It’s Friday night. I’ve just had dinner when I hear a quiet knock at the door. I assume it’s someone collecting for charity. I open the door and a women asks if I know of a camp ground in the area, she has a van and needs to find somewhere for the night. Her beautiful accent tells me she is French.
I scratch my head trying to offer some help but I don’t have much need for camp grounds in Brisbane, so I grab my phone to ask the Google Gods. Apparently there’s a camp ground 4 kms to the north of the city (who knew), but she doesn’t have a good map and trying to explain is proving trixy.
“Do you think I could stay here for the night, parked on the street?” she asks.
Sure! Do that! I nod at her suggestion, and you’re welcome to use my bathroom and shower if you need, I offer.
She looks relieved. “Are you on your own?” I ask. Yes, she replies.
How awesome, a fellow traveller!
We chat for a bit and I suggest she walks up to Kangaroo Point Cliffs for a beautiful view of the city. I give her directions, but they don’t seem to be landing so I offer to show her. “You want to go now?” she asks, why not I think, and we head off up the road.
We arrive at the clifftops and I proudly gesture to my beautiful city, twinkly with lights as the sun goes down. She takes some photos and then we sit on the wall. I slip into Tour Guide Mode and ply her with ideas for things to do in the city.
Her name is Line (pronounced Lyn) and she is from Perpignan near the Spanish border in Southern France. She is a tennis coach, and is here in Australia for a month. The reason for her visit is to see the Australian Open in Melbourne, her dream is to see the big four Grand Slam tennis tournaments around the world.
I ask for a look in her van, it’s an Apollo pop-top with room to stand upright, there’s a small fridge, a sink, and a big bed. But no air conditioning (unless the motor is running). It’s sweltering. I don’t envy her night in what must surely be a hotbox.
The next morning I help her research a trip to Fraser Island and the Whitsundays. She has two black coffees, we link on Facebook, she fills up her water bottle, then hits the road.
How randomly beautiful that Line picked my door to knock on. Maybe one day I’ll be knocking on her door in France. After all, there are no coincidences.