The end of the road in Marvel Loch came on Monday 10th October 2016 and if I was to say the last eight weeks had been uneventful then I’d be lying.
At times it may have felt like I’d been imprisoned, cut off from the outside world, lacking in information and sensory overload, carrying out a repetitive daily drudgery that turned into monotonous routine, with no way of escaping; and at times it felt like the life I was leading in Marvel Loch was real, was completely normal and was a continuation of life as I should know it – the people I associated with – my friends; the people I saw everyday – my community.
But it was always going to end. And just like that, it was over. The last few weeks flew by with unprecedented speed, and at times, it felt like some days were on permanent fast forward – turbo-jetting from Monday to Thursday in a blink of an eye.
My ‘sentence’ in Marvel Loch has been full of first time experiences, adventures, ups, downs, highs, lows, (unfortunate) weight gain, learning to deal with boredom, alcohol consumption, fun, frolicks, extra-curricular and perhaps slightly forbidden activity involving bad decisions (a lot of bad decisions) of which I absolutely do not regret, and has been a time in which to make lots of memories. And that’s exactly what it should’ve been. No more, no less. Anything else that I take away from Marvel Loch that goes above and beyond the aforementioned list is going to be a bonus.
From quad biking and shooting to late night minesite visiting; from meaningless walking to derelict school exploring; from going running down dirt tracks to being scared shitless by rogue kangaroos; from visiting remote towns to getting drunk round bush fires; from sneaking about at stupid hours in the morning to falling for a multitude of various male patter and making new friends; it’s been two months that I’ll certainly not be forgetting in a while.
And if nothing else comes of my time in Marvel Loch than a hatful of memories and a half-hatched plan to go on a sketchy road trip up the west coast to Exmouth with my new friend and travelling companion, Trine, (of which we’ll be embarking upon post haste) then I’ll be more than content with that.
Marvel Loch has been like a dream. Not an idyllic dream from which I never wanted to wake, and not a nightmare from which I wished to be free from; it’s been more like a state of malaise, a dream that even now, as I sit composing this on a train bound from Southern Cross to Perth, feels slightly less real than it did yesterday. In little over a week I’m going to have to rejoin the real world, go back to living in a city, return to the job market and pay my own way. Marvel Loch has been like a dream in the sense that the kind of lifestyle I embraced can only be maintained and considered reality for a short amount of time. Sure, I could continue doing similar stints at roadhouses and country pubs across Australia until my visa runs out, but in essence, it’s not sustainable, and lulls one into a false sense of reality and a false sense of security.
So, I sit, staring out the window of the infamous Prospector, eight weeks on from when I first boarded the same train, once again contemplating life, once again considering my options, and once again struggling to make decisions, but with a solid reassurance that things happen for a reason, and despite its seemingly irrelevant bearing upon the bigger picture that is my life, Marvel Loch served a purpose, I was supposed to spend time there, and you know what, I’m really glad I did.
Chasing Amy-Lou 