Tag 49: Macho Macho you can't learn, Macho Macho you must be

17.08.2016

Unfortunately, this day consists to a large extent of the one activity that determines our lives - no, not the search for Wi-Fi (although this claim would probably be equally true), I'm talking about endless, monotonous and yet somehow fitting into the mood and overall picture of Australia, driving. Our destination is the town of Noosa, which represents the northern head of the Sunshine Coast coastal section. First and foremost, I can unfortunately refute what the name promises, as it rains, albeit not permanently, but at regular intervals.

At noon, after battling through some Greek heroic sagas, we stop at a cozy day-use area, which once again accommodates a gathering of seniors. This feeds my claim that the state confiscates the homes and properties of Australians when they retire, to send them to the countryside in a campervan. Maybe this is a tourist measure, or maybe just a precautionary measure before the issue of building retirement homes and financing them could come up. I have never discovered such a thing, but endless crowds of white-haired people in equally colored Mercedes campers are definitely a common sight.

After an exquisite lunch - cold noodles from the previous day - Gudi decides, as she often does, to do her stretching program on the opposite cow pasture. I am bored, so I try to treat her like a cow, which includes feeding and milking attempts - both unsuccessful.[1]

By the way, a rather funny relationship develops between us in this confined space. On the one hand, we have discussions about emancipation (I'm sitting here in my camping chair/throne typing these lines while Gudi scrubs my laundry on the floor) and on the other hand, we are almost childishly playful when it comes to "one-upping" each other or teasing each other. For the sake of completeness, it should be mentioned that we do share the work in the car (not to mention household chores). Gudi would never be able to handle my dirty laundry if I didn't regularly and thoroughly dirty it - teamwork, after all.[2] I am responsible for preparing the morning coffee, long and nightly drives, and maintaining the fragile back of the now twenty-six-year-old - which has already led to more than one massage session too early in the morning. On the other hand, as a young man that I am, I don't mind the hard ground and the cold temperatures of our nightly sleeping place. Perhaps this is also because I sometimes use Gudi as a sleeping pad, but she doesn't object to it (maybe she's just out of breath, one doesn't know).

In the evening, we reach the town of Noosa and expect an outdated 1960s hippie hot spot. Instead, we find ourselves in the Beverly Hills of the Sunshine Coast. One beach villa follows another, restaurants adorn the promenade, and the prices are - even by Australian standards - completely unreasonable. Nevertheless, the trip is worth it, as I don't miss the opportunity to strip down in front of the assembled Australian elite and finally shower, after probably a week, directly on the promenade, at white-covered tables and only in underwear.

However, our financial conditions are reason enough to drive a bit further to reach one of the wonderful free camper destinations.

Gudi's glorious laws:

Once a week, there must be at least one shower experience - and a bath in the sea does not count as such!

I find this unfair, as there are even salt water cures for which some people pay a lot of money. According to Gudi's understanding, when I bathe my - hardly dirty - luxurious body in the sea, I must shower even more. Dear readers, maybe someone can explain it to me: Where is the logic in that?

[1] Congratulations on your boundless imagination, but no: The image that some may be envisioning is obviously not true.

[2] Man (and especially Gudi's female relatives) forgive me for these descriptions, but if you want to fulfill a prophesied expectation (headline), sometimes you have to exaggerate a bit in your digressions.