Sleeping in a car is not too comfy. It was surprisingly cold and windy, but a breakfast of leftover kangaroo, eggs and potato brightened our spirits.
Our drive took us past kilometers and kilometers of dry farmland, hay bales, herds of cows, timber farms and flatness. The towns were extremely spread out and consisted of a mechanic, an IGA, and a dilapidated gas station (if you’re lucky).
Meningie was the first town of any remarkable size and boasted a massive green body of water called Lake Albert. Apparently it was a huge fresh water source for early pioneers and their cattle. The lake didn’t do much to break up the monotonous landscape because it was also endless and unchanging.
Kingston SE, our next stop, was just as lonely with one closed restaurant, a giant lobster sculpture from the ’70s, a lighthouse, and a very windy beach. We zipped through that town and continued on to Robe, hungry and frustrated by the windy little towns. The information center was closed, so we bought groceries at the only market open, and drove around until we found a public grill in the industrial zone. The wind was brutal and snatched anything we tried to cook. It even pushed the wine bottle I bought for Byron’s birthday off the table and into hundreds of little pieces.
Not only was it nearly impossible to cook, but we kept encountering posted signs that said “No camping in vehicles overnight”, which left us driving circles around town trying to find a decent spot to sleep. We showered in cold nasty public beach showers and finally found another camper with a friendly family inside to park next to. Tired, cold, and frustrated we decided that tomorrow would be a better day.
