Mooching In Mooloolaba

The Age

Saturday January 27, 2007

DEB WITHERS

Paring life down and living beachside at a caravan park was a revelation for Deb Withers.

A SHARED shower block, 10 days without TV, eating al fresco at every meal ... For someone who'd not considered holidaying at a caravan park since her teens, the reality was a revelation.

Quite apart from the beach being just a few steps away, the greatest perk of a caravan park holiday is the people-watching.

The kids play in the street until dark.

They draw hopscotch - or some 21st-century version - on the pavement in chalk.

They constantly call to each other in loud, piercing voices.

They ask each other if they have ever kissed a girl and blush at the response.

And they wave goodbye, knowing they'll never see each other again, without a backward glance. They've been best mates for a few days.

It's a kid's life in a caravan park.

The suggestion that I spend time with friends in the Mooloolaba Caravan Park was met with incredulity by my more sophisticated Melbourne mob. Initially the plan was for three days. I stayed 10 and found it hard to leave.

It had been a long time since I'd stayed in a caravan park. I don't like roughing it.

But it was such fun. Ten days without telly, eating al fresco at every meal, the beach so close you could take your cup of tea with you, and the people-watching.

My girlfriend and I spent the first few days trying to work out who belonged to whom. We were happy when we'd made friends with a few of the kids and could interrogate properly.

There were people who had been holidaying there since 1972, when it was only $50 a week.

Stories were told and legends were shared. The time "Bettsie" caught the kids trying to pinch the deckchairs in the middle of the night and Wayne's record-breaking strawberry picking. Two million in six weeks, he said. "That's 10,000 a day." Same time each year.

A limited wardrobe was all I needed. Togs, jeans and a T-shirt, and a sarong that doubled as a beach cover-up by day and a wrap for those trips to the loo by night.

Oh, and a strappy number for drinks at the surf club.

The ice-cream van visited every afternoon about 4pm and the fish guy rang his bell every few days as he scoured the streets for customers.

Campers walked to the park office and got their block of ice at the same time each morning and the kids were sent down the shops for the paper.

When I thought about why I was having such a good time, I actually wasn't really surprised.

In my late teens and early 20s, I had some fabulous holidays in caravan parks.

At the end of our final year of school, nine of us girls stayed in a six-berth caravan at Torquay.

The first night we were lined up outside the surf club for the dance.

Word had travelled fast and the boys kept coming outside and counting us.

I became known as the girl in the red dress, a title I cherished - well, for a few years.

One night the police were called because the caravan had collapsed due to too many guests at our impromptu party.

The boys just jacked it up again and we spilled over onto the next site.

After about 10 days, the local surfers had erected a sign outside our van: VFL. No, we weren't avid footy fans. It stood for Virgins for Life.

After all, we were good Catholic girls on our first holiday without our parents.

I'm planning my next trip up north soon. I'll take fewer clothes, extra sunscreen and a few books to swap at the park office.

When I left Mooloolaba, it was definitely with a backward glance.

© 2007 The Age

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