Mamma MAGA

Lisa begins crying between the Twelve Apostles and our lunch stop. I suppose it's my fault.

Lisa begins crying between the Twelve Apostles and our lunch stop. I suppose it's my fault. I asked the group to share their favourite apostle, both biblical and geological, and Lisa's contribution – 'Paul!' – was swiftly shot down by Rose, the woman next to her.

'Not Paul,' Rose groaned. 'He was the worst one. Misogynistic bastard.'

Unsurprisingly, this has killed the *vibe* I painstakingly built over the course of the morning. I brush it off and turn to Marcus – ex-military, Black, from Portland – who called shotgun. He wants to know my views on psychedelics; more specifically, he wants to know if I've tried ayahuasca (I haven't). He tells me he developed PTSD after a decade in the army and nothing helped until he began micro-dosing mushrooms.

'But ayahuasca is next-level shit,' he confirms. 'You gotta try it.'

I make a mental note: try ayahuasca.

In my rear-view mirror, I can see Lisa and Rose – from California and Ireland respectively – locked in a heated discussion. I'm still hopeful they'll get on, given they're of similar age and both in Australia to visit their children, but not everything goes to plan on these tours. My boss likes to say we're building the plane as we're flying it.

I have three other passengers. Tim and Tom – gay guys from New York City – and Joey, from China, who speaks no English. He turned up late this morning, out of breath and apologetic. I mean, I assumed he was apologising.

We stop for lunch at a restaurant in Lavers Hill. I open the door for the passengers and notice Lisa wiping away tears. She climbs out of the van and confronts Rose in the car park. For a split second I’m convinced she’s about to throw a punch, but Lisa pulls Rose into a tight embrace instead. 'I'm sorry,' she says. 'I've just never heard anyone say something like that.'

I glance at Rose. Everything okay? She rolls her eyes and waits for Lisa to release her. 'Your girl is one of them MAGA evangelicals,' she explains, once Lisa is out of earshot. 'Drill Baby Drill and all that.'

'Why was she crying?'

'Didn't like me calling Paul a misogynist, did she? I'm sorry, but it's true.'

Amen.

We join the others in the restaurant. We’ve ordered ahead and Lisa is the first to be served. A plate of prosciutto is placed before her. 'I follow a carnivore diet,' she announces. 'No vegetables, no carbohydrates, no sugar. It helps with digestion.'

'What do you eat?' I ask.

'Meat and eggs. I haven't had a vegetable in six months.'

'Your poor heart,' says Rose (she's vegetarian, of course).

I leave them to dissect the health benefits of broccoli – the sinister motivations of Big Farmer! – and seek salvation in small talk with Tim and Tom. Where in New York do they live? How did they meet? Are they as concerned as I am with how the day is progressing?

'We met in Paris,' Tom says.

Rose butts in. 'Paris? How romantic! Have you been together long?'

'We're not a couple,' Tim says.

'Oh Christ.'

'Don't worry. Everyone thinks we are. Best friends, yes. But not boyfriends.'

Rose apologises. 'Me and my big mouth. Jesus. I'm always saying the wrong thing.'

Fortunately, the rest of lunch passes without incident. Joey – the Chinese guy – uses a translator app to tell me about his time in Australia. He says he loves it here. He doesn't want to go home. I give him two thumbs up and point to the till. It's time to move on.

We wind our way through the nearby pine plantations and park at a trailhead. After hiking through a pocket of prehistoric rainforest, we reach the base of a waterfall. Here, I share the same shit I always share. Fun facts about dinosaur fossils. Second-hand stories of carnivorous snails and lyrebirds. The passengers aren't listening. They're distracted. The air is so clean, they say. The water, it’s so clear.

I can't tell you how many times I've run this tour. Enough to have become desensitised to the rugged beauty of the Great Ocean Road, to the towering ferns surrounding us. What I'll never tire of is the people – the conflict, the chaos – which is why I'm quietly thrilled when Marcus puts his military training to good use by lobbing explosive questions in Lisa's direction.

Questions like, What do you think of climate change? How about those wind farms?

Lisa is onto him. She's no conspiracy theorist, she reckons, but Marcus isn't convinced. I'm not sure any of us are. And our doubts are validated when we pass a wild koala in a roadside eucalypt and pull over for photos. As the group gushes over the adorable creature, I share everything I know about koalas: essentially, they're chlamydia-infested stoners. I make a throwaway comment about disease in native animals. How the facial tumours decimating the Tasmanian devil population are being treated using vaccine technology developed during the pandemic.

'I hope they're experimenting on a small population size,' says Lisa.

'I'm sure they know what they're doing.'

'Because those vaccines should never have been approved.'

Groans from the rest of the passengers. Aside from Joey, of course. He remains blissfully unaware of the ideological divide within the group and keeps tapping me on the shoulder, showing me his translator app. It's so cute, announces a robotic voice within his phone.

Yes, Joey.

Yes it is.

'I'm what you might call an anti-vaxxer,' Lisa continues.

Nobody takes the bait. Tim and Tom glance my way. I shrug. 'Ice-cream?'

Half an hour later, we're on the beach at Apollo Bay. Rose is the only one brave enough to swim. She likens the Southern Ocean to the Mediterranean – relative to the Irish Sea, that is – and we watch as she swims back and forth through the bay. She comes out shivering and peels a Palestinian swim cap from her head.

Joey's translations have become increasingly vulnerable. Sitting beside me on the sand, he says he feels like himself when he's in Australia. It's something he struggles with back home. He loves this beach, this town, and wants to know if I ever get bored of the landscape. I don't have the heart to tell him the truth.

Tim and Tom are making the most of the break. They've removed their shirts and are taking photos of each other, posing with ice-creams in hand. They are jacked, yes, and Joey is eager to join them. He walks across the sand, takes off his shirt and puts an arm around Tim; stifling laughter, Tom takes the photo. Joey's smile shines brighter than the winter sun.

We meet Marcus and Lisa back at the van. They've been to the supermarket and offer us beef jerky – no carbs, no sugar – for the next stretch. Their relationship has evolved; instead of asking Lisa questions, Marcus simply says words he thinks might trigger her. Immigration. Epstein. Wokeness. He's having a ball.

We drive to a lookout above the seaside town of Lorne. From this height, the ocean glows bluer than Rose’s post-swim lips. These lips are once again debating the carnivore diet with Lisa.

'Would now be the time to reveal I'm a doctor?’ Rose says. She's done well to keep her cool but is becoming frustrated.

'Well I have a degree in nutrition,' says Lisa. 'From UC Santa Cruz.'

'She's mad,' Rose says, staring out at the ocean. 'Utterly mad.'

Lisa’s hands are glued to her hips. 'The research is there,' she insists.

I keep the group moving. I want them to see wild kangaroos, but we don't have much light left. We arrive at the golf course, where the kangaroos tend to congregate, and spot a mob of twenty at the eleventh hole. We pile out of the van and watch them through a wire fence.

I don't hear what Marcus says, but whatever it is sets Lisa off. I move to step in, but she waves me away. 'It's okay,' she says. 'You know I’ve grown fond of Marcus. I wish my daughter could've met a man like him.'

Something about the past tense catches me. And the fact she'd be okay with her daughter dating Marcus. Not that she's said anything overtly racist, but I'm surprised she'd want him joining the family. It feels off brand. I request clarification.

'She might've turned out differently,' Lisa says, smiling at Marcus. 'If she'd met someone like him.'

'Hang on,' I say. 'What do you mean by different?'

'Well, now she's dating women.'

'And?'

'I just think she might’ve had a chance if she'd met a nice guy.'

I turn to Tim and Tom. 'Boys, is that how it works?'

Tom puts his arm around Lisa. She's crying again. 'Lisa,' he says. 'Sweetheart. You know that's not how it works.'

Lisa pulls out a tissue. Blows her nose and apologises. 'I love her so much,' she says.

This time, it's Rose who comforts her. The rest of us stand in silence as last light fades. We watch the kangaroos bounce down the fairway. They break through the tree line and disappear into the night.

Above us, the drone of a plane's engine.

Beside me, Joey’s soft murmurs.

A robotic voice calls out in the darkness.

So strange, it says. Hop! Hop!

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