We were on our way now. It turned out that when John and Debs had gone to pick up the car, the guy driving it from the compound to the forecourt had had a bump on the way round and damaged the one we should have had so we got an upgrade and this one was lovely and much more roomy. Things were looking up.
We decided to travel first to Port Augusta to pick up water and the information office there was very helpful and gave us lots of tips and leaflets about Alice Springs and Uluru. The info center warned us of driving into the “Never Never”, “Beyond the Black Stump”. With miles and miles of emptiness, very little local traffic and only the occasional “road train” (multi-trailered trucks up to 150 feet long), they suggested having food and water and making a stop at each and every petrol stop. We made an immediate stop in the grocery store to pick up water (lots of it) and some lovely chocolate biscuits, then made a stop at the Liquor World. Jean and I went in and passed some abo’s on the way in…oh the smell!
We were going to stop off at Woomera on the way up and stay there for the night as it looked a good distance and anyway, there’s not that many options on the Sturt Highway. So off we went to Woomera which we’d heard of as that was the place where the UK had exploded an atom bomb in the 1950’s. The journey there was long and uneventful and to begin with, I was still upset after the row but I soon put it behind me. Woomera though was a pretty weird place – a veritable ghost town. It seemed to be arranged in a sort of grid which we drove around looking for a hotel but we didn’t find the hotel and we didn’t see a soul. Not one person! No traffic, no animals – it was like something from an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Then on our second circuit, we saw one guy and we slowed to ask directions but as we got closer, we changed out minds. This guy had cross eyes, buck teeth and an odd expression on his face as if to say “Ah, fresh meat!” . We waved and drove off – sharpish.A look at the map showed a place called Glendambo a couple of hundred kilometres up the road and there was an advert for the Glendambo Outback Motel so erring on the side of caution, I made a quick phone call to check that they were in fact accepting guests. I needn’t have worried as there were plenty of empty cabins – again, thoughts of Alfred Hitchcock and Bates Motel came to mind. The rooms were basic but clean and cheap (the exchange rate was in the Brit’s favor—we personally thought that $95 AUD was a bit high for a 50s style motel room—but you had to admit that they had a corner on the market and with nothing else available for 300+ miles, it was a bargain) The pub/restaurant was a bit spartan—with a large bar, assortment of tables and a pool table. We had a meal of sorts in the restaurant and then headed into the bar to see the local talent. The place was run by Freddy and Greg, two brothers who seemed to be the end products of much inter-breeding. Although friendly enough, if you asked them a question, there was a few seconds delay while they processed the information before answering – definitely a bit slow. We ordered wines and beers and after a while we were joined by two Aussie guys who, it turned out, repaired generators for fibre optics in the outback, something to do with the distance between phone lines or something technical like that. These guys were so funny and had us in stitches. Another couple also joined us, a young lad who said he was a crotcher and his hickey-covered girlfriend, Tiffany who didn’t utter a sound all night. We asked what a crotcher did and he gave us this brilliant and very graphic description of a job he obviously loved. In between shearing, the back ends of the sheep must be kept clean otherwise the blow-flies lay their eggs in the wool and the sheep get aggravated by the maggots. So, you must lift the tail, clean underneath it and then shave round the offending area thereby removing all the disgusting, horrible things that live on a sheep’s butt!! Now imagine, that you do this everyday in 100+ degree weather with millions of flies circling your face and trying to get into your eyes, nose, mouth and ears – and you’ve only got to shear about 350 sheep butts before your day is over. Evidently, the really experienced crotchers can do up to 500 a day. Our crotcher also told us stories of the abo crotcher who cooked up “guanna” (iguana) and wombat. He cooked them over hot coals and our crotcher told us that it had a taste somewhere between sheep and beef. Guess we’d have to take his word for it!
This description was given with a straight face, with enthusiasm and with not a trace of mirth or embarrassment while we received it open mouthed. Are people really employed to shave sheep’s backsides day in and day out?? And not only that, but to get rid of all the disgusting mess and then go home to the lovely Tiffany?? We didn’t laugh, we didn’t even question – indeed at that stage, I don’t think any of us really believed it. It was only in the car the next day that we went over what we’d heard and then we laughed like drains and christened the guy The Happy Crotcher as apart from anything else, he obviously got a kick out of what he was doing.
The other two guys told us lots of tales that were equally hard to believe. When they’re on their field trips, they just sleep outside under the stars and don’t bother about tents or anything like that. We asked about snakes or killer spiders or any of the other plentiful things that lurk in the Australian bush and will kill or maim you as soon as look at you. They said they get into the sleeping bag which has a hood which is pulled right over so that there are no exposed areas at all. When the zip is pulled up, there is a tiny square of fabric that is open to the elements so that is plugged by their jockey shorts. Anything can crawl over them in the night but nothing can enter the safety of the sleeping bag. They drink beer at the beginning and the end of a job regardless of the time on the clock so if they begin at dawn, that will be the time of their first beer and the distance between camps is measured in “tinneys” i.e. it is 280 cans from this job to the next”. As for hygiene and namby-pamby stuff like washing and changing clothes, well it’s just not done and one trucker they knew called Lefty, who drove huge road trains with only one arm apparently only ever changed his socks when they were so stiff, they wouldn’t bend!
They told us about the native Aborigines and what a problem they are in some, but not all, parts of the outback. They have a penchant for sniffing petrol as by law, they are unable to buy alcohol – something about a gene they are missing which means they cannot tolerate alcohol in even small quantities. They strap petrol cans to their heads so that if they pass out while they are sniffing, they will still be under the influence and it is not uncommon to see these guys lying by the roadside out sparkers with cans strapped to their heads. In areas where the problem is at its worst, nobody can buy petrol and the road maps will show you where, on the roads, petrol is for sale. We also talked about what they find to eat and apparently wombats and kangaroo are so delicious that certain hunters catch and kill them then take them in a cool bag down to Adelaide where they are sold to restaurants. We were warned not to hit the wombats- as they are hard as a rock and will tear up your suspension.
We had a great night at this place. Debs bought a nightie based on a poster on the wall advertising “The Maggoted Woolbailers Bachelor and Spinster Ball 2004”. Bet that was worth going to! We had noticed the temperature creeping up as we got further North and they told us that last year they had 18 consecutive days where it was over 50 degrees. Mind you, next day we conceded that they could’ve made all those tales up to amuse the tourists but whatever, it made for a great night and there were kisses all round as we finally left to go to bed. What an eventful day!
For much of the time, driving in Australia consists of miles and miles of straight roads with scrub on each side, few fellow travelers and only the occasional road kill to provide interest. It never ceased to amaze me that with all the hundreds of miles to chose from, and only one truck or car passing a particular point once every few hours, that a kangaroo will pick that precise moment to step into the road and get wasted. Just a few seconds either side and he would have missed it. The only logical solution is that they are as bored with the scenery as the rest of us and are committing suicide – either that or playing a dangerous game of “Chicken” where they leave it till the last moment to see if they can get across without being hit. These guys are big and can do a lot of damage to your car if you hit them but the huge road trains, some pulling 4 trailers, would probably just bowl over them and never even know they’d hit -until of course they stop and have to scrape bits of kangaroo or emu (for they are just as stupid) off the front of the cab.
The outcome of the tedious drive is that wherever you do see a stopping place – a roadside café or even just a comfort break provided by the Highways Agency, you tend to take advantage of it, so our next evening would be spent at Coober Pedy, the opal mining capital of the world. (Our friends from the night before called it “A Bloke’s Town” The name came from Aboriginal words “kupa piti” – assumed to mean “white man in a hole”.) 85% of the world’s opals are produced here; it is a town like no other. Stuck in the middle of the outback with nothing around but remote cattle ranches, it is surrounded by triangular piles of pinkish dust in varying sizes. This is the residue of the opal mines and it makes the landscape resemble that of the moon. Those people who are no longer fit enough to actually mine the opals can sometimes make a lucrative career from “noodling” which is sifting the waste for small opals previously missed by the bona fide mining operation. Most of the population live in underground homes hollowed out of the rock and providing a constant temperature in the fierce desert heat. Fortunes are made and lost here and if ever a town was populated by wackos, this is it. 48 different nationalities live here in relative harmony though it is not unknown for differences to be settled by sudden explosions or deaths. The town seems to police itself.With no reservations, we decided to do a quick check of the options. The CP backpacker hotel was quickly eliminated (although, we did have a nice conversation and tour with the owner, a large scruffy guy with his two front teeth knocked out)
We decided to stay underground and booked into the Desert Cave Motel. This was a big, quite luxurious hotel with a proportion of its rooms above ground for those who had presumably been here before but we had a sort of suite. The main door opened onto a hallway with a bathroom facing and steps off to the right. At the bottom was a bedroom/lounge with a TV, tea & coffee making facilities, a fridge and a double bed so this was to be John & Debbie’s room. Off that was another room which was quite basic with another double bed and that was to be ours – obviously, neither of the rooms had any windows and the walls which were hewn out of the rock were a sort of red marbled effect. This was definitely the stuff nightmares were made of – and so it was……. Probably the worst night’s sleep I’ve ever had, much akin to sleeping in a coffin! Although we were air conditioned, all I was longing for was to open a window and breathe some fresh air.That was to be later however. We had arrived in Coober Pedy around lunch-time so first of all we took stock of the place and tried to find somewhere to eat. The town seemed to consist of one main street with all the hotels and shops in there and other streets with housing leading off. There didn’t seem to be many places open – maybe they all had a siesta at this early afternoon hour but one café was open so we headed there. We were the only patrons to begin with so we played safe and ordered something bland and unadventurous like chicken. Soon we were joined by another customer – a huge guy who was filthy, dusty, dressed in working gear and shorts and who had obviously just finished work in the mines. He smiled at us as he came in and we soon got chatting. He was German and when we asked how he came to be here in the middle of the Australian outback, he said that he was originally from “corporate Berlin” but being bored by it all, he one day decided to change his life so he came to Coober Pedy. Now let’s think about this for a minute – you are bored with life, fancy a change……. Yes, no problem with that but then how on earth do you end up living underground in the middle of the Australian desert mining opals? I mean, that is some change is it not?? I would guess most people have never even heard of the place so WHY COOBER PEDY?? We asked ourselves that question many times and decided that this town is full of fugitives. They are either escaping justice or running from similar unpleasant situations; bankruptcy, hopelessness, general despondency…..who knows? This certainly would be the place to escape to – who on earth would think of looking for you here?
Anyway, we did the obligatory tour of the town and the opal mines, the Serbian Church which is attended by many nationalities and was hollowed out of the rock face (all these underground places have pink walls which are shot through with a red-ish vein rather like ‘monkey’s blood’ on an ice-cream cornet).
The Breakaways which was a local ‘beauty spot’ resembling a moonscape and reputed to be the setting for some of these weird science fiction films. Including Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. All around us were these little piles of pink dust which was fall out from the mining and it was 36 degrees. 
We also stopped at the famous, “Dog Fence” – the longest fence in the world, stretching 5,300 km across Australia. Its purpose was to stop dingos from traveling from the north- cattle country- to the south- sheep country. Our guide was another German named Gunther – maybe these were all war criminals – he said he was a photographer and movie maker who had ended up mining opals in Coober Pedy. WHY COOBER PEDY?? He dodged the question so we never got to the bottom of how he had got there or even more intriguing – why he had stayed?? We decided they should do a TV series about the place which could end with an unseen narrator saying “There are many stories in Coober Pedy – this has been one of them”We ended the day in a fabulous Greek restaurant called “Tom & Mary’s” where they did garlic prawns to die for. We had lots of white wine and fell into our underground caves exhausted.
What an experience!
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