Relax, for a minute, and take yourself back. Feel the hot, squeaky-soft sand. Breathe in the salted air. Hear the kids on the beach, playing totem tennis or flogging soggy sand at one another, and the whirr of the Victa (no, the motor mower) slicing up the grass at Aunty Joan’s old shack nearby. Feel the burn on your bare soles from the sticky bitumen while slogging down to the local corner-store for an Icy Pole at lunchtime. Then feel the cool of the ocean on your blistered feet as you rinse off the sticky sugary drips from your hands. At days’ end, you’re exhausted, with sand in every crease of yourself and your wet togs (cossie, bathers, whatever). Mum’s now dragging you back to the sage green Holden station wagon as the sun finally begins to melt. You burn your backside on the never-used, poker-hot seat belt clasps, adding insult to your screaming sunburn on the long, tired, drive home. Ah, those were the days. Maybe you still have the scarred butt to remember them by?
Come back now, to 2023. Moruya might still be a healthy distance from the madding crowds and tourist-trendy, but it is also far from sleepy. It’s an interesting town with heaps happening. And, well, you could fly in, park your plane, and mosey the 20 minutes up the road to spend your time at the much busier
