Yvette's parents drove down to have lunch and say goodbye and Mick had turned up to take away the mattress we had been using. With Mr Real Estate Knobski Man gone, we headed down to Stanmore for the last time to have some lunch. Yvette's brother Warwick also managed to come along and the six of us had coffee and pies at La Chocereve.
After a tearful goodbye to Yvette's family, we got into the car and left Sydney for good.
After two weeks of non-stop stress with almost every hour of the waking day filled with something to do, the sudden stop was a little jarring. Both of us were very, very tired and emotionally exhausted. The mixed emotions of leaving and being free, of adventure and the uncertainty of what we'd just done had us both on the edge of tears for the three hour drive to Greenwell Point. We'd done it. It was all over. Had we done the right thing? God, we're tired.
Greenwell point is a lovely, mostly unspoiled fishing village east of Nowra. It is a real fishing village in that trawlers still leave from the jetty which hasn't been converted into a Marina for rich Sydneysiders to park their ridiculously enormous penis-substitute boats in. Apart from the Motel we were staying in and one Wanker McMansion, the town has had very little development. I hope it stays that way for a long time. The drive from the highway to the point is all dairy farms and old buildings including a barn-like structure which had a curious sign on it - "The Literary Institute".
We checked in and while Yvette had a lie down, I went for a long walk around the jetty and along the foreshore. I was physically and emotionally wrecked and trying to think to much about anything. It was good to finally be out.
After an early dinner at the local pub which we wolfed down - we went back to the motel room, turned up the heater and watched Spicks and Specks , The Chaser and The Movie Show before finally going to sleep to sleep the sleep of the just and the just plain tuckered out.