Chores, Shores & IceCream

Freedom pulsed through every mile, but even open roads hummed with chores. Town Day in Wynyard arrived, a symphony of errands – a box arriving from yesterday's life, pantries overflowing with replenished bounty, water tanks quenched, laundry tamed, and our bus gleaming anew. Even arriving late at the Myalla Community Oval's free campsite couldn't dampen the day's satisfaction. After all, the journey wasn't about speed, but savouring the miles. This first diesel fill-up in three Tasmanian weeks was a reminder; a year stretched before us on this island, an invitation to slow down and truly explore.

The next morning, serendipity strolled in. Ros and Mike, fellow nomads we'd met at Lake Kara, now retired Tasmanians, materialised with open arms and an invitation. They whisked us to the charming seaside town of Boat Harbour Beach. Coffee became a tapestry woven with travel tales, their stories echoing our own nomadic symphony.

Work, a necessary counterpoint, filled the third day. But the ocean, an irresistible siren, called. With practiced ease, our bus transformed from office to chariot once more, our wheels humming back towards Boat Harbour Beach again.

The water, an impossible cerulean dream, whispered of tropical havens sans the stifling heat. The sand, impossibly white, stretched wide and welcoming. As we explored, fate, a playful pup, nipped at our heels. Helen, a caravanning sage with 23 years and 10 Overland Track treks etched on her weathered map, offered wisdom and warmth, guiding us towards some of her favourite hikes in Tassie.

As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in farewell hues, Sal, the resident sorceress, conjured her magic. Banana-choc chip pancakes, infused with the power of protein ice cream, became the perfect coda to a day that sang a familiar truth: adventure hides in the folds of the ordinary, waiting to be unearthed by hearts that dare to open and minds that thirst for exploration. The road, our ever-present companion, hummed with the promise of new stories, each bend a whispered invitation. We were nomads, and the journey, our ever-evolving home.Read more