I guess the anecdote that first springs to mind while contemplating the last few months is the tale of The Hun and the Mullumbimby Madness. It's a story that begins well enough, with an ordinary trip to the north in a hired car by a group of friends.
One friend is uncomfortably from NZ, one from Australia and the remainder are Germans of varying pedigrees. The Bavarians are cool, their banter is amusing and they show a distinctly angelic flexibility of thought. The northern Germans though, are at first quite reserved but unfailingly polite. It seemed to the Aussie that they couldn't quite forget the old conflicts... couldn't quite get it out of their minds, for instance, that when 5000 of them parachuted into Crete in 1941 there were 800 Aussies waiting for them with bayonets fixed and a ridiculously stubborn attitude that would see the Germans have to land another batch of gormless Dortmunder's on the island before they'd shot all the antipodeans that were lurking in the feta sheds waiting to stab someone multiple times.
Or it could have just been the fact that their English was poor.
Anyhow, with the trundling north, many stories and rude phrases were taught to the Germans. Much beer and wine was consumed. Many camping grounds were slept upon and roused from torpor by oompah-loompah-ish chantings.
Then one night, around the citronella candle, out came the story of the Plantation Bunyip. A Bunyip, for those who don't know, is a mythical creature that dwells in water holes and is quite fearsome of temperament with the tooth and claw to match.
The story was about a man lost in the bush who stumbles upon a shady billabong and there stops to rest and take stock of himself. As he's quenching his thirst up surges the Bunyip, its reed covered hide and horrible fanged visage gurning unattractively forth upon the cowering man.
"What do you at my billabong, little man?" it growled, for Bunyips are reputedly intelligent and imbued with magical powers, and are fearsomely protective of their waters.
"A drink! A drink for a parched throat only, mighty Bunyip!" cried the man, falling back from the water in dismay.
As I mentioned, Bunyips being territorial are fierce and particularly protective of their water. The Koori's know that to drink from a Bunyip's billabong is a dangerous desperate business, and should you be forced to, its best to present the creature with a gift. The better to ensure one's survival.
The Bunyip though, was intrigued by this strange man. All dressed in strange colours he was, with pink-pale skin underneath. As the billabong was full to overflowing at this time, it felt it could afford to be generous and disposed kindly to the man.
"You must pay for your drink!" rasped the monster, deciding not to kill and eat the man immediately, as not only was the billabong full, but also his belly was full of an unlucky wallaby that had strayed too close to the reeds to drink.
The man's eyes opened wide at this demand, and hurriedly he searched his multicoloured pockets for a trinket to appease the beast. His frantic patting and searching became desperate as first one pocket and then the next yielded nothing but fluff. Lastly, around his neck on a string of beads, hung a small tin. With trembling hands the man turned open the lid and with visible relief extracted a long fat joint.
"I have only this to give, fearsome Bunyip!" said the man, tentatively holding out the spliff.
The Bunyip pincered down two huge claws and gently took the joint from the man's grasp, a curious expression in its black eyes. The man produced a match from the tin and lit the joint, then mimed taking a drag from it. Tentatively, for the Bunyip being a water dweller is wary of fire and smoke, it brought the lit spliff to its black lips and inhaled. So mighty were the creatures lungs that the entire joint disappeared down to the roach in two breaths.
Then suddenly it gave a mighty heave, and the most horrific barking gargle issued forth from its throat, draining the blood from the man's face with its volume... until he realised that the great beast was laughing uproariously, slapping its belly and giggling and cackling with its eyes all red and crinkled up. Great tears welled up in those eyes at the gales of laughter that issued forth, and long did they issue, the man joining in for a while in sheer relief.
After its laughter had subsided, the still-baked creature in a moment of clarity, laid a powerful geas on the man to provide for the Bunyip forever more spliffs of the strongest, finest weed available.
So the man, not quite unwillingly, found himself establishing a huge plantation around the quiet billabong, hidden from others by the magic of the bunyip. Thus Mullumbimby Madness was born, that rarest of weed enhanced and bred for the Bunyip and indeed enriched by the Bunyip's magic.
Legend has it that that very man, sustained beyond his years by the spells of the Bunyip assembly (for all Bunyips found the weed to their liking), can still be found peddling his wares anywhere from Mullumbimby to Nimbin.
The Germans expressed fascination with the story and demanded to know about all sorts of bush mythology. Bunyips figured strongly in their questions, as did the legendary Mullimbimby Madness itself.
Anyhow, the journey progressed, and much fun and sun was had. Eventually they came to the region of the story, and at majority insistence they turned aside to visit the valley and hamlet of Nimbin.
As those of you who know the town are no doubt aware, the place is a haven of hippie values gone mad. Buds and cookies may be bought with impunity on the streets from totally baked strangers. This was quite a novelty for the Germans, as you may have guessed, and to put it lightly. Vast quantities of weed of varying quality was bought. The alpha Northern German, lets call him Hans, was particularly intrigued by the tale of the Bunyip and in his conversation with a particularly scruffy hippy he learned that local legends put the site of the billabong near a certain local swimming hole.
The next morning, much to everyone's consternation, the friends found that Hans and the car had disappeared. Later, the police found the car abandoned near the local swimming hole, but of Hans there was no sign. The friends waited 2 days for news of the missing troublemaker, and in the end they decided to return to the city as speculations as to Han's horrible end had rather put a damper on things. Weeks passed, and Hans faded from immediate memory. The Germans flew out, off to another destination. The Kiwi went back to his hole by the sea and sat on his arse. The Aussie went back to reality, speculations about the whereabouts of his missing companion circling occasionally in his brain.
Ranted by Doomboy
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