Thursday, April 12, 2012
Part of the problem has been the sciatica that followed me home from the bush. Yes, camping is very good for you from a bushwalking/swimming/fresh air perspective. Not so good from a 'compressed nerve from sleeping on an air mattress' perspective. I've found it difficult to sit and... well, do anything frankly. I wrote a feature story under the influence of pain medication the other day - and can't remember a single thing about it. I can only hope I got my sentences in the right order.
I must also confess that I enjoyed switching off. There was no mobile reception where we went (which made finding the place a challenge of old-fashioned proportions). I didn't really miss it. Well, maybe the nightly Words With Friends ritual I seem to have established. But that was all. There is so much white noise in our lives these days - tweeting, updating, emailing. Take it away and there's just talking, thinking... or silence. It's not a bad way to live.
We immersed ourselves in the grey-green of the bush. Surrounded by the ghostly white trunks of gums. A slip and slide down a steep bank to the river, where the water was fresh and shone golden in the sunlight. A lovely place to wash off the film of dirt that had us all spray-tanned dark brown. The days were bright and warm. The nights were clear and cold. The campfire was a hungry beast, stoked day and night, wafting us all in the aroma of Eau de Smoke. With top notes of bacon.
Would I go camping again? Yes, I would. Assuming I could take a queen-size pillow-top mattress with me. I'll need to go back anyway - it seems I left my blogging mojo somewhere under a tree.