I’d decided the night before that I would not be going on the hike up Mount Soche knowing that I’d be feeling a little worse for wear. In spite of the hangover I was pretty keen to spend a day at the house for once. I believe there was a pretty good turn out at the hike, but there was a suitably late turn out at home, with sleepers waking up at 11 and slowly joining the group in the living room. I had my first real shower at the house, borrowing the ensuite of the big bedroom and for the first time, I actually enjoyed the refreshing cold water. Feeling a little more alive, we walked to Crossroads to find some greasy western food to satisfy our hangovers before some (myself included) walked home and the rest continued on to the markets. Nothing beat the idea of lying on the couch with some Netflix for me, and the others were the same, eventually falling asleep to the eerie sound of an empty, usually packed house.
Slowly everyone arrived home and the quiet came to an end, emphasising the problem of the lack of water. It had shut off while we were at Crossroads, evidently affecting the centre as well, and ended up being off for about 7 hours. It was the worst we’d experienced that month, and those coming back from the hike weren’t impressed that they couldn’t shower, while everyone struggled with the fact that our bathrooms had become the same standard as that of a festival toilet. Our tap out the back must come from a bore as it normally still runs during water outages, but at some point it did run out, leaving us with no options. Thankfully we always have about 40L of clean drinking water in a bucket on the bench, but it was certainly a frustrating day, heightened by our self-inflicted ill health.
5pm came and we were somehow drinking again, taking it easier knowing that we had a half work day the next day. Half ended up at a shisha place for dinner first while the rest of us had some pasta and veggies, something I hadn’t realised I missed so greatly. We then headed out to meet the other half at what we thought was going to be karaoke. The public transport there was nothing short of ridiculous, realising we’d run out of petrol when we had almost arrived and finding the driver struggling to turn the car back on – not sure when it had turned off – as we rolled down the hill to the pub. Oh how grateful we were that it was at the bottom of the hill and not the top.
We thankfully arrived and were greeted by a mixed group of tourists and locals who told us that karaoke was usually at a place further down the road, and was actually only a monthly occasion. I discovered it takes a lot more than that to stop a group of 20 year olds from having a good time and from, evidently, taking part in karaoke. We each grabbed a drink and started on the drinking games – not sure what happened to taking it easy – before borrowing a guitar off the group next to us and creating our own fun. A couple of guitar players in the group played the most Australian music we could think of while we all sang at the top of our lungs, providing some valuable entertainment for those around us, but not having a care in the world. We were having fun and that was all that mattered.
Sunday felt like a regular work day, although our productivity levels did not show it, too used to going away for the weekend and getting to spend 48 hours switching off. We were able to shut down at 12 before heading off to the city for lunch followed by a shop at DAPP, the local op shop, to buy clothes for our designated person for final dinner that coming Wednesday. There was to be a lot of cross dressing that night, paired with some of the most shocking outfits we could find from the ages. Unfortunately we wouldn’t find out what we’d each be wearing until Tuesday night, so our excitement levels – and impatience – increased as rumours started to circulate.