there are switches that must be turned on and there are switches you wish you had, quite possibly do, but won’t find out about until you are further along than day 1.

We arrive in what could only be described as a picture perfect destination. Forster NSW, Reflections Caravan Park to meet up with the travelling West Australians, The Clark’s. A little history about our friends…having embarked on the “lets see a heap of Australia trip” they left WA travelling across the Nullarbor Plains stopping along the way to sightsee, visit us in Sydney for a short time and move on…. 6 weeks on they had gone no further than a quick weekend in the Blue Mountains and a drunken week in the Hunter Valley preferring to potter around in ” Clarky time” at our home lovingly known as Greens Acre. That’s as far as they made it before flying home to WA for various family gatherings, leaving the caravan parked at the home of our friends who now seem to have become a caravan parking station for all of us.

They return to stay and begin their trek again. This time we are supposed to join them but due to the billabong/bloody big pool being built in our back yard we are being held hostage by various tradies who never turn up when you want them to. The West Australians head off again with a promise from us to meet them along the way so we can commence our first extended sojourn into Glamping. They make it as far as Port Macquarie. This trip has taken 2 stops and 2 weeks but that’s Clark time. We decide to do a test run trip choosing Forster as our First destination…..The West Australians only an hour away turn back….we meet again.

What can I say about meeting great friends who have come back to assist with your first set up…. It was awesome to set up your chairs….oh wait the husband forgot to pack the new chairs…this requires husband 1 & 2 to run off to Bunnings…a fantastic place where males and females alike get over excited by gardening implements and tools…unless you are my husband who cannot see the joy in strolling the aisles looking for things he will never need which frustrates husband number 2 no end. They arrive back with chairs and hose connections which somehow we seem to have misplaced but will require another Bunnings excursion at a later date.

Chairs set up, wine poured, cheese being shared, the West Australians introduce us to the Northern Beaches nomads, husband 3 laughing at husband one as tent pegs to secure the awning are unpacked in a shinning new bag complete with tags. Husband 3 recommends that husband one rub the bag in the dirt so he doesn’t look like such a dick. The ritual of greeting each other continues with more wine beer and general tips on how not to look like a complete idiot so people don’t know you are a newbie.

The sensible Northern Beaches nomads retire but not us. We all settle for Asian Fusion and a walk in sub zero temperatures to get there. The restaurant is packed, the cocktails are flowing, pink ones, salt encrusted green ones, brown ones followed by the ” I think I will have another one to go” one. Somehow the wines and beer in between seem quite sensible to have with dinner. Lots of thirty somethings wearing floral (is that back in) we comment on their behaviour and continue to have more green ones. Oh look, when did everyone leave and take the loud 30 somethings with them, the bands gone as well, oh well, one for the road. We head back to the warmth of our air conditioning in the cubby house and decide champagne is a great idea.

Now let me tell you, the 30 something’s may have had no dress sense, poor shoe choices but I’m sure that when they woke up in the morning they didn’t look and feel like 50 year olds trapped in an 80 year old body. We always make the mistake of jumping out of the gate full steam ahead forgetting our slow recovery time (we’ve done this before). We resolve to learn from our mistake and never drink again……..done in, day one.

When glamping it pays to select the best mode of transport. Having never shed my heels to foray into this unknown world where older glampers don’t wear heels and have their slippers and dressing gowns on by 5pm, I cannot say I am an expert, in fact far from it. It looked pretty, could connect up to Foxtel and had bathroom so that midnight squatting would not be something I would be forced to tackle, so we bought it. Ok, so The Husband ran around the Caravan and Camping show looking knowledgeable but that was far from the truth…our friends had one so we got one.

So we commence our inaugural trip, this is the test trip, the trip after you hastily go to the caravan and camping show and go “ wow, a bathroom, a washing machine and 2 TVs complete with satellite”.  Who knew camping could be so luxurious. Off you go to the checkout. You are officially campers, grey nomads, although the only grey I relate to is a fantastic pair of grey sling back pumps I have in the never ending shoe cupboard.

The husband, recently retired, mid fifties, me, still working because that whole relinquishing your independence thing is a process I have yet to commit to.

We start, off we go to pick the cubby house on wheels up from a friends ( we are currently laying the slab to rest our new travelling abode on). The husband has been rushing me out the door since we woke up, I tell him to stress less, practice relaxing, this is a technique he is yet to learn upon exiting for our 4 day sojourn.

We pack her up, stack the groceries, store things away, secure the wine which has been purchased for the moments when killing each other is on the cards or when the amazing sunsets we hope to see can only be complimented by wine or the perfect bottle of bubbles.

We are ready, here we go….the husband…  “this camera for the back of the caravan won’t work. Get me a knife..I can fix it” he says. Trying to straighten the delicate prongs that connect into the other half of the prong thingy with a knife and no glasses because when I asked had he packed his glasses prior to leaving he stated he was to busy to worry about trivial things like that…. “I can’t see” (ha I wonder why). I offer to hold the phone light and suggest a pair of tweezers may be better…the husband…  “we can’t go if I can’t see behind the van”. Fine I say I will unpack in that controlled kind of way that irritates him no end. “No just hold the light” several repeated attempts and we are still blind from the back and contemplating a weekend spent under my friends carport. The husband states that we will need an auto electrician…seriously. We seek to find one along the way. We are off.

One minute down the road I realise we have not taken the inaurgural selfie. I sulkily mention this, he calmly offers to stop to take the photo. No I say…continuing to be angry that the perfect start deteriorated into making us late. Late when he was pushing me out the door and I’m telling him to chill. Late because we were meeting the travelling West Australians in Forster…our first trip destination.

We are off, a sneaky pair of heels packed in the cupboards of the travelling cubby house because a girl can only rough it to a point.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton