UNDA Settles in with the Pipe Tribe

Not sure who’s idea it was but having an Undacuva bucks party on the Byron bus tour to Nimbin was as dumb as it gets. And then for one of them to belt the pub manager, who I know really well, even he doesn’t know me. Why didn’t they ask me about my favorite village which I know like my own backyard? Stupid bureaucratic processes that ignore history.

Unless they deliberately left me out.”Hippy-lover” I’ve copped for years and it pretty much bounces off but there was a new nasty undatone I detected when I was reporting in about the Pipe Tribe. Envy it was and thick as hash oil.

It didn’t help I was with the prettiest trio of scantily dressed hippy fairies from the tribe, bare feet, bright eyes, mad hair and the remains of rainforest camo paintwork which we’ve all been wearing for the chopper the last few weeks. My “contact” had been watching us shopping, laughing, stoned, carefree.

He asked me to tell the tribe my mother was ill and to track my old Hemp Bar friends who in turn were tracking the new Premier. I surprised him and me by how much I didn’t want to and said I’d already told them my mother was dead so that wouldn’t work and I was onto “something big”. And “it was going down soon”. The magic words that make them leave you alone. Some things never change.

When we left town in the battered and unregistered landrover and headed into the mountains he looked positively furious as we drove past and I realised yet again, this is the life. The hippies did get it right as they keep saying and it’s my good fortune ending up with the mob who have the whole north eastern face of a giant mountain to themselves.

Back at the camp I tell them I got the word the chopper raids are over and it’s a big celebration. Not that they would ever get “spotted” with their invisible climbing pot vines covered in tiny flowers, but there is always the chance of being dobbed in by the redneck farmer down the valley who is one of the very few who know we are here.

As soon as the harvest is finished we move to the northern camp said Pipe that evening out of the blue and I could feel the ripple of excitement run around the campfire. The caves the caves squealled the children and even I got caught up in the mystery. Most of the girls are making costumes for Mardigrass and Pipe decided to wait until after the annual harvest celebration before the move to the cave.

Down the swimming hole today lazing on the warm rocks like a lizard, stoned on the vineweed as we call it, watching row upon row of superb skunk colas swinging on fishing line in the shade and soft breeze, I forgot for a very long time I was Unda. Then for the longest moment I thought this is the exit I’ve been dreaming of. Like The Dalai told me, “We get what we wish for, if only we can recognise it when it appears.”
Pipe snapped me back into reality with a verbal wack. “Who told you the chopper raids were over?”
All my training was there instantly. “A fellow I know in the bank who has a good connection.”

I have no idea if he bought it, but he did know I’d been to the bank because I gave the girls $100 each and payed the bill at the health food store, which was more than a few hundred.
“You on the dole bro?” “Nah, pension like you Pipe. They leave me alone.”

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