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A La Solo - January 2007

New Year's and Glow-In-The-Dark-Willies

We were in the outback and the New Year's Eve Party was ironically, a beach party theme. Our country music friend had supplied us with straw hats with shells attached. They smelt so much like straw that a blind person would have mistaken me for a bale of hay.

Due to our 'I'm-with-the-band' status our drinks were on the house. We had plenty of spare time and nerves to kill so I got stuck into liquers and cocktails. Everyone was gathered in their cosy cliques and we feared spending the entire night in our lonely little clique of two.
After about an hour, two guys had summoned the courage to sway towards us. This courage had been developing since 10am when they had started drinking so we rewarded it with some polite conversation.


Not long after we were rescued by a guy who like the first two, asked if we were backup singers. "No!" we replied in practised unison. He offerred to introduce us to a considerably more sober segment of the party and I almost cried with relief saying, "Yes! Yes! Please! That would be wonderful!" My friend was still bailed up by one of the intoxicated locals so I was introduced to a couple visiting from Perth who looked just as apprehensive as we did, a guy from Toowoomba who was very studious, and then a tall, muscular guy called Nick*. Nick immediately strode forward, took my hand and leant toward my cheek. Momentarily closing my eyes he turned his mouth onto mine before swiftly retreating. It was enormously bold but so skillfully accomplished I found it endearing of him (cheeky bugger). "He's gay." announced my friend. Moments later he corrected that, "Nah, he's actually married to that girl there." I instantly felt a pang of cold dread. Only minutes into meeting people and I was in danger of becoming party enemy no 1. in the eyes of every female here. Good one.


The same man who introduced me to Nick soon introduced me to Adam*. After about half an hour's lively conversation with this guy who was starting to take a keen interest in everything I said he suddenly looked self-conscious and introduced me to his wife. I turned in horror. She had been sitting on a bar stool right behind me the whole time while her husband and I had positioned our glowsticks on our groins and waggled our glow-in-the-dark-willies at one another. She didn't look happy to meet me but simply shrugged when I shouted with enormous tact, "I HOPE IT DOESN'T LOOK LIKE I'M CHATTING UP YOUR HUSBAND!" Instead of shoving my glow-in-the-dark-willie up my derriere she waved her hand in an apparent lack of concern. It then hit home to me that in a place where occasions to chat to the opposite sex are about as common as caffe lattes you let the leash out a fair bit. Nevertheless I felt distinctly uncomfortable for the rest of the night as I regularly spied Adam staring at me from across the room with the sort of wide-open longing I get when I see a chocolate fountain.

My Best Friend
A Glow-in-the-Dark-Willie in action


Soon a game began of grab-the-boiled-egg-out-of-the-swimming-pool-filled-with-jelly-and-tough-luck-if-you-pick-a-raw-one in which a plucky jillaroo won. Her chances of survival had been pretty slim as four full-grown men dove headfirst into the toddler's pool with her. I personally felt she also deserved a Medal of Bravery.

Then there was a true outback party game called we-couldn't-afford-a-mechanical-bull-so-pretend-you-are-riding-one-and-the-best-impression-wins. After this I joined in a game of limbo which didn't last very long for me because I had just downed a schooner-sized Blue Lagoon after they ran out of cocktail glasses - I called it a Blue $*@# Ocean and drank it like the proverbial fish.

After a couple of daiquiris I hit the dancefloor with some of the girls. Then Nick danced with me in a quaint, old-fashioned two-step with plenty of twirling and a warm embrace at the end. "Thank you darling." I whispered in his ear, feeling positive that a man who has biceps the size of telegraph poles, and irons his jeans must be thorougly playing the other side of the paddock. But soon after, a girl who had befriended me said, "He's shagging that girl." and nodded in the direction of someone who was definitely female and most definitely not his 'wife'.

What I quickly realised was that in this tight-knit community there was no running from your past. My friend had a boyfriend who was draped over another girl quite suggestively on the dancefloor. I joked, "Maybe he needs a New Year's Resolution not to dance with other girls." She replied with resignation, "He was going out with her when we hooked up so..." The rest was lost in the noise but I could fill in the gaps for myself. In a small population of eligible partners a certain amount of tolerance was required to keep the community together. Caring is sharing after all.

At 7am I stumbled into my train carriage. Completely composed, I bumped my way down the corridor walls until I realised I had gone the wrong way. After trying both directions twice, I finally fell against the wall of the bathroom and enjoyed a sobering wash. I then slithered into my bunk and remained there for much of the trip home. Here's to the outback and here's to 2007. May your bore water never smell like blood and may your glow stick willies shine on forever...


*Names have been changed to protect privacy.


New Year's Eve 2007
Happy New Year!


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There is No Place Like Home

I was dreading the New Year's Eve party at Longreach. When we first stepped into the tavern where our friend was due to perform we were given appraising looks. It was a little bit like entering a nudist camp fully clothed. You knew that you had every right to be there but you got the uncomfortable feeling that you looked distinctly different to everyone else and that you were about as welcome as a slug in a salad.

Our accommodation had all the charm and ambience of a construction site. Every floorboard felt more fragile than the last and the carpets were vintage stripey-style with splashes of accumulated spills - some which smelt fairly fresh. We later found out that the building was scheduled for demolition. What a surprise. The bathroom was less horrifying than the last we had dealt with. After our long journey I had only one request: a cup of comforting tea. I was shown the tea table near the stairs. I gingerly reached inside the open plastic bucket and pulled out a teabag. It was attached to many of the other teabags in a convoluted tangle of strings and bags. Some bags were spilling tea leaves and others had suspicious brown stains on them. After extracting a reasonable-looking specimen I dropped it into a plastic cup which I had retrieved from my picnic bag to avoid using the mugs on the table.

Apprehensively, I filled the cup with hot water from the plastic urn which was encrusted with I-don't-ever-want-to-know-what. The Bushells teabag turned the water a colour that looked like tea and I felt my hopes revived. I opened the fridge with trepidation. There was a solitary item in the middle - a mug half-filled with milk. I brought the mug up to my nose. It smelt like milk, it looked like milk...I smelt it again. And again. After smelling it a few more times I concluded it was long-life milk and began to pour it into my cup. Being a clear plastic sort I could watch in horror as the milk plunged to the bottom of the cup - and stayed there. There was congealed milk on the sides of the mug that I had poured it from and I looked at the sorry mix of stale tea atop the milk.

After discarding the tea I retired to my room. There was a wardrobe with a small square mirror within a square cavity. Unfortunately, due to the position of it so close to the door and at torso-height I had to bend down and forward to look into it. This had the effect of blocking any available light and so I couldn't see anything at all. After doing my makeup I again practised my I'm-having-a-great-time-smile. After three days of it the smile was turning into a grimace and I almost couldn't bear the thought of being in a room full of people who wouldn't make eye contact with us while listening to country music.

Only one more night I told myself. I looked longingly at my train ticket for the next morning. I was like a Dorothy wailing, "I wanna go home! I wanna go home!" But there was a bit more heel clicking to do before I could go anywhere...
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Are you Canadian?

Trees with a bouquet of frosted green atop a slender bunch of black stems emerged from dirt more orange than Tang. Blanketing the sky were tufts of clouds in even rows from horizon to horizon. The sky was so pure and clear those clouds felt as though they might float right down to the ground. A flock of young emus with glossy black feathers dashed between scrubby bushes while skidhawks glided above.

The outback is a foreign country that urban dwellers recognise is there but rarely venture into. Even the English language takes on a new flavour - an easy drawl keeping banter to a crawl and names like Mozzie or Gypsy. When you step into a bar you are stepping into the beating heart of the outback's society - tread carefully, this is sacred ground. This is where people come together, discuss business and preserve a delicate web of relationships. What is spoken in the pub stays in the pub as the publicans carefully explain. "The young girls here now don't understand that you can't repeat what is said here." complains Tanya the publican. She recounts how two girls repeated some loose gossip about some locals and caused enormous community strife as a result.

We also witnessed the negative impact of 'foreigners' in the nearby hotel. Unlike the Cannungra, it had been revamped with faux outback styling including a piece of shiny corrugated iron facade on the bar. As we drove past we observed that they had rustled up a performer for the same evening in a move of typical competitiveness. We reported it to the publicans at Cannungra Hotel. With disgust they explained that the competing hotel had been bought by a couple from the Gold Coast who were hell-bent on driving their premises into insolvency by ensuring they had entertainment the same evening. With a local population of about two hundred and a shortage of local entertainers the lack of cooperative spirit was clearly an unnecessary addition to local culture.

So it was entirely forgivable that we didn't experience an enthusiastic embrace wherever we went. While we felt like foreigners in our own country it quickly became clear that our presence had been noted and appreciated (albeit with caution). This was most evident when after the gig in our second night at Tambo, the publican said to me, "The whole town has been trying to figure out where you're from - are you Canadian?"
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Maybe it was the Country Music...

I couldn't explain why I felt nervous about going to Longreach. After all, I am a seasoned world traveller - I've rocked along the Friendship Highway, I've trekked mountains in Nepal and I've travelled deep into the Arabian desert. So why did I inwardly quake at the thought of going on a 3-day outback road trip with friends? Maybe it was the country music. My friend who loves all things country invited me to go on a New Year's Eve gig tour with her musician boyfriend. So with a bottle of pink champagne carefully packed near a spray bottle full of water (in case my skin dried out) we set off for our first stop - Tambo. It wasn't long before the towns grew small, shabby and sun-bleached; the dirt turned from black and soft blanketed by green crops to rust red and tangerine. The highway drew us relentlessly onward for hour after hour. Tambo was a quaint little place and surprisingly green. It was a relief to stop and rest - the highway had been litterred with so many suicidal roos it was like a Skippy Road Massacre. The doors of the Cannungra Hotel were straight out of a Wild West movie and inspired me to practise my swagger a little as we trolled to the bar stools. My friend and I watched as our friend started up a conversation with the hoteliers with restrained impatience. We were introduced then politely left alone as if courtesy demands that newcomers be allowed to simply sit and absorb the local ambience. After an hour we opted to absorb in our rooms. We had never stayed at a pub before so our curiosity quickly turned to surprise and then exploded into hysterical giggles as we surveyed the facilities. The hotel had been constructed in the 1950's and apparently not much had changed since then. The bathroom was functional but far from pristine. We gasped at the long rusty stains in the sinks and bath where the bore water had deposited its leftovers. My friend had to leap out of the toilet when she flushed it because it suddenly transformed into a fountain, flooding the floor with water. The showers were a complicated affair - mine had nothing to cover the doorway. The floors were all painted blood red to avoid cleaning the bore water stains. In the dark interior of the shower cubicle I tried to stand away from the water while I turned it on and immediately bumpled into spider webs. Squealing and grumbling we turned the water on which issued at a perfect temperature and I gratefully stepped under. A cockroach ran out when my friend turned her water on and she yelped. The metallic smell was inescapable and I could tolerate until I figured out what it smelt of: blood. That dull aroma combined with the hot air, exhaustion and blood-red surrounds resulted in a feeling of lingering nauseousness. We sat down to dinner and my friend asked her boyfriend what time he would start playing. "I'm playing tomorrow night!" he responded. My friend gasped in horror, "What? I thought we were only spending one night in this hole!" He shook his head in total surprise at the look of horror over my friend's face. She began to laugh hysterically at the thought of staying one more day in Tambo - I joined in and soon we were in painful fits of laughter. While her boyfriend sat in stunned confusion we laughed, and laughed. It lasted for about ten minutes I think after which, we managed to restrain ourselves. It wasn't too bad at that point, but then, the country music hadn't started yet...
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