Scotsman Robin's an old friend of the Kulas since 1971. Today he works for Adobe Systems in San Jose, California.
A peek through the smelly curtains of the on site cabin offers a clear, sunny day. Clear and cold. Packed and warmed by good coffee, navigating a tangle of newly constructed routes, none of which are on the map, we attempt to join HWY1. An hour after leaving we are flying down the freeway at 110 kph in densely packed traffic. The drongo in front of me brakes suddenly to pull up behind a broken down vehicle further down in the emergency lane. Bloody Idiot! I have to brake and swerve wildly to the right to avoid crashing. Thank God the carriageway next to me is empty.
I’m quite shaken up so we pull off into the next service centre and have lunch of California rolls and salad. We could not hold down anything more solid. The bumper-to-bumper, high-speed traffic is a fright. As soon as one manages a gap to the car in front some lane-changing hero fills it. It is thus a relief to arrive at the off ramp to Woy-Woy.
Let me tell you about Woy Woy. Roy Rene (nee Henry Van der Sluys [Sluice]), a dinkumaussie comedian of the post-war era, had a filthy routine that he ended with the catchphrase: “I wanna go to Woy Woy”. In our various travels, passing a Woy Woy turn off, we used to joke about it and were determined, one day, to go to this, what in our minds was a legendary place. This time, it being 56 years since the catchphrase lodged in my ear, we were bearing down on the town.
Bearing down is right. The road down to Brisbane Water, off the ridge freeway, is twisting, steep and offering wonderful views of the inlets draining into Broken Bay. At one of the lookouts a bloke in drag, heavily made up, leaning on a sports car was making lewd suggestions to anyone who cared to look. I’m grabbing my camera intending to ask for a posed shot and a chat when one look at Ruth’s aghast expression….naaghh. We admire the scenery and drive on. Could have been a serial axe murderer.
The Woy Woy Tourist Information office is being renovated with no one in attendance. All around there are bars and pubs full of people eating and drinking. The lady in the milk bar next door shows us some utterly depressing accommodation over the Info office. Imagine the noise from the eateries at night. Someone recommends the Outrigger Resort on Ettalong Beach.
Ah, that’s better. The resort is brand new, medium rise and looks very, very expensive. If we could only get a good deal here – after all it is offseason. We ask and we receive! Two nights in a luxury unit with kitchen, laundry, spa together with two half hour massages, six movie tickets (in town or the current run film showings on the in house TV), a cocktail and morning papers! $300 all up. Ruth and I are weary and need pampering.
The inbeded services club is gigantic. We have our cocktails and retire for an afternoon nap. On waking, I seek a medical appointment to unclog the deaf half of my head. Today ?, no, tomorrow ?, no, when? – never . The same response from three clinics. Try casualty at the hospital advises one. The resort reception is unsuccessful as well. Ruth suggests I buy a syringe and do it myself. Good idea I say. The girl at the reception turns a funny colour and leaves her post. At the chemist I buy a $2 rubber syringe, make up some soapy warm water and hose it into my ear. There is a dull, all enveloping roar and DING! a new world of sound opens up. In the sink lie two filter tip sized wax plugs – the softener has done its job. You have no idea how much better one feels with both ears functioning.
After a dinner of Lamb Cutlets for Ruth and Sole for me we manage to be $45 in front on the pokies at the inbuilt Services Club. A relaxing spa is followed by a good night’s sleep.
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Last Modified: Sunday October 15, 2006