By Day 3, I was starting to feel a bit gloomy. Not because the weather was bad, as it had been for the past two days, because it wasn’t. Seemingly the minute I crossed into New South Wales, the sun came out. But I was really getting into my routine of being on the road and I knew this was my last day. I loved the freedom of having a car, being able to stop for breakfast at any hipster cafe that caught my fancy or meander over to any lookout or viewing point no matter how out-of-the-way.
After all, you can’t just decide to take a 30-minute detour to a rock shaped like Australia when you’re on a bus, can you? I kinda love driving and exploring, even without an instagram husband to take good pictures of me.
After my visit to Eden and Narooma, I made it to Jervis Bay. The area around Jarvis Bay is a bit difficult to navigate; there are several towns, all of which lie at the ends of a weird maze of two-lane highways. Things may look quite close on the map, but actually require a half-hour of driving a circuitous route before you get there. My advice: pick a beach and just enjoy the weather. In late summer, Hyams Beach was still full of people but not crowded. Finding a spot for a towel was no problem, neither was asking my neighbors to watch my stuff while I went for a swim.
When I got to my motel in Sussex Inlet, it felt like the beginning of another chill night. I ate my fish and chips alone in my room while listening to Keep It! (it’s a podcast) (it makes me feel like I’m chatting with friends instead of being alone lol). I went on a walk around the neighborhood, which was pretty residential and not tourist-y looking at all. I took the photo above, which made me think about the Arcade Fire album The Suburbs. I got ready for bed and was about to go to sleep when I heard a consistent thumping.
Being on the top floor of a two-story motel, it seemed like an odd sound. The motel walls were solid brick; surely people rocking a bed next door wouldn’t carry like that?
Nope, it turned out, it was the band playing at the bar next to the parking lot. So I put on my jeans and went over for a beer.
The “band” was a very fratty-looking buff Australian hipster about my age singing and a guy he kept saying was his father playing the guitar. There was already a group of men my dad’s age, clearly on the end of their holiday, absolutely tanked. One of them asked me if I wanted a drink. I said no thanks. He bought me a shot of Sambucca which I didn’t drink because a) I said no and I am stubborn as fuck, and b) Sambucca is gross. He then took off his shirt and security had to escort him out of the bar. It was pretty funny.
I met some people closer to my age, who weren’t making it awkward by trying to buy me drinks I didn’t want. I also met the singer, who turned out to be Polish (well like not Polish-Polish he was born in Australia but his parents are Polish), thus the part where a fratty Australian told me he loved me in Polish. It was pretty silly, but perfect. Meeting perfect strangers at a bar in the middle of nowhere. The best way to end a solo sojourn. (And to ease into going on a pub crawl with a bunch of 20-year-olds in Sydney, eeeeeek.)