Day 18.07

We had a few adventures with the internet and a few hiccups as you, our dear readers, would have surmised by now, having had quite a break between our posts. The internet lounge in this town keeps to strict business hours. It is not open on Saturday afternoons or on Sundays. Though the attendant was well versed in all technical aspects, her approach was a tad brash and brazen, mostly talking at us, rather than with us. Esperance is obviously a town set up for tourists. Tourists come and tourists go. And having met a few along the way, I guess that is how locals deal with them. Eyes seldom meet. Smiles seldom exchange except ‘in the line of duty’. No wonder that the poor woman taking a break from her real estate job looked so sad. I guess that Kalgoorlie had spoiled us.

18.07 – Real Estate agent on a ‘smoko’

"In the geographical area that is surrounded with red dust that stretches out to the horizon. Where it may meet a bushy range, but where there’s ‘not really much rain’ and rarely the river runs. Where the next ‘town’ is a hundred kilometers away, the population is ‘nice’." Ted says with some reflection. I remember that by ‘Town’ he means the ‘roadhouse come pub come caravan park’, maybe a general store. "The places where locals said ‘G’day’." he continues. "Those smiles on those faces, that ‘lay back yet ready to spring into action any minute’ approach, that ‘This is Australia, mate. I can do anything I want’ attitude. That’s what seems to be missing here." He can get quite verbose at times.

But I know what he means. For me, Kalgoorlie is a real ‘gem’. It seems to have become my favourite place on earth, for the moment. After all, it is where, for the first time in over 25 years, a policeman gave me the time of day, literally. "Hang, on my watch stopped." He nudged his partner for the time and the younger of the two men in blue said: "Twenty five minutes to twelve according to me." "Can’t see it from here, but the clock should be striking soon." the older policeman said, looking up at the ceiling of the verandah roofing over the footpath by the shops. "But, I can smell the sausages." The unmistakable aroma of a sausage sizzle wafted past my nostrils. "Come and join us round the corner, if you’re hungry." he invited. I was dumbfounded. Stunned. Speechless. No witty remarks. Just a memory of how things used to be. A memory of the when, and where, people were ‘nice’ to each other. When, and where, a friendly smile was met with a nod, rather than suspicion or animosity. When, and where, people talked with you, not at you. When it was ’25 minutes to 12’ in Kalgoorlie.

Oops. Rant.