A couple of weeks ago I set out on a little road trip – my first ever holiday alone. The traveller in me won’t lie down. It took a couple of intense days preparing to go – mainly spent making sure everything in my extensive garden was well watered to cope with the expected warm weather. As I put the last of my luggage into the car I spotted the forlorn look on my kelpie Daisy’s face. She knows about this packing up to go away thing, from when Warren and I used to do it. I had a little word with her, trying to assure her that I’d be back soon. It would only be five days. I told her who’d be taking care of her – someone she knew well and liked, but her chin was on the ground as I drove away.
I was headed for Yorke Peninsula. After the first half hour of running things through my head like – what have I forgotten, did I pay the electricity bill, have I got my charger, (I think I’m a little OCD!) I realised I was feeling a little sad, and scared. I had always been the passenger, the navigator. This time my well being was completely up to me. I had organised my Google Maps before I left – for security, but I had pretty much worked out my route and didn’t really need help at this stage. But mixed with my feelings of loneliness were some of exhilarating freedom. I began looking right, looking left, taking in the landscape, seeing it with my unique way of seeing things.
I reached Port Vincent where I had booked in to the Port Vincent Apartments, parked the car and carried my luggage upstairs, appreciating as I climbed, Warren’s past heavy lifting in every way. The room was lovely – modern, clean, comfortable. I made it mine with my things spread about, bedside lights on, TV for human voices. Laid back on the bed and succumbed to loneliness despite efforts not to.
The pub was two hundred metres down the street, on the foreshore. I freshened up and walked there for dinner, enjoying the light breeze lifting my hair, the sound of seagulls, the smell of the sea. I asked for a table for one and after I’d ordered, like everyone else, got out my phone to check and reply to texts and emails. Caring friends and family were in touch. Then I put the phone away and, sipping my cold, crisp Riesling, watched the theatrics of the sea and its people.
The Butterfish I’d ordered was the best I’d ever tasted – fresh, sweet, succulent. I didn’t want to put anything else in my mouth.
I’m alive, I thought. I’m fit, healthy, I can do this, I have eyes to see, a soul to feel, and that lifelong desire to see and experience more.
Next morning, in lieu of my usual swim in a heated pool, I went for a brisk walk around town and along the shore a bit further out. I’ve lost the knack of attaching photos to my blogs but the ones I took can be seen on my Insta and FB pages.
Minlaton was my next destination. Here I’d be staying with an old school friend Sue and her husband Neil – an extremely talented couple. Sue is a painter and Neil a published writer – renowned for his years of letters to the editor of The Advertiser. Neil was a bank manager for many years and had been frequently moved from region to region. This had given them an adventurous life of establishing new friendships and homes. Sue was a teacher. They have retired now in Minlaton, the last town they worked in. In their beautiful character filled home that they themselves converted from an old hall, they now spend their days pottering in their extensive cottage and vegie gardens, painting, writing, playing golf and volunteering. They have both read my book and have a friend who has also. Wayne is a retired farmer and wanted to meet me to tell me how much he’d enjoyed my story. So my hosts had organised a dinner party for that night. Guests were Wayne and his wife Lyn, and another lovely couple Peter and Robyn. Peter is a doctor and has spent much of his life working in remote Outback communities. The sumptuous meal was accompanied of course by some great wines. Farming and Outback stories were rife and got funnier as the night went on.
Next day I made my way slowly up to Moonta. I’d heard about a magnificent beach a little south of Port Victoria. Despite quite a few kilometres of dirt road and then finally a sandy track, I made it to Waraultee Beach. It wasn’t until I’d walked up and over the dunes that I saw the sea. A pristine white beach as far as the eye could see just took my breath away. The tide was out but the water shimmered in blocks of blue – dazzling aqua from the shore, then dark midnight blue to the horizon. There were a handful of campers in the dunes but I had the beach pretty much to myself. With the tide out, the water wasn’t deep enough for a swim but I walked the shallows for a kilometre or two, head down in appreciation of the gifts the sea had washed up – shells, diverse seaweeds, corals. I smiled, closed my eyes and breathed deeply as I tend to do when my soul is singing.
I spent two days in and around Moonta. Last minute accommodation had been hard to find so I ended up in a cabin near the sea. Nothing flash but I have camped in some very basic situations so I’m not hard to please.
My mindset driving home was very different from when I’d set out. I felt confident, strong and what’s more, excited about my prospects for future adventures. I just had to break the ice. I think there’s been enough of my banging on about being alone. We all have to find ourselves, discover our strengths as individuals. I’m pleased with my progress.
I have been compiling my decades’ worth of poetry. I found one the other day that I wrote in the late seventies. It just amazed me. I stood, putting each page slowly aside as I read. Its language and imagery are rich. Just one of those few things you achieve in life where you can say to yourself – “Well done.’ Just a poem – a small thing, but it makes you say hah!
I know many of you aren’t into poetry so I will put it up as a separate blog as its quite long.
Till next time,
Find out what makes your soul sing in this crazy world.
Warmly,
Sue