Tell me where the wind turbines are. Where have they gone?

The rainy night in the parking lot at the boat ramp in St. Georges Basin turned into a severe storm across much of Australia’s southeast coast. While we slept peacefully in our campervan, Sydney was flooded by a downpour. Numerous streets were flooded, and traffic in the metropolis came to a standstill. A tornado swept through the town of Ulladulla—which we’d visited that very afternoon—causing significant damage. We didn’t notice any of this, and even though we were spending the night quite close to the boat ramp, we didn’t float away but remained firmly in our parking spot. We didn’t find out about the storm until the next day via social media. The day after the tornado was beautiful, and we were full of energy.

Main Street in Tilba, Australia

Time has stood still in Tilba. The old wooden houses from the previous century have been nicely restored, and you can buy all sorts of things there. The town has a cheese factory, a hotel, and plenty of souvenir shops. I buy a leather hat—exactly like the one Crocodile Dundee wore. Maybe that’ll help us spot a kangaroo someday. We still haven’t seen a single one yet.

Australia's Windy East Coast. Horse Head and Camel Rock

Although it’s very windy along the coast, the wind turbines—which are so beautiful everywhere else in Germany—are completely absent here in Australia. Apparently, Australians aren’t really into green energy. Anyway, the next day we do spot a wallaby on our hike to Horse Head and Camel Rock. Admittedly, wallabies aren’t exactly big. At 50 cm to 100 cm, they’re significantly smaller than the red kangaroo. But at least the hat seems to have made a difference after all. On the way to Eden, we also spot a few larger ones. Unfortunately, there are also a lot of them lying dead in the roadside ditches. Apparently, there are a lot of accidents early in the morning or at dusk. That’s probably why the campervan rental company includes a clause in the contract stating that you’re not allowed to drive the campervan at night.

Our first kangaroo, a wallaby

Eden grew out of an old whaling station in Snug Cove around 1834. Eden expanded in the 1850s, partly due to the decline of nearby Boydtown and partly because of the discovery of gold in Kiandra. The gold rush did not last long, and as a result, Eden’s growth came to a halt. At least Eden still exists today, which is more than can be said for Boydtown. The only remnants of Boydtown are the dilapidated church and a gravestone nearby. The site is difficult to find, as the church is not signposted and is hidden on a hill in the woods. Even if you do find it, you cannot enter because of a fence. Presumably, there is a risk of collapse.

The Church in Boydtown, Australia

We say goodbye to the coast for now and head inland toward Towamba. We drive along the river of the same name through the mountain range that runs parallel to the coast. The road is very winding, going up and down. The campervan is really being pushed to its limits. I’m already dreading the day when the first road train appears in my rearview mirror. Hopefully there’ll be enough room on the side of the road then. Unfortunately, that’s not the case here. More than once, Gaby sees the deep roadside ditch looming dangerously toward us. After about an hour, the dense forest of eucalyptus trees and tall ferns gives way to a vast pasture on a plateau. And once again I ask Gaby: “Tell me, where are the wind turbines? Where have they gone?”

Farmland near Candelo, Australia

The farmland is just as hilly and stretches across the Myrtle Mountains. We arrive in Candelo, a farming town where time seems to have stood still. Here, the farmers gather once a month for market day. There’s a gas station and a café where we stop for a cappuccino.

Main Street in Candelo, Australia

However, we’ll wait until we get to Nimmitable to fill up, because gas is 15 cents cheaper there. About 20 kilometers past Candelo, we reach the Snowy Mountain Highway, which we’ll take to Cooma. That’s where we’ve planned to spend the night. But first, we have to cross Glenbog. At the top of the pass stands the Fred Piper Memorial. Fred was a mail bus driver on the Cooma–Bega route for 28 years and died in 1948 while shoveling snow on the Snowy Mountain Highway. It’s tragic, but somehow touching that they’ve erected a memorial to a simple bus driver. That’s just how Aussies are. A country that values its people and where you find yourself asking again and again: Tell me, where are the wind turbines? Where have they gone? I’m looking forward to next week. Until then, fair winds, and keep a stiff upper lip.