Friday 23^rd August 2024

It was such a relief being met at the tiny Nhulunbuy Airport on Gove peninsula by Outback Spirit Tour leader Ian, who had damaged his shoulder hefting luggage. His helper Aiden was on hand to grab my bags. At last, I did not have to think for myself! Did I want to go to the Walkabout Hotel to freshen up – or straight to a welcoming ceremony at the beach? I chose the beach. In the enormous bus, Ian treated me to a private spiel of what I’d missed. It was minimal.

What a lovely welcome. A mother, mimicked by her toddler, gave us a traditional welcome, anointing each one of us on our heads and shoulders with a soft brush of ceremonial leaves as we sat in a circle on the sand. Then a cauldron of oily leaves was produced. We were invited to feel, smell and rub them through our hands. Did any of us need healing anywhere on our bodies or minds? We responded gladly, one or two men shedding their shirts and rolling up their trousers. My mind was in sore need of rest and recuperation. The mother gathered a large handful of leaves and massaged my head for several long, restful minutes. We’d been assured that the soft soapy oil would evaporate in no time, not leaving even a trace of scent.

After the ceremony we had refreshments at a beach and were invited to take a short walk round some sacred stone groupings. It was very hot, and I hesitated before deciding that my legs really did need a bit of a stretch. Fearful of heatstroke, I didn’t dally to read the notices and missed the stones. As I approached the end, a fellow tour member in a red shirt asked me if the walk was worth doing. I hesitated. “It was okay as a means of stretching my legs.”

At the Walkabout Lodge some way out of town I had a blissful shower, washing away the anointing oil and travel grime. Afterwards, while my new roommate was under it, the shower head fell off. She achieved a swift replacement after refusing to change rooms. I concurred. We were last to arrive for dinner.

I sat next to the man wearing the red shirt. “Did you do the walk?” I asked. “No.” He tried to explain to me the difference between an excuse and a reason. I told him of course I knew. I was author of several books. He picked at his food, confessing he’d lost his appetite. We listened to each other’s stories. He was married to the daughter of a missionary and his faith was buried deep within. I told him mine had matured as I’d got older. He asked me whether I’d suffered the effects of my parents’ divorce, and I told him I was five years old then and remembered nothing. Although according to my grandfather’s diaries, I had been traumatised.

Day 2 Saturday 24^th August 2024

A long day’s drive stretched before us, beautifully managed over variable roads by Ian, who talked almost non-stop about the traditional owners of the land, mentioning a Mr and Mrs Johnson, who founded the first church there. We stopped several times for refreshments and to examine fascinating flora, rivulets and still waters topped with hyacinth. We meandered along paths between prickly self-sown undergrowth. We learned about the process of slow burning and its stages, differing on either side of the road. Eucalyptus trees of many types showed the high flood line of the previous wet season. Ian’s running commentary included gentle jokes and teasings.

A delicious cold lunch with fruit was produced from the bowels of the 4WD Mercedes coach. After lunch a soothing track of outback sounds helped us doze in the air-conditioned comfort of our vehicle while the mid-afternoon temperature rose to the mid 30’s. We turned right and bounced and twisted along an ever-narrowing track. Occasionally Ian would apply sudden brakes to negotiate a bumpy rift in the corrugations, or to twist through a dry donga.

An airstrip appeared, a red-brown patch among the trees and undergrowth. We pulled up beside a low grey building. Murwangi Safari Camp Manager and helpers greeted us with cool wet towels and welcome drinks. Permanent tented cabins faced a thicket line of bush, split by a metal jetty and glimpses of still swamp waters. We were allowed to wander anywhere except beyond the white notices warning of crocodiles. Happenings in the night would include noises, visiting water buffalo, horses and pigs. Possibly snakes and frogs.

Neither my roommate, nor I felt like wandering. We all met for pre-dinner drinks on the long veranda. I wanted red wine, not too sweet or too bitter. The young waiter suggested a Pino. It was just right. The delicious lamb shank melted in my mouth, followed by an intriguing dessert, bright green substance within a tart. I learned that it was the poo of the ubiquitous green ant, which we would hear about later.

My neighbour at the dinner table talked about her convict ancestor family who had made good and were anxious to make amends to the Aboriginals for their ill-treatment, massacres, and stolen children. We shared our stories and discovered our mutual faith. She told me her brother had adopted a Kenyan boy, son of an Archbishop in Nairobi. But no, I could not say I knew him. Most of my fellow tourists were in their early 70’s. I wondered if I was perhaps the oldest on the tour?