Day 31: Kiama & A Queen's Baton

Kilometres: 65km

Diesel: 0

Food: $30.57

Ice: 0

Chris had checked the surf report and was keen to hit the waves so we drove down to Bombo, on the north side of Kiama. While the waves were just a little too big for the likes of me, Chris bravely donned his wetshirt and headed out. I however, stuck mostly to the sand and walked my way from one end of the beach to the other, explored some rocks, had a quick dip then returned to see Chris battling some pretty big waves. I swam in the safety of the knee deep water until Chris emerged, slightly dishevelled but happy all the same, so we could return to Veruca for breakfast. It was a pretty magic spot we had overlooking the ocean and everyone else seemed to think so too. One van turned up and the mum and dad took turns sitting on the grass and entertaining their baby while the other surfed. They had it sorted.

After a little people watching we took to town to do some much needed laundry. While that was happened we increased our productivity by doing groceries before taking a walk down the main street.

There was a whole lot of activity around town, like bees disturbed by a bee keeper everyone moved quickly. Plus, there was a tonne of cops around. It took us a while but we finally put two and two together. We had seen signs in Nowra for the Queen’s Baton passing through town in preparation for the upcoming Commonwealth Games. Well, today, apparently it reached Kiama and Sally Fitzgibbons, whose surfing progress we had followed throughout the title race, would be carrying the baton. Pretty cool timing.

We draped our washing around Veruca and went to be a part of the festivities. Every child from every school in Kiama was out and about on excursions with their teachers. I was having flashbacks to counting and recounting my little darlings when out and about last year. Mayhem. We sat for a while by the harbour and soaked in the sounds of a couple of singers. The male singer had written a song about the little town we were in Kiama, and we listened carefully as his lyrics described how the famous blowhole seemed to be the only thing tourists cared about and how the lighthouse, sadly, went overlooked. Very entertaining. As we sat there a man came past and gave Chris a sausage in bread, due to a surplus supply, so we carried on our way with Chris a very happy boy.

We followed the masses as a few people we didn’t know marched the baton around the main street. Sally drove past in a van and threw shakas out the window before we made our way to the showground for the grand finale that everyone had been waiting for…Sally carrying the baton. The flags of the Commonwealth countries lined the showground and we waited, and waited in the sun with everyone else. Turns out it was a pretty massive anticlimax. Sally’s route took her around the side of the oval that nobody was allowed to stand near due to the incoming helicopter. Yes…helicopter.

A helicopter arrived to take the baton and we quickly made our escape back to the van and up to our favourite spot above Bombo Beach to dry our washing and chill out into the evening. A man sold fish and chips from a caravan, locals surfed, families played, vandwellers dwelled and then we headed north to the aptly named Northbound Rest Area. Noisy trucks came and went and we knew we were in for a rough sleep.