Rashers of Bacon

Australia has long been a source of mystery for most of the world. Even before any European had ventured this far south there were theories of a Great Southern Land. It was thought that there needed to be something to balance the planet properly. When the early sea explorers finally bumped into Australia, its final shape was unknown for many years to come. Likewise, when Australia had been colonized by white people the centre of the country remained a mystery. In fact, anything much further west than the Blue Mountains near Sydney was unknown. There was a driving force for looking, beyond the thrill of exploration. Expeditions were financed in the hope of a country full of pasture land, some thought that they would find an enormous inland lake, but despite the early promise of the grassy southern tablelands, these early dreams petered out, one weary footstep at a time.

Thanks to modern maps it is hard to find something unknown to explore, so I had to pretend that I didn’t know where I was going, and to try to act surprised by my destinations. This is doubly difficult when you arrive in a town with an interesting reputation, such as Wagga Wagga, or just Wagga if you prefer, which has produced a disproportionately high number of top class sportsmen, my favourite of which is Mark ‘Tubby’ Taylor, the former Australian Test cricket captain, and owner of the largest posterior in modern cricket. Thankfully, as I continued to drive west I came across towns that I knew nothing about, and that I still remain largely ignorant of. Towns such as Hay, which may well be named after a local speciality in that substance.

Before I continue with my travel tale, I feel the need to impart the mode of my transport. I am driving a car and sleeping in the back, where I have room to stretch to my full length. I feel like a snail carrying his house around, but thankfully I don’t leave a slimy trail wherever I go. To extend that simile I become a slug when I leave the car, which does not please me. Despite the obvious disadvantages of sleeping in the back of a car it is a liberating feeling to shun the comforts of a hotel, which includes the inconvenience of finding them. I simply say ‘Here looks good’, and retire for the night. Of course, if I had the funds to finance a three week hotel tour my opinions would probably change.

As I’m sure you’ve gathered by now, this road trip is taking me west of Canberra, to far Western New South Wales, then the Flinders Ranges, Adelaide, Melbourne and back to Canberra. I recommend buying a large map and some coloured pins to keep track of my progress. Currently I am near Broken Hill, once a big mining town but now just as famous for being an artisitc oasis in the cultural desert of the outback. Broken Hill is the largest town for miles around. It would not exist at all if valuable substances had not been found in the ground here, for Broken Hill is in the desert, and Australians tend to prefer the sand at the beach. The change in landscape happens very gradually. Dry grassy plains with a few tress and hills gradually becomes flatter, then the grass gives way to shrub, the soil turns to sand, the trees disappear, then the ground becomes covered in little rocks. It is not a desert like the Sahara, more like Mars with bushes. Despite some light rain the creeks around her’ don’t have signs, they have tombstones.

I am currently parked near a ghost town called Silverton, of which I will write more later, but night has fallen with a thud, leaving me with just the stars and the moon for company.

Dave out.