Arriving in Cunnamulla at noon we’re surprised to find a bright cheery oasis of gardens and greenery. We have burgers at The Gidgee Bean Cafe and after having seen very few vans this trip we marvel at the number passing the cafe window. Hello, we don’t even think to ring the van park and book ourselves a spot. We arrive shocked to get the last two sites. No, ‘sites’ is a misnomer. We’re sharing a driveway with a large off road truck thing and on a promise for a river view site tomorrow morning.
In trying to shimmy into our site we almost wipe out the pump shed, then discover that we’ve lost a door latch somewhere on the highway. Probably wrapped around the ears of a dead roo. A cable tie will do the job until we get to the coast…or home.
Apart from our dodgy site, the Warrego Riverside Tourist Park is a lovely park in the middle of what can best be described as a desert. Most vans have large private lawns surrounded by shrubbery and herbs. Pathways are bordered with citrus, lemons, limes and cumquats and they’re dripping with fruit. Our host Judy is constantly moving hoses too keep the place alive and her efforts are paying off. It is peaceful, restful and birds abound. There is a rustic, yet modern amenities block. A camp kitchen furnished with 1950’s paraphernalia including a working wood stove. A firepit on the banks of the wide slow Warrego River is a bonus.
We have a last Happy Hour with The Prado’s in the camp kitchen (until we’re tossed out by the caterer who’s fleecing feeding the terrorists tourists) and the boys cook snags. We retreat to our little homes beside the odd couple in the 4WD off road truck bus with the staffie and the cat in a cage.
Next morning we’re woken by the odd couple, the staffie and the cat starting up their bus at some ungodly hour and letting it run.
Sadly, the Prado’s leave for the Never Never (the coast) and we prepare for the Whoop Whoop (Thanks El Prado) as we haven’t had our fill of red dirt yet. As they roll out of the park they too almost wipe out the pump shed.
We move Priscilla to her new grassy garden site and settle in. We pop into town and it’s obvious that the mail truck is due in with the papers as a group of southerners are pacing about outside the news agency. I doubt that the locals would be that anxious to read the news. On visiting the supermarket we find that it is better inside than it looks. That black paint must be for camouflage. And we find that the Discount (hardware) Barn is where one buys ice, silly us.