Day 42 - Goorrandalng Campground, Day 7

Saturday, 10 July 2021

Don’t record this, he says, shuffling his cards. I’m setting up the camera on a 10-sec timer. Johan has never been an avid card player, but he’s found some pleasure in passing the evening hours with a few games. It’s now 10 o’clock in the morning and we have the two camp chairs facing each other, the small cocktail table in between. Just barely enough space to play a few rounds of Nerts, our new favourite game. This is a first, he says, equal parts humour and embarrassment. Perhaps he thinks playing morning cards is something residents in old people’s homes do. How to fill the hours when there’s not a whole lot to do.

The day started well. An early morning walk through the canyon (our third!) taking in the day’s first glow on the east-facing escarpment and the energy boost of night-cooled air. We feel light knowing that our “sentence” is nearing its end. We can relax and enjoy the weekend without the mental strain of worry over when the borders will open. We spend an hour poring over maps planning our final ten days of travel.

By 10 o’clock the heat is back, only allows for three hands before the cards get too sticky to turn. We move our chairs into maximum shade and spend the better part of the day there. I dunk my t-shirt in water a few times to keep cool while partaking in some activities I vowed to do during this trip but haven’t quite got around to yet. Write. Read the camera manual. Which always ends in frustration; she’s a complicated beast. Eventually I put everything aside and watch clouds. Tiny ones twirling against a deep blue sky, reinventing themselves into endless images until the poof goes out of them and they gradually fade. Clouds disappear – interesting! But can you see one appear? Not so easy. A bit like searching for shooting stars – you only see them out of the corner of your eye after they first appear.

My neck hurts so I look to the ground instead. A steady stream of ants paces a line some distance away. Another set comes in and out of a hole a foot or so from my dirt-drenched bare feet. I watch single ants, their frenetic activity, scurrying about in aimless circles, then suddenly making a beeline for some distant point where I lose sight of them.

OK, time to do something else. A cup of sun-brewed iced tea. Fill the shower bag for a late afternoon rinse. Maybe type some words, then go do what normal people do – drive to the lookout point to check emails, make sure the government hasn’t changed its mind about tomorrow night’s border opening.

Such is our day of waiting.