Day 78 | Ningaloo Beach Resort: just, sort of, hanging out really

rest day

Might be the isolation, might be the extra $5 a night but The Resort has a hugely different clientele from the other standard, ie, grotty, backpackers I’ve frequented in WA.

Nary a tattoo exposed.

Cleaned. Even cleaned properly, by Germans.

No TV, it’s all about social interaction and for the most part, once initial fears are overcome, that system works.

Much of the discussion is of the usual type: young overseas travellers heading north extolling the virtues of areas of Paradise they have ticked off, those on the alternative migration expressing their impressions, or lamenting missing some feature. In their excitement, or due to scheduling, they’ve driven straight past some highlight, oblivious.

Australia has that basic problem that the country is just too big, the prospects of any destination are unknown, you are reliant on word of mouth, you can spend too much time in one place, say Carnarvon, (where I surrendered to my body’s demands but would not have tarried so long otherwise), and then regret moving on too quickly from others, like the sublime Coral Bay. I’m not making that mistake, I’ve signed in for another night, a poor excuse being I’m not keen to arrive in Exmouth on a Sunday.

The leggy Swiss twins set the mood here, wandering around in their bikinis, blonde, newly acquired tan, taut, terrific bodies, unselfconscious as only a 19 year old can be. Conversation? Well, who cares.

I run into Jan, also from Switzerland, who I encountered back in Carnarvon before he leapfrogged me on the overnight bus. He’s had two nights already and leaves at 1 15am on the 17 hour Greyhound trip to Broome.

Sam, the female of the species, is from Hong Kong but is refraining from further exposure to the sun, she rather immodestly shows me her sunburn and we agree that a cool dark room is the appropriate medication. She’s been here a week, also cleaning 2 hours a day to avoid accommodation expenses, gunna stick around another week.

I’d be happy to do that, socialisation is good, but it’s just a bit pricey and there’s my free board in my own premises.

Tom, a Liverpudlian, is excited he had a place on a full day nature cruise, well, 6 hours is enough direct sunshine for anyone for the day, they are intensely patronised, $175, now I don’t mind I spent $70 on my flipper set. Jan, a Frenchy, also took one, highlights seeing/swimming with a large manta ray, only topped by the tour guide suggesting they jumped in with a 2m reef shark, seriously, he reckons the rush was about as good as it gets, nothing like pure adrenaline to raise the heartbeat rate.

Me? Unconvinced that’s my kind of fun. I guess I’ll deal with any random encounter if it eventuates.

Gary, an Irish lad, had two weeks work on the Exmouth prawn trawlers, found the 5am start beyond him, well that and the 36 hour day. He can’t wait to pay his $220 for the Greyhound to Perth, leaves 12 45am, ie, the middle of the night, and looks unconvinced about the alleged merits of the Indian Ocean, perhaps I’m a poor spruiker, on the other hand he probably never learnt to swim.

They do say youth is wasted on the young, or something. Sometimes people can’t see what’s right there, obvious, because vision is blurred by something, looming in the future, or the past, somewhere else.

In a week or so I’ll say farewell to this astonishing ocean, maybe forever, with 3500km of grind everyday, mostly dirt road, with beauty of another kind, mostly solitary.

I’m in a different space, the here and now. Appreciating my lot.

It might get better than this, somewhere, someday, but other than love I can’t imagine how.