Neighbours, everybody needs good neighbours

The journey into Limmen was slow going, as we were back on minor unsealed roads. We had a quick stop at the Southern Lost City, which are some cool rock formations. These types of formations are reasonably common, and every time they are called the lost city, the only reason these are called the Southern ones, is that there are some Western ones in the park too.

Lost City: neither lost nor a city

We arrived at Butterfly Springs campground, and circled the site looking for a good spot. It was reasonably empty, so we found a shady spot and set up. We noticed that the Landcruiser had taken some damage; the CB aerial had snapped earlier on the journey and we’d also lost one of the spotlights. Corrugated roads can take a toll on a car…

Battle scarred, but hard

Around 30 minutes later, two special looking off-road caravans pulled in and one in particular really turned us green with envy. They pulled up in a site near to us, electronically extended their roof and ta da, done. It was called a Kimberley Karavan and we just stared rather creepily at them. They came over and introduced themselves, I forgot their names milliseconds after they said them, and during the conversation they asked Becky if she’d like a look. Becky reported back that it had two kitchens (outdoor and indoor), a sleeping area, TV and strangely a toilet in the open area next to the indoor kitchen. It seems that you can poop, watch tv and cook simultaneously, doesn’t sound strange to me.

There have been a number of different people, from different nations, that have annoyed us on this trip. First there was German septum ring and the Danish girl he was traveling with (I didn’t mention her, but she was still weird and annoying), then the Swedish families and their bratty children and finally the Austrian couple who were quite loud, but generally friendly and only mildly annoying.  One thing you will notice from this list is that they are all European. Next up, the Dutch decided to give it a go... Now, my father-in-law is Dutch (although he has lived in Sweden for over 40 years), and he is very dear to my heart, but Dutch is now the language I dislike the most. Sorry, Evert, but you're still my favourite father-in-law. 

It was late afternoon when they pulled into the site and, despite there being plenty of space, they chose the site five metres from us. I think this might be a European thing, countries with high population density and no idea about personal space. Becky recognised them from Hells gate, as they were travelling with a small, whingy child. He was wearing nappies, but seemed to have a reasonable vocabulary and was walking. I have no idea how old that is. I normally ask my mate Scott, who has two kids, but he’s not here so I’d guess between 1 and 10 years old. Their travelling arrangement was odd, two males and a female aged between 20-30 and the kid. It seemed like an art-house movie, about a polygamous relationship where neither man knew the true paternity of the child. Later in the film one of the men (man 1) would develop true feelings for the woman but she wouldn’t feel the same. The men, best friends since childhood would fall out and later man 2 (revealed to be the true father) would die and the woman would turn to man 1 for comfort but he’d leave her to raise the child on her own. It’s a shit movie and my only hope was that man 2 died here, in Limmen NP.

I’m not that keen on kids, but I’m not going to blame the kid in this instance. Sure, he was a whiney little turd, but that’s to be expected when your piece of shit mother drags you around Australia, on long, dusty boring drives for sights you don’t give a shit about, with her two lovers, one of which may or may not be your father (we don’t know at this point in the film). Even without the child they were louder than everyone else. Occasionally the kid would flip out and have a melt down. At first, Becky was the only one who was annoyed at their lack of consideration for others, as I’d been drinking and was sure they’d leave first thing tomorrow. We sat in front of our fire, talking loudly in a passive aggressive manner, hoping they’d realise that we were in earshot and shut the fuck up. It didn’t work. The screaming kid was put to bed reasonably early and I fell asleep thanks to Mr XXXX gold.

At 5am the next morning, we awoke to the screaming knobhead kid and the now grating sound of his mother and (maybe) father speaking to him. The magical power of XXXX had worn off and I wasn’t in a good mood at all. Becky had some earplugs, so we tried them and they were fantastic. I awoke again at 8am to silence, ah silence my old friend! As soon as I took the earplugs out, my senses were flooded with the voices of noisy pricks again. The worst part was it didn’t look like they were packing up. We went for a walk round the campsite, a) to get away from the noise and b) to decide what to do. Do we wait to see if they pack up, or should we just ask? At times like this Becky is the one who approaches people, as we have realised that no matter what tone I use, it comes across as aggressive and potentially confrontational. She has a point. Becky went over and calmly asked if they were staying another night. “Yes”, they replied, “why? Was he awake too early this morning?” Becky told them that yes he was, he was loud all the time and that we’d be moving sites. She added that in future maybe they should have some consideration for others when setting up. They seemed shocked and little apologetic, like it had never occurred to them that they could be an annoyance…

We spent the next hour moving all our gear to a site on the other side of the campground. It was sweaty hard work, but totally worth it. The rest of the day was a dream; we’d wander down to the croc-free watering hole for a dip and listen to the screeches of the cockatoos,

Becky finally gave her approval for some pics on the blog

We spent most of our time sat around our site just doing nothing and everything. Occasionally we’d hear the kid melt down and smile at our decision to move. This really is a nice place.

Swing, baby, swing

That night we had chicken satay skewers, grilled over the fire and washed down with my old friend, Mr Gold. It was a dreamy end to a dreamy day. By the time we got up the next day they had gone, and we were free. Thirty minutes later, a German couple set up in an area not specifically for camping and in our line of sight… THOSE FUCKING EUROPEANS.