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Published: August 19th 2008
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Sunny, Warm Mildura
At least, that was what I was promised. Every second person, pretty much: "Oh, you'll like it up there, it's warm." And every other person was, of course, "You have to go to Stefano's"
Who's Stefano?
Turns out he's the guy that does "Gondola on the Murray." Now, if you'd've said that, instead of: "You know, that TV Chef on the ABC.", I'd've gone. "Oh, ok.", instead of giving you a completely blank stare.
"Stefano is Jamie Oliver?"
I went to a Stefano owned cafe. Called "27 Deakin" There is a sign next to the entrance of the Kitchen, that says: "I am not responsible for my words when I am cooking. Leave me alone."
I'm sorry, buster, but yes, yes you are. You are always responsible for your words, and your actions. Always. They are, afterall, yours.
Dickhead.
Mildura is fun, though. After the scary level of
push at The Alfred, and the scary level of *nothing* at CGMC, Mildura is... more like Gosford, actually. A strange cross between Gosford and Taree. You don't have everything, you just deal with it, and move on.
I went out to
Water Tower
You're supposed to note the unusual centre-running ladder, and the elaborate finial. Umm, yeah, from that distance. Wentworth on my second day up here. The first day I wasted on Orientation. Wentworth is one of those towns that is hanging on by the skin of it's teeth. Once it was huge. Once, though, groceries came by boat, not truck.
Maybe with the coming oil crisis, it'll grow again. I mean, the confluence of the Murray and the Darling is nothing to be sneezed at. It was pretty, a wetland, with a small island between the two rivers, where you could ritually dip your hand in: first the South bank of the Darling, then the north bank of the Murray. There were pelicans about, and cormorants, and I am reminded of documentaries about the filling of Lake Eyre.
There was a paddle steamer being done up, in a pond, in a park, near the Darling. It was called The Ruby. She's been worked on for 13 years, and has only about six months to go. The plan is to use her as a function venue, but also to use her as an inland version of The Young Endeavour. I hope the scheme gets up and running. I got to walk all over her. The bloke looking
Possum
This Hermit, who lived in the bush, by himself, and only did work when no one was looking. after her that day, doing the work, was a retired riverboat captain, and I threaded my way over temporary planking and electric cords, to reach the stair and the whitewashed cleanliness of the cabins and sundeck. I love small towns.
The Gaol was an impressive sight. Back in the heart of the town, it was spooky and lonely. It was the first to be made out of local materiels, and the one that Dubbo gaol was modelled on. It's sun-baked earth and yellow-orange bricks made it easy to imagine the harsh conditions of gaol in that time. Sadly it's power was diminished by the signs saying "GAOL- yes, that *is* how you spell it" and the presentation of "Ghost Hunters" "Evidence" in one of the cells, where there was an absence of actual information about the day-to-day lives of the prisoners, or events. For those interested, the "Hunters" presented a bunch of thermal "data" all of which appeared within two standard dev of normal, and a "psychic" who appeared to do a series of Cold Reads. The laugh out loud one was the punishment block. Without being told what it was, or what it was for, he declared that
there was great pain surrounding this stone, and that there were souls trapped to the stone that couldn't get away. Without being told? The thing has
manacles driven into it. Manacles. Puhlease!
Right behind Wentworth are the Perry Sandhills. They are the most accesible sandhills in Australia, outside of the beaches, and they are beautiful. I'll probably go back there at least once this rotation.
There was a group of exchange students from Japan there when I arrived. I'd barely pulled up when one of the Aussie girls asked if her billet could have a photo sitting in my car (yes, I'd had the roof down).
That done I trekked up the nearest dune. Actually, I ran up the nearest dune. I don't know how big they're supposed to be, but they look about 500m across, by a couple of kilometres long. But I'm pretty sure they're a bit bigger than that.
You approach the Sand hills from their west side, having gone out past them (although you can't see them from the highway), then coming back into them. The first glimps is with the sun on them, sculpting a mirage an Escher of
The Girl in My Car
It was cute, really, how excited she was to be in a convertible. orange and black. The country around you is flat. Dirt and rocks as far as the eye can see.
The sand is very orange, almost red. It is heaped up around trees , so that only the canopy, green and vibrant can be seen. I walked there, in the canopy of the trees, and out in the sunlight. I took off my shoes and let the sand run through my toes. I ran across the ridge-tops (I had forgotten that one side is steep and soft , and one side is almost flat, and hard).
There are only two rows of dunes, here, where you can drive right up to them. The other side is a sheep station: flat, parched land the same colour as the wool on the parched sheep.
They reminded me of Morocco, those dunes. Of Merzouga. They reminded me of how *Alive* I felt in the desert there. My stomach ached the entire time I was on them. My stomach and my shoulders.
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