12 Apostel & Grampians

I continue along the coast. I isolate myself, I’m in a bad mood. My laptop could be destroyed at any time. A rainforest, a short hike, waterfalls. I’m always lagging behind or creeping along, Space Night turned up all the way in my ears. Good if you don’t want to hear anything. No birds, no rustling leaves or rippling water. Above all, no people.

Next stop: The 12 Apostles, a formation of 12 large sandstone rocks just off the coast on the Great Ocean Road. Crowds of tourists and helicopters as annoying as mosquitoes. We drive on quickly, as if an official had said: “Please move on. There’s nothing to see here.”

We turn inland. Finally, Australia looks the way you imagine it. Endless expanses, steppe, no houses. A breathtaking sunset. Then a wombat beside the road. On the last 100 kilometres to Halls Gap in the Grampians National Park, first five hares (giant Australian hares) and then masses of kangaroos hop across the road. The tip from the next hostel chief was a good one; for the first time I understand why every second car in Oz has big bullbars on the front.

We receive a warm welcome at the hostel. I try to organise the right hinge for my laptop online, but even on the website of Australia’s biggest parts dealer I can’t find the right one. Long after midnight, I fall dead into a dreamless sleep.

Early in the morning I go shopping before everyone else. The prices are snotty: 18 euros for 2 litres of water, 4 pears/apples, a tin of tuna and a piece of cheese. I get a scolding for that later. In the eyes of my fellow travellers, you shouldn’t eat anything if it’s too expensive.

Stinking on the way. Silence, MP3 player. Big views, wild hills in the Grampians. Blue lakes, wide open spaces. Heat. Waterfalls, spiders, wild birds. I retreat even further. Enough is enough.

The French Mr Bean is driving again. 40km/h, 7m wide road. A car is coming the other way. He brakes to zero. Downhill the brakes glow, uphill too. Mr Bean has the sense of direction of a Canadian wild goose in a particle accelerator. We say: off to A! Then we see a sign. Left: A. Right: B. He stands in front of it, perplexed. Not at a junction. At every one.

At four, I’ve had enough. I push into the driver’s seat and heat us back to the hostel in Melbourne. At 10 o’clock we fix the torn spoiler as best we can. I clean around the crack with dust from the hoover, the girls then put dirt over it, which results in a small crowd.

Friday night. St Kilda is raging. Mo Horizons played round the corner the day before yesterday, Nouvelle Vague today. I’m quiet and completely over it. I go to bed and can’t sleep until three.