Baby J at Monkey Mia
Anyone that has spoken to me at any length will usually be subject to my somewhat unpopular view that all human relationships are transient. On a trip such as this however, there is no disputing that none of us are looking for permanence – the whole point of this trip is to keep moving on. That is not to say that we shouldn’t meet wonderful people and make connections…this is also surely part of the plan; this was demonstrated beautifully by meeting Syrup in Kalbarri and indeed briefly connecting with the couple at the S bend who were the very epitome of human kindness. Monkey Mia, on our perusal through bleary sleep deprived eyes, the morning after our midnight arrival, seemed a hotbed of friendly people, everyone taking time to say “good morning” and smiling happily, I guess it’s just the kind of place that lifts one’s heart. Patchouli made her usual bee-line for the camp kitchen at daybreak and as I struggled to make my eyes, legs and voice work in my best impersonation of a human, she was already making friends and influencing people.
I should probably take a moment to describe Ms Patchouli Girl’s nature. Travelling with her has been an extension to my already vast knowledge of her ability to talk to just about anyone about just about anything. My Englishness sometimes creeps in when we meet anyone together as I cringe (unwarrantably usually) at her candour and seeming abundant pleasantness. Patchouli thinks nothing of stopping the most aloof women in the street to compliment them on their “beautiful skirt/hat/smile/eyes” [delete as necessary]; beautiful men are flirted with respectfully; children are cooed and their parents complimented on their wonderful offspring….you get the picture, she makes being nice her profession. Whilst sometimes this friendliness is misconstrued, for the most part it means that her phone is packed full of hundreds of numbers of new friends and contacts, all made with the smile and forwardness of this gorgeous woman with balls of steel and the sweetest heart you could hope to imagine.
So, the first morning of our Monkey Mia experience, whilst I was rubbing the sleep from my eyes; Patchouli was learning to make Pita Bread, taught by some young Northern European girls who frequented the disgusting shack of a camp kitchen whose main attraction for me were two resident Golden Orb spiders, each the size
a golden orb spider
of a child’s hand (the females really do have lots of smaller male counterparts whom are lucky to get laid, and then in 60% of cases are eaten during or after sex…fascinating!). Anyway, food being Patchouli’s obsession passion, equal in importance to dancing, flirting and singing, being taught to make proper Pita bread (which she could then use in her delicious Gozleme) was an exciting moment for The Girl. Cooking lesson duly taught/learned, we were just about to learn a new, somewhat harder one. As Patchouli returned later that day to the kitchen, the same girls sat whispering behind their hands and laughing…Patchouli with her usual candour and realising that these people were being most unkind about her, asked what she had done to either offend or amuse them. My poor sweet friend was most bemused. My heart raced and my cheeks burned hot at the thought of the hurt that she must feel at their unwarranted snub. Lesson learned: not everyone is a sweet as they may seem. As Patchouli tried to put the glitch in the glorious day behind us, we headed to the beach.
The beach at Monkey Mia is truly spectacular, particularly on a scorching hot day such as this one.
Femme, Baby J and SunGod
Obviously a huge pull for all visitors to the area is the promise of the now famous friendly dolphins that visit the shore daily. We were under the impression that we would be too late to meet the dolphins that day, so we set about wading through the shallows, tiny fish darted around our legs as we cooled ourselves and watched the children splash and play – such confident, beautiful boys, talking to and charming everyone that they met. Soon Poetboy had set about finding “Pipis” having been shown how to grind his heel into the wet sand of the shallow ocean and find them lurking just beneath. A good looking man, renting out the pedalos and glass bottomed boats on the beach lent Poetboy and his brothers a bucket and they all set about doing the “Pipi wiggle”. It was funny to see them grinding away in their own individual styles…hips swaying from side to side in their quest for these little shelled creatures.
A crowd gathered some way away which prompted Elmo to take Baby J to investigate. A dolphin was chilling by the shore so naturally, Baby J stood next to him and stroked his fin…something that he vehemently denies doing as though it was wrong to treat this magnificent wild animal as a pet…his mother’s eco-neurosis showing through perhaps. It was a tick in the box for the parent in me however – who doesn’t travel to Monkey Mia without promising the kids Dolphin action?!
Patchouli had meanwhile struck up conversation with Good Looking Boat Man, who was from that conversation onward, affectionately nicknamed Old School for his groovy shirt and hat and inability to throw a young couple’s newfangled throwing toy with any great panache!
Later, with promises to meet Old School for some beers at our camp after the children were asleep, we left the beach, scorching our feet on the sand as we went. Patchouli had sniffed out a fantastic alternative camp kitchen (there’s a nod to that obsession again) and I set about cooking dinner. Suddenly an english voice that I recognised, chimed behind me. My heart fell into my stomach as I turned to see one of the only people I have ever had any kind of disagreement with in my adult life…all the way up here in Monkey Mia. Shit! What the hell was he doing here?
“Hello” my voice said without my permission. “uh, hi” his articulate response. “you don’t remember me do you?”. He looked me up and down. “nah”. I told him how we had met previously (a funny story actually, that happens to be recorded on CCTV footage from a music venue in Perth and retold by the security guys as the best put down from a woman to a sleezebag that they’ve ever seen…but that tale’s for another time). Recognition flew across his face and he turned away. Later I saw him with the unkind Northern Europeans…good luck to them all I say.
On the nice side of town (our site) an hour later, I was finishing a beer whilst Patchouli lovingly washed coconut oil out of my eye for me that I had inadvertently administered in a clever move a few moments before. All things considered, I gave up on the evening and headed to my bunk in the Funbus and slept like a baby – a real baby; that is that I woke every two hours as it was so hot.
Delirious from two nights of lousy sleep the next morning,Monkey Mia still held her magic and as I slid down from the FunBus onto the white sand below, I couldn’t help but smile. A huge, ridiculous, cat that got the cream, pig in shit, stupid smile that stretched every muscle in my face. Waking up in Monkey Mia is a tonic for any malaise. It took me a moment of self absorbed contentment to remember that Patchouli had lifted the children from the window of the bus some minutes before and taken them to (yup, you guessed it) the kitchen for some breakfast. Off I ran for some tea and porridge like a good little grinning maniac.
Later that day Old School decided that we were to do some proper sightseeing and took us to the hot
Old School, Poetboy, SunGod and Logan
springs where some of the boys and Patchouli spent time spraying each other with a hose whilst Old School spent time playing Frisbee with the remainder of our crew, turning out to be, unsurprisingly quite the decent shot with an old school Frisbee.
At a barbecue on the foreshore at Denham, we watched Poetboy having time away out in the ocean on a pontoon, jumping into the ocean with some locals, amongst which were Old School’s beautiful children. This wrapped up a day that could quite reservedly be described as perfect. After saying goodbye to our new friends, we trailed back to Monkey Mia after dark, taking care to avoid our
Pontoon at Denham
old friends the “clever kangaroos”. With no casualties to report, we sat up half of the night talking – after all, we’d barely slept at Monkey Mia, what was the point of starting now?
more please!!!