“This is going to be fun. Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun. Camping is fun,” Michael said sarcastically. I was running out of money and needed to find cheaper ways to live in order to preserve my rapidly evaporating Australian dollar. Setting up the tent in the sand I tried to maintain the appearance of confidence. The two man tent had barely been big enough for me when I was living out of it in Brooklyn. How was Michael’s tall ass supposed to fit in here too? Not to mention all the gear that also needed to go in with us. I started thinking about how I could use the rain fly to make a lean to shelter for myself. Obviously we weren’t both going to fit, and well, this was my half-cocked idea.

“It’s funny the things that can happen if and when you put yourself out there on the edge of uncertainty.”

8:16 am. The down comforter and queen-sized bed is making it difficult for me to start my day. I’m lying here, letting my thoughts float in the sounds of the Indian ocean and Fremantle’s lazy streets. A/C on blast. Wrapped up like a worm in a cocoon. The last three days at the campground have definitely been the best times we’ve had here in Australia so far.

The campground was like a hidden desert oasis trapped in a cultural wasteland. Located on what seemed to be the very edge of town, as far south as the free bus would go, through a less than obvious one kilometer foot path, is the coolest place we’ve been to in Australia……wait for it………the RV Park!
How do I explain that the most memorable and fun times that I’ve had so far in this great outdoor paradise was in a concrete campground next to a landfill site? How was THIS the place that I’m going to remember as the highlight of my time spent on the west coast?
It was like stumbling directly into the cool kids club. This was hands down the cheapest place to stay in all of Fremantle, difficult to get to, and the living conditions (at first glance) were primitive to say the least. Not to mention the fact that you actually had to own a tent or a camper of some to sleep there. This is where the dirtbags, cheapskates, those in the know, and hardcore road warriors stayed. The cast was as diverse as they come. Rag tag. And full of awkward vigor and priceless outback experience. This…………….was way cooler than any hostel we could ever have stayed at.
8:37 am. The inside of the tent is a stark contrast to the dark comfort of my dreams. It’s hot and the air is thick. The rolled up pair of jeans under my head feel as if they stiffened through out the night, losing all credibility as a pillow. Michael’s crunched up on the other side of the tent. All six foot four of him. Somehow he looked way more comfortable than I was. “Asshole!” We slept feet to face as men tend to do in these situations in order to prevent any accidental spooning from going on. Our gear and bags filling in any floor space that our bodies neglected to occupy. Time to pull the trigger and get this day started. Reach for the zipper. Pull with all my might. BOOOOM! The visual noise is unbearable. Fucking hot Australian sun always seems to be directly overhead. Hovering a few dozen meters from the Earth’s crust. Step out of the tent and onto my flip-flops, next to the half empty box of wine based beverage. I need some water bad.
The campground is just waking up. Dave and his girlfriend are sitting at the picnic tables checking to see if there’s any new interest in their camper van. Wet clothes dry in the sun on metal trees. The Finnish guy who I’d been having a deep conversation with the night before sat unmoved in a sun bleached folding chair, shades on, couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not. Past them, in the outdoor kitchen, a guy is pouring cereal into an unlikely container, and one of the Japanese girls has something going on the stove. I refill the four dollar bottle of water that I bought with liquid from the tap and remind myself not to lose this one. No one’s sitting in the TV room and its enclosed isolated nature seems like the perfect place to beat the heat and enjoy as little time alone. Kicked back on the couch, Southern hip-hop flowing through the headphones, I reflected on the madness that had transpired the night before, the new group of friends that we had just made, and the fist fight that happened over a single rolling paper.

The Night In Question:
Michael and I are standing in front of one of the two public grills provided at the camping area. Staring down at the sizzling links and glossy beef steaks like two hungry wolves watching a young fawn stray from the elders. Back in Asia it it had been noodle soup and pork on rice all day everyday. I would have killed for a steak back then. Now, thanks to Australia’s amazingly inexpensive beef prices we were eating steak everyday.
Dave, his girlfriend, the Finnish guy, and the German girl were sitting at the table next to the grill. They had all been here for at least six months, separately traveling across the continent, winding up here together, for this very moment. How long have you guys been here in Australia?” someone asked. “About a week.”
Then they all began discussing the routes that they had taken to get here in Fremantle and what they saw along the way. Broome, Darwin, Surfers Paradise, Turtle’s nests on the beach, Snorkling on the Great Barrier Reef, Picking Fruit in Queenland, Breaking down in the middle of the outback. Yes! This is the information that we needed. There people were cartographers helping us to map out of trip. Before listening to the stories I hadn’t been that impressed or excited about Australia. But their accounts of life on the road had stirred up my imagination once again. We continued to talk over boxes of Goon, a.k.a. crappy box wine, undoubtedly the cheapest way to get drunk in Australia and another dirtbag travel tip from the crew. The German girls’ friends had just arrived, a bunch of loud mouthed ruffians she had worked with somewhere along the way.
“Fuck these guys!”
They were aggressive, annoying, and a negative energy descended upon their arrival, threatening to destroy the family environment that we had been fostering this whole time. “Let’s move. These guys are starting to piss me off.” That’s about when the fight broke out. Something about someone not letting someone else have a rolling paper. Stupid. We put on the Doors, cranked up the laptop, and prayed that they would stay seated on what was now “Their side” of the campground. Which of course they didn’t. “You know what? These guys are ridiculous. I’m calling it a night.”

*sorry for the lack on photos and super sloppy writing. my laptop decided to stop working when I landed in Sydney. -jp