The last few weeks of my Spring time adventure in Bowen have passed in a blur of activity and hijinx. Sometimes it's better to just experience life as it happens rather than seeing it unfold from behind a camera lens or writers pen. Sometimes I'm just too lazy to write anything though. But numerous news worthy events transpired that I hope to embellish should time, mood and winds prevail.
First amongst todays top rating stories was the departure of a dropkick called Alix. He initially endeared himself to no one by deviously selling another backpacker a half empty bag of weed. Emboldened by his successful escape from paying his rent at another Bowen hostel, he then tried his luck with a similar effort at Barnacles. The extent of his underestimation was laudable as the owners rang his parents in the UK to foot the bill for his truancy. John then smacked him around with a few rain makers when he was stupid enough to show his face at the hostel again.
Considering the potential this particular night held, I can't say I blame Alix for trying to get in on the act. But after being impolitely shown which direction 'fuck off' was, only Rhett and I were lucky enough to stumble across a situation most men wouldn't even permit themselves to dream about. Rhett was basically an Indian version of myself. A stoner whose initial response to whatever the world presented was laughter. A cook whose claims of ability often got cindered by flaming hot oil staining the kitchen ceiling. A pleasant character guided by the powerful moustache that framed the ever-present stoner smile.
He was the roller for my weed as we headed to a house party to farewell another rasta child in Chrissie. Our begrudging fulfillment of obligation soon became a collective prayer of gratitude when the sweet, sonorous songs of seven sirens singing sounded out through the sultry Spring night. These nubile and bikini clad young Germans splashed around in a small blow-up rubber pool putting on a pulse quickening performance unaware of the perfection they portrayed. Rhett and I quickly sat down before we fainted and after perfunctory greetings, the girls went back to their merry making oblivious to our presence. Our silent agreement was assured as our voyeurism was being sanctioned by the absence of camouflage concealing our licentious intent.
Instead of sharing a joint and wishing fond farewells as quickly as possible, Rhett and I spent a few hours drying up our body's supply of blood and saliva. All good things must come to an end and Rhett brought that end on quicker than I hoped by smoking himself into absolute oblivion. The girls joyousness soon turned sour, as things often do in the short supply of weed, alcohol and available and attractive males. Rhett lumbered home while I floated along after bearing witness to an event that seemed somewhat empty without our active participation. Sometimes though, it's just better to watch.
Had not such a momentous event ended the day, I might have started off by saying that the day was also my last at the tomato packing shed. The end had come on much quicker than everyone had expected, but no where near as soon as everyone hoped. The yield had dropped significantly and overheads were threatening to surpass profit. Patch eight was undressed a few days previous and the green tomatoes had been sufficiently gassed to still appear green but somehow be more appropriate to transport around the country. The last day passed pretty much the same way as the whole last month had; doing absolutely bugger all. I had enough time on my hands to work out that every half an hour was made up of 5 minutes of 'work' and 25 minutes of cloud gazing. There was a full day of cleaning to be done but I concocted so many reasons for not doing it that the manager let me off by the time I had gotten to the fifth one. Shame too, because the last 8 reasons were by far the best ones.
Anyway, had I written this post closer to the actual events, I may have remembered more about the time now. But with no sports news, I may as well just pass straight on to the weather. It's fucking hot, and only getting hotter!
So the last weeks in Bowen had been more about atrophy than activity. After the first crazy month of work, leisure was the defining characteristic of my time in Bowen. Leisure and amazing friends. After farewelling Chrissie, my other cooking companion in Laura headed off to Asia taking my envy and life long friendship with her. Only my Japanese friend Kei was there to see me off on my last day. It was hardly an emotional parting as I was to be catching up with him the following day anyway. A day in Townsville visiting an old friend then Kei and I were headed to Cairns to hang out with Shane and do anything that was in no way related to tomatoes.
