Got away with not paying for where I stayed last night. Good
wasn’t it? It was in a national park and the ranger never came and collected
the money so I didn’t worry too much. Then again, it wasn’t really a caravan
park so much as a camp site with toilets (that didn’t flush properly). I would
have begrudged paying for it anyway, so I didn’t let it rest on my conscience
too much. Got up nice and early and drove out of Monmorah National Park and
back onto the Pacific Highway, then on to the Central Coast Highway and inland
towards the Hunter Valley.
The Hunter Valley (I started in the lower part) is known as
being the second oldest wine growing areas in Australia. It’s not really an
accomplishment is it... I mean... my brother is the second oldest child in my
family, but he didn’t get a medal for it... nor is he first. Anyway... There
are about 40 vineyards dotted around this park of the valley so instead of
stopping at one (I would do that in the upper Hunter Valley in a few days) I
decided to drive what I thought to be a scenic route through all of the
vineyards. The road is called Broke Road after the town that it goes through.
There is also Broke Mountain Range, Broke River, Broke Creek and Broke
Vineyard. It quickly became apparent that while the road was named after the
town, it also was broke, as in, broken. I have never seen so many potholes in
my life...
I was literally being shaken. My bum hurt after about 20
minutes on this road. It snaked up through the valley, and while it was
stunningly beautiful, I couldn’t hold the camera still long enough to get a
good picture. On this road, it also became very apparent that while you didn’t
see it, there was wildlife everywhere. I had to cross to the other side of the
road three times for dead wombats (fully grown, they’re about as big as a lion)
and I stopped counting after 14 kangaroos. I was actually shocked that no one
was cleaning them up, or at least pushing them aside... they laid in the middle
of the road, very much in the way of traffic, just dead. Rotting.
Made my way through the Valley to Branxton and then along
the New England Highway (Route 69... lol) to where I intended to spend the
night. I arrived, and lets just say, I knew immediately I wasn’t staying. The
book described it as being ‘100 metres’ from the road... It was in fact a
lay-by. It also said it had fresh running water and toilets. It had one tap
and... lord above, even talking about them makes me feel sick... long drop
toilets. Now, if you don’t know what one is, and you’re squeamish, look away
now... if you’re not a girl, or gay, read on. Long drop toilets are toilets
that do not require water to flush, because you essentially shit on the floor.
Have you ever seen that scene in Slumdog Millionaire where the little boy has
to jump through the hole to get out of the toilet? That’s a long drop. I
immediately felt like Dev Patel.
Needles to say, I took one look (I was so shocked, I stood
and starred for a good three minutes) and then practically ran back to Matilda.
I got in and locked the doors in case the poo was coming after me. I thought
I’d fast track ahead to the next site and just stay there an extra day. What I
didn’t remember was that it was 300km away. Piss flaps. No matter, I like driving.
Got there late afternoon. It was a lovely little campsite
with nice new clean showers and free wifi (even though you had to sit in the
communal lounge to use it) so I think three nights will be lovely. It also
seems I have the park to myself, which is nice.
So just a little blog for you today. It’s about 6am in
England and I’ve just realised I have nothing to eat tonight. Oh, I do... soup.
Brilliant. Au revoir!
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