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When I was growing up, I unequivocally had ‘camping parents’. And I hated it. Almost every school holidays, my sisters and I were bundled up in the car and we took off on the highway for hours on end to reach some faraway place.
Our travels took us north to Cape Tribulation, west to Broome and deep into the heartland of Australia in the dusty plains of the Simpson Desert. I got to see parts of this sprawling country that many people never will. And yet I was a total brat about it and longed for an exotic holiday overseas.
Hindsight is an interesting thing. Since becoming a mother for the first time I have a whole new perspective about the effort my parents went to in order to show my siblings and I the great wonders of this world. If I really think about it, our camping holidays were actually some of the best times of my life. We would explore beautiful beaches, we visited homes where outback kids were learning via school of the air and we found endless fun away from TV screens. It was perfect.
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