lit up the red earth of the dusty, pot-holed track we drove up in our 'not-to-be-taken-off-sealed-roads' rental car. Eucalyptus trees with their characteristic peeling bark draped over the red strip ahead of us. As our bush campsite in Victoria's Grampians National Park loomed on our right, without warning it was all action up ahead.
Out of the bush and across the track raced a 5-foot emu, head pulsing forward and back, eyes wide as it fled into the gum trees. Then another right behind, feathers ruffling and three-toed feet kicking up the red dust in frantic wait-for-me strides. Not to be outdone by his flightless mates, further down the road a kangaroo hopped out of the trees, across the track and back into the bush near the entrance to our campsite.
It seemed that after nearly two weeks in Oz, we'd finally found 'The Bush'.
The comedic value of animals with bodies so ridiculous to northern eyes induced cathartic belly laughs in our car. Only the night before we camped in a loud urban caravan park in Warrnambool at the end of the Great Ocean Road after a long escape two days before from the sprawling suburbs of western Melbourne.
And now here we were, finally. Two people, four wheels and a tent on the inward looking edge of this vast continent. Poised for the first step on the very margin of the place I'd come looking for.
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