Going Troppo

Out of one eye I could see the shade retreating over our legs.  Sweat was literally pouring off our lifeless bodies, so we got up, limply dragged the mattress further under the tree and collapsed into the sweat-sodden hot foam and pillows.

I went Fruity for NYE08. I had my first sojourn north for Tropical Fruits.  It was an amazing experience, one that I’ll never forget.

With 40 degree heat and 110 percent humidity, who could forget it, especially finishing up at 6am and drifting in and out of consciousness under a tree trying to cool down all of New Year’s Day?

I had made a last minute decision to head north with my playmate after spending a week with the mini men over Christmas.  You can imagine how butch we looked mincing around Anaconda searching for a cheap tent on Christmas Eve.

I can’t believe how many other Sydneysiders head north as well -¦Â  there were familiar faces everywhere.

Sadly, my previously worn singlet from another party was spotted and pointed out -” it’s not a complete backwater up there.

Back to the sweaty foam mattress.  After coming back home to the tent after the party, we lay in the tent for mere moments until the sun rose.  It was unbearable.  We flung the mattress out into the middle of the grounds under a tree, where scores of other desperates came to follow until I couldn’t even reach for the cup of sunbaked warm water next to me.  I got up, dialled the number of a local motel and we ripped the tent down.

Arriving at the motel with eyeballs spinning at 6pm (yes, we had spent 12 hours in the blazing heat on the ground unable to move), we regrouped in the room, thinking we could get up to go to the Recovery party.

We ordered food that knocks.  We opened the door, expecting to see Lucifer himself standing there with the offending heatwave that nearly knocked us over.  Instead, the frazzled pizza lady stood in front of us ready to expire if we didn’t pay her quickly enough to escape from the heat again.
Domino’s pizza never looked or tasted so good.

Fruits also appeared to be a parent haven.  In a (very) camp site of about 400, I ran into about four people who had children, so the ratio of people I met who were parents was quite staggering.

It was another nice reminder I’m not alone out there feeling like Zachariah, the fictional last man on earth, as I often feel.

Would I go Troppo again?  Well, to see so many half-naked bodies running around all day every day and to trip over guy wires on tents and make new friends whilst lying down on the showgrounds watching the fireworks -” perhaps … but next time with air conditioning and a new singlet.