I’m sitting in the back of a 30-passenger, two turboprop Embraer E120 Basilia. Steve and Clint are with me, and we’re making our way east of Darwin to Matty on Elcho Island. With Upton in my ears and the Northern Territory out my window, I’m overwhelmed with what this trip to Australia has brought to us so far.
After the stomach upsets of the first few days, we settled into what we thought was familiarity – home time. Here we were, at the café with friends – dear friends – again. It felt normal for a few days, but I should have known that normal is not in the plan yet for Steve and me. There’s still ground to take – unfamiliarity to master.
We had a plan, you see. Countless people had asked us for a plan – in more ways than one and in not so many words. Expectations aren’t always easy to live up to. And even though our plan was way more colorful than I had ever envisioned for my world, it was a plan nonetheless.
We came to Australia to see if there was a reason to come back to live. We came to pursue Steve’s music dream. It was a reconnaissance mission, to see if we were ready to come back to Australia yet, and we were so sure we knew what we were coming back for, and so sure that it was going to be something big. Now, in a matter of days, our plans have hit a wall. I suppose when other people are involved, it’s hard to grow your dreams together, especially when you’re growing them half a world away from each other. The wind was knocked out of the gut of our plans, and we returned to a place of uncertainty.
It’s fitting, I suppose, that this trip has brought me to a strange land. Arnhem Land is its given name, and even before we’ve reached the island, I am surrounded by an unfamiliar culture, in the back corner of a very small plane. I am wearing a long black skirt – initially because Matty told me it’s respectful to the culture, but after being in the heat of the top-most part of Australia, I’ve realized the benefits of its flowing openness.
From this viewpoint, I’m seeing what it’s like for a group of Aboriginal people traveling back to their home. They are happy, excited, and loud. This happiness seems to be inherent, but I’ve had a very limited experience with them. I was in the bathroom before boarding the plane, and from the men’s bathroom, I heard a loud, horrible coughing-retching-vomiting. I washed my hands as I winced through each cough, feeling terrible for the man who was, from the sounds of it, spewing up his insides. But as I finished washing and went to reach for the paper towel, I heard him leave the bathroom, laughing out some foreign words to one of his friends. It was encouraging to know he was enjoying himself, even though I began to hope I wouldn’t be sitting by him on the plane.
We’ve just landed in Maningrida for a stopover on our way to Elcho Island. It seems to be a place planted in the middle of nowhere, and as I look out the window, I’m greeted with a sight I’ve only ever seen in movies. The dirt is deep orange and this airport so small, and just by looking out the window, I can tell the air is a burning hot. This stop came at us rather alarmingly as our small aircraft twisted and jerked her way to a landing, in a movement much akin to driving a car on a rode covered in ice. It may have been the first time I’ve ever considered reaching for the vomit bag while flying . After the wheels touched down, it felt like we were fishtailing down the tarmac. We’ve dropped off about 5 people, and are about to finally head over to Elcho.
We are now 2 ½ weeks into our 2 month trip. After discovering the devastating music news 6 days after landing in Sydney, we’ve set out on a frustrating trip back to purpose. We feel homeless, but 2 days after the initial shock, we were able to drive out to Mudgee to visit Clint. It was his birthday, and the theme was Bogan Pride. So, dressed in our best flannel and Ugg boots, Steve and I packed up Katherine’s little Hyundai, picked up Jon and made our way over the mountains. After spotting Izzy’s mustard yellow ute, and making eye contact with his passenger, Phil, we decided to stop for a kebab in the mountains together. I have no words to describe the wonder of that experience. It had been a full year and a half since I ate my last one, and being away from it was only slightly less painful than being away from Steve.
We made another stop for some beverages in Lithgow, making the 3 hour trip turn into more like 4 ½ hours. But, let me tell you, Mudgee was worth it.
I walked into Clint’s house carrying a bag of clothes in one hand and Westy’s gift in the other hand. The house was full of people I had never met, and they were all dressed pretty bogan-ly. The first person to approach me was a man wearing an obviously pillow-stuffed Wallabey's Rugby jersey, the shortest green shorts know to man, a fake mullet wig under a bogan hat, and a real-life white trash mustache. I winced as I stuck my hand in his for a hearty handshake as he announced, “I’m Dennis, and I live here.” My thoughts were many and as follows:
1) Steve had better stay near me
2) Where did Steve go?
3) Are we sure this is Westy’s house?
4) Where is Westy?
5) Is that real or just a wig?
In hindsight, maybe a Bogan Pride party is not the best place to form an opinion of someone. Clint’s housemates were great, and treated us like royalty.
We eventually found Westy and raised our beers to toast his 25th. There were a lot of laughs that night, and good sleep for Steve and I since Westy gave up his bed for us.
After sleeping off the party, we drove to a few wineries and had a slow afternoon of wine tasting, Aussie rules football, and of course, a barbecue of sausages. That night, we hit up the local wine bar for some more of the local wine and some live music. In celebration of his birthday, Clint was coerced into getting up on stage for a song with the band. The performance was full of on-the-spot lyrics and famous Clint interpretive dancing. I would have to say, it may have been his finest hour. And, I got it on film.
The next morning, we visited his church and were greeted by several locals with handshakes and hugs. The service was followed by some quality time with Clint, which allowed us to share our hearts and our pain with someone who understands us more intricately than most and who always seems to be ready to pour out love to us. It eased the intensity of our hurt, and reminded us why we love it here.
After Mudgee, we spent some time in Parkes where I learned to drive a manual car – just, not on an actual rode yet. We then made our way back to Sydney to bide our time until this trip to Elcho.
We’ve landed safely and are ready to see Matty. I’ll be keeping this blog posted on our time here.
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