Friday. Janette & I intended to leave Saturday for a couple of weeks camping in her brother's camper trailer. The intention was to head west towards Moree, enjoy the artesian spas there for a couple of days and then to head north and see where we ended up. Note "the intention". In the middle of packing the car I recieved a telephone call from Southern Cross University. "Great news, your practicum has been approved. It starts next week." Gulp. A little horse trading and the start was pushed out until Tuesday. "Let's just do Moree". Agreed. "Let's leave now instead of Saturday". Agreed.
So off we set after a quick lunch. We discussed along the way the merits of trying make Moree that day - at least 6 hours; or just Glen Innes - around 4 hours; or just Jackadgery - around 3 hours. We decided the latter, and duly arrived at what can only be described as a pretty basic caravan camp ground in an idyllic setting on the banks of the Mann River, in the middle of nowhere. Did I mention it became very cold as soon as the sun set? Did I mention that we discovered we had brought a lightweight single bed doona instead of the larger heavy duty variety? Just on dark, along came big Mick. With tattoos, a face that showed its various knocks, and a voice like gravel, he assured us of our welcome and that if we needed anything we merely had to ask. So with baited breath I asked if he knew where we could borrow a decent doona. Without hesitation he immediately said "I'll bring one in a moment". In a few minutes he returned with a large, very warm doona and invited us to the campfire after dinner. We showed up at the campfire, we were introduced to other guests, and enjoyed a rollicking nights comaraderie followed by a warm night of sleep.
Saturday saw us return the doona, travel to Moree, where we purchased our own version of Mick's warm doona, and settle into site 42 at the caravan park. We enjoyed a nice lunch, and an exploratory trip into town. While sitting with a warming cuppa, there suddenly appeared two caravans with puzzled occupants. "sorry, they said, but we are on site 42". As we investigated, we discovered we were on the wrong site 42. Despite dropping some hints that we were all set up, and it might be convenient if we could just swap sites, the caravanners were insistent that they had right of occupancy on this particular site 42. We quickly packed up the camper trailer and moved to the other site 42.
There are a number of questions about this. One is about how a caravan park can have more than one site with the same number. I'll leave that for my feedback form. Another is how we managed to get lost on a caravan park. I'll work on that later.
What struck me most was how different the two experiences were. The first was one where someone did what they didn't have to do to assist us. The second was one where someone didn't do what he could have done to avoid unnecessary inconvenience for a fellow traveller. The first chap looked like he belonged to the Hells Angels. The second looked like a retired school teacher. It has been another lesson in not judging a book by its cover. I know whose campfire I'd prefer to share. May I be a little more like my new mate Mick.
