“You are from Australia, aren’t you?” called the young lock keeper as we entered the first lock of the day. Since we do fly a small “courtesy” flag on our little mast we presumed that was his point of reference, but no:
“I see “Mooloolaba” is your home port he said, in an astonishing feat of pronunciation,
“I lived in Woolgoolga for two years, and even went to Wooloomooloo.”
None of those words are possible to pronounce with a French accent, so we had no reason for doubt.
We spoke as the walrus did with the carpenter, of many things, of travel and life and this prospects for work, and eventually moved on at the mercy the ever increasing wind, holding it at bay till early afternoon when we found more mountains to climb.
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