week 2 - the dingo bark
13.12.09 - 20.12.09

so we left kunanarra real early. and arrived in darwin mid afternoon. we had just missed a cyclone. and darwin was wet. real wet. the camp ground was soggy. and there were loads of mozzies. and it was super humid hot. but it had a kfc. god works in mysterious ways. but only if you stick to the path. we didn't. we went for the angry angus. it made me sick.

the van needed two days of fixing. so we stayed in darwin for two days. first contact made with abo's. one smiled and grumbled something at me. it was progress. but we were glad to get out of that hell-hole.

we hit a roo. mowed the fucker down. stayed a night at a trucker stop. picked up some hitch-hikers. stopped at some thermal springs. failed to swim in the (freshy) croc infested river. because we are not heroes. and made it down to tennant springs. jussis. was tennant springs a jol. we caught the free bus to the country club. and while frank and gem played pokies, i built bridges. the abo's adopted me like a son. i bought the okes beers. and then i bought them a second round. and then it was my round again. and we had an awesome conversation that revolved around the following 4 questions being asked over and over again in a cyclical sort of way:

- so where you from?
- so how long you here?
- so when you leaving?
- so this place is a good place.

but this was definite progress. the okes were friendly. and we were moving forward. holding hands. two become one.

the next day we hit alice. alice? alice? where the fuck is alice? was a cool place. i liked it. the weather was cool and breezy. and the pubs seemed jammed. but again we breezed through. we were out of there the next morning. and hit king's canyon. eish. hot. and unspectacular. if you ask me. we saw some dogs. that didn't bark. and dingo was it's name-o. D-I-N-G-O. but wiki reckons they do bark:

"it is often wrongly asserted that dingoes do not bark... only 5% of the observed vocalisations were made up of barking."

wadda-mistake-a-to-make-a. feuled by a few rums, i had argued the point vigoriously. and backed up by a bush-whacking lesbo i wagered a dingo tat on it. eish. frank let me get away with shaving my hair. i remember feeling hurt. and really down.

next day we hit uluru. its a nice rock. friggin big. could do with a kfc on the top. the colonel's bucket glinting under the desert sun. perhaps with a drive thru function. fillet burger sliding down the side of the rock to your car. its impressive. but the fuckers wont let you climb it. cos its sacred. apparently. still dont mind charging folks exorbitant amounts to get in. 25 bucks. and building a tourist park 5kms away. this is where contemporary abo culture is becoming confused. its like going to a whore house with a no touching policy. you feel like you're getting ripped off. this is the root of the problem on the abo side of the bridge. must learn more.

kpi's:

kitty master: derrick

van issues: sink leaking. broken chair. cracked windscreen.

frank fish count: 0

roadkill: 200 x giant locust. 5 x bird. 3 x frilled lizard. 1 x stumpy lizard. 1 x roo.

week 1 - the salmon run
4.12.09 - 12.12.09

things started badly. earlier in the week frank and i decided to keep it tidy in order to make a clean start on sat. eish. it was always gonna be a tough ask. thurs and fri nights were huge. come sat morning i was so hungover even the ultimate kfc burger box couldnt pull me right.

but we left perth nonetheless. at 2pm. original etd 4am. we headed north up past geraldton to kalbarri. a breezy little holiday town situated along one main street that fronts some sort of seawater lagoon. during the drive up i suffered. but we still managed to elect tiny dancer as the official tour song.

blue jeans baby, la lady
i married a music man

we also managed to crack the windscreen 30mins into the trip. which was a shame. cos just 24hrs earlier we had elected not to take the windscreen and wheel insurance cover at just $3 a day extra. the lord giveth. and he taketh away.

we stayed a day at kilbarri to shoot the breeze. it was windy. we left the next morning. checked out some gorges. and then smoked it up to carnarvan. where we bought rum. and had lunch on the sea front. the seagulls sure were vicious. first sighting of abo's. we motored straight on up to exmouth. passing the tropic of capricorn on the way.

not sure what exmouth is. we couldnt really find it. sure was baffling. but we stayed in some lighthouse campsite. "the best situated campsite in wa" - lonely planet. really??? eish. missed that one. next morning we headed into the national park. now that was friggin awesome. we had neds campsite all to ourselves. and a quality beach 10m away. and roo's. just parking cheesy under the tree. they are super cool bastards. we spent two days there. frolicking in the turquoise water. playing cricket by the camp. snorkelling the ningaloo reef. i saw three monster sharks. okes were just dossing under rocks. i was too scared to pull their tails. frank fished. caught nothing. jussis. it was lekker. except the flies. never seen so many of the fuckers. they were all over the show. up your nose. in your ear. licking your eyeball.

the stars were awesome as well. but we struggled to find the southern cross. in the end we gave up.

we left the next afternoon. that was the last time we ever saw a vehicle of any sort going north. thousands coming south. but nothing going north. we sure were swimming upstream. the salmon run.

we spent the night in an outback roadhouse. it was frikken super uber hot. jeepers creepers. it was hotter than that dark chick on the 70's show. but not as hot as camilla. there was some german chick there working as a petrol attendant. she said she liked it. cos they let her swim in the river in the morning. friggin ace. i was thinking of applying for a job. no i wasnt. not even for a second. the place was filled with truckers. sweaty fat bastards. in dirty tight white vests. green truckers caps. chewing and spitting. i had an incident in the shower with one of them. it was awful. the lord giveth. and he taketh away.

so we hightailed it out of there the next morning real early. like 4am early. up to broome. broome is a kiff place. but would be better if it had a kfc. kfc is the very benchmark of kiffness. that's why south africa is the kiffest place in the whole world ever. quantity and quality. but broome is pretty kiff i guess. cable beach is massive. plenty of space for beach cricket. we were warned off swimming by croc sightings. but jumped in anyway. because we are heroes. and there were some dolphins chilling in the waves. we had a few beers at the local pub. abo sightings getting more frequent.

we continued north through fitzroy and halls creek. notorious for drunk abo's. but was pretty lame when we got there. apparantly they are dry towns now. this means that their are no bottle stores. and the pubs can breathalise you and send you on your way if you are drunk. bottlestore owners werent happy with this new ruling. neither were the abo's. neither were the UN. they came in. did a survey. and concluded it was against basic human rights. but the aussies dont care. so the town is dry.

so all the abo's have moved up to kunanarra. we met some of gem's friends up there. their car had just been stolen by the abo's. just for a joy-ride. they weren't happy. and were out for some vigilante justice. the police have given up. its bad practice to jail abo's. apparently. so this dude told us some stories. said he wasn't racist. but hates the abo's. reckons they're animals. they get drunk and beat the women and kids. and the women beat each other. and the kids steal cars. and they all sniff petrol. and i must admit. they all look rough. like really friggin kak. super hungover. with dopey red-eyes. and i haven't seen one of them in the work force. not even in a menial job. picking up rubbish. or behind a fast food counter.

eish. but this abo issue is a huge problem. i decided to build bridges. get to the bottom of it all. cos somewhere the system is failing. either on the western side. or the abo side. or both.

and there ends the first week.

kpi's:

kitty master: frank

van issues: cracked windscreen. inside light ripped. broken cupboard door. unidentified jiffy stuffed under the back cushion. two broken chairs. leaking sink. front bumper falling off. microwave broken. kettle leaking.

frank fish count: 0

road kill: 100 x giant locust. 3 x bird.

the dingo bark?

jussis. im usually amped for new years. it represents an opportunity to bolster my figures. chicks are less discerning on the eve of the turn of the year. but it all came crashing down. horribly. i was busting out some wicked moves on the dance floor. really cooking it up. and then i fell over. on my shell. like a turtle. paws in the air. shifting from side to side in a rising panic. unable to get right side up. the crowd moved away forming a circle. pointing and snearing. and taking much glee in my misfortune. fortunately i was rescued by frank. but it was too late. i ran home. arms flailing.

otherwise trip is going well. i guess. it has been super tough. and we sure have covered a whole lot of miles. eish. from broome we went up to darwin. via kunarara and some abo mischief. from darwin we hightailed it down through alice springs and uluru to port augusta. we spent xmas at streaky bay with some abo-hating bigot. and now we're holed up in esperance while the campervan gets a new clutch. a new gearbox. the alternator gets changed-out. and the wheel alignment and suspension get fixed. they might as well trash the bastard.

but its good to be out. sun shining bright. open road ahead. shirt off. aviators on. head out the window. hair blowing in the wind. cold beer in hand. tiny dancer on the radio.

blue jean baby, la lady, seamstress for the band
pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
and now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand

do dingo's bark? this is a question that has been haunting us since we bumped into a staunchly feminist lesbo at kings canyon. she had a shaved head. but a furry upper lip. she swigged xxxx out the quart bottle. and sneered nah mate. dingo's don't bark. i agreed with her. she looked like she had grown up wild and feral. frank disagreed. after a bottle of rum we had a bet. loser to get a dingo tat complete with speech bubble "woof". eish. tough one to lose. apparently dingos do bark. according to wikipedia. frank let me get away with shaving my head.

i had a dog that didn't bark
and dingo was its name-o
D-I-N-G-O

i have come to realise that my task in aus is to build bridges between abos and bogans. let the building begin. abo bogan rights man. peace.