Day 6. Rutherglen to Echuca

Hung over.
Worked out the $10 cleanskin pinot noir was aged in a port barrel hence its brown red colour and sweet fruitiness. And indeed port flavour.
We drove through three transitions of flora marking the graduations of dessication. Surprisingly a lot of dairy cattle and orchards. The water and feed for all this was coming from somewhere, but certainly somewhere else.
Apparently the farmers are suffering out here, and so am I.
It gets drier and flatter, and then becomes perfectly flat. In my unhealthy state I was exhausted by the two hour drive. The scorching temperature ably assisted a three hour afternoon nap.

Caroline's version of the day runs thusly:
"In an alcoholic haze he drove to Echuca. Basically the only thing in his mind was to get to Echuca and die."

Lake Mulwala. They dammed the Murray to make a recreactional reserve. Hence the dead trees.

I unpacked the car and Caroline offered me the big room because she is very kind.

The vinyl-covered single mattresses are in a triple bunk in the hallway. Caroline is making much of how I peeling myself off similar ones in Moruya Heads. I insist she takes the proper room.

How do you say "The room of my aunt is bigger than my uncle's pen"?

More importantly, how do you say "The bed of your nephew is on the kitchen floor"?

Caroline is complaining of the heat: a good call to not go to the desert after all. We'll save that for winter.

It'll be 34 tomorrow and I'll be 31.