← PreviousA long month of isolation on a potato farmSo it was with great relish that we tackled the road to Darwin. 2,600 kilometres and 25 hours of driving, mostly in a straight line through a lunar landscape where the slightest hill counted as an attraction. Even the sight of eagles eventually became monotonous, there were so many of them. These long hours behind the wheel were the perfect opportunity to let your mind wander. The road had a hypnotic effect, and we often found ourselves buried in kilometres of thought.
Sometimes a dead cow or a squashed kangaroo would jolt our wandering minds back. We were glad to reach our first stop, Mount Isa, after seven hours of eating up the kilometres. It was a mining town, and we don't use the term to describe the town's former main activity, as you might when describing some towns in northern France. The gigantic mine bordered one side of town and was buzzing with impressive activity. Although it was in the middle of the desert, you could find everything you'd expect of a big Australian town there: Coles, Kmart, Woolworths and all the big chains.
We made the most of civilisation to go for a beer in a bar. The town had a surprising atmosphere, and you'd come across lots of workers straight out of the mine. You could recognise them by their slightly sooty faces and their dirty clothes. It was a peculiar mix in the pub between very well-dressed people — the calendar said Friday night — miners and Aboriginal people. We decided to eat at a fast-food place, the cheapest option and one that let us use the Wi-Fi.
After the meal, we went to brush our teeth in the toilets before looking for a place to park the car and sleep in peace. We'd found the perfect spot: dimly lit, away from the road and no noise.
So we got the car ready, which meant moving everything lying on the back seat into the boot, when I realised one of the sleeping bags was covered in oil. The can of engine oil under the driver's seat had decided to leak, making my sleeping bag completely unusable.
All we could do was hope the night wouldn't be too cold. By early morning the temperature had dropped. Nothing compared with what you might get in France, but I had to put on a light jacket and Cassandre gave me hers too. She still had her sleeping bag, after all. When we got up, we went to Kmart to buy a new one. We didn't really have time to get the old one cleaned, and most of the road still lay ahead.
To the sound of country music, the playlist Cass had chosen for driving, we set off to reach the border between Queensland and the Northern Territory, our driver changeover point. We took the customary photos in front of the sign marking the change of state. The stretch of road ahead was the most repetitive of the whole trip. Four hours of desert without any relief and with almost no vegetation.
We stopped to eat sandwiches at a rest area that was more a hastily levelled patch of ground than the height of luxury. The place was overrun with flies and we took refuge in the car before setting off again. We were getting used to the routine. Every two hours we'd look for a place to swap drivers, and at the end of the day whoever was at the wheel drove until they'd had enough.
This technique took us to Elliott, a spot so insignificant on the map that you almost had to zoom all the way in on Google Maps to find it. We quickly realised the town's population was Aboriginal but all the businesses were run by white people. We didn't venture into grand sociological analysis, but it summed up the country rather well. After eating our noodles on a pink bench, we went to find a quiet spot to park the car and sleep in it.
That wasn't really difficult; the town was fairly peaceful. Our problem was more the heat inside the car. As soon as we opened the door, a cool breeze came in and refreshed us. But as soon as the door was shut, the temperature shot back up. No problem: we left two windows open to make the most of the draught.
After a few minutes, we heard a familiar sound inside that spelled trouble: mosquitoes by the dozen! A merciless hunt began. Using the light from our phones, we lured them into a corner before methodically executing them. No fewer than twenty mosquitoes gave their lives on that terrible night.
Saved? Not at all. Some, smarter than their fellows, waited for us to fall asleep before coming to buzz around our ears. Cassandre took care of exterminating them. The temperature finally dropped around 3 am and we managed to sleep until 7:30. After a frugal breakfast, we got back on the road to Mataranka.
Hot springs awaited us there in two different places. The first was laid out like a real swimming pool carved into the rock, and the water was 34 degrees. You might think it was a bad idea with an outside temperature of 38 degrees, but it turned out to be quite refreshing all the same. We had fun watching the local old folks come to cool off. They were all equipped with foam pool noodles to float.
It was even funnier at the second spot, because the old folks had a circuit. They walked upstream with the noodle between their legs before sitting on it and letting themselves drift to the end. They even hung their flip-flops on each end of the noodle so they could walk back up more easily. The technique seemed well honed.
As for us, we had fun around a tree trunk 90% submerged and took photos of the water, so clear you could see every detail of the riverbed. After a good long soak, we reckoned it was time to go home. But home where? When your car is your house, the answer is everywhere and nowhere. We looked for a quiet spot to eat our traditional noodles, a highly balanced meal.
For lack of anything better, we found a table under a tree, and that would do this time. After dinner we set out to find somewhere for a drink in Katherine, and it wasn't as easy as you might think.
We eventually found the Golf Club, where we had a beer and a glass of white wine before trying our hand at the pokies. The concept had intrigued us since arriving in Australia. In every town, in every bar, there was an area set aside for gamblers with dozens of machines where locals could satisfy their thirst to be relieved of their money.
When we saw you could play 100 games for a dollar, we decided to give it a go, and it was rather comical, because after losing everything we still hadn't understood how it really worked. Australians had a real problem with gambling. How widely available it was led to destructive behaviour, and more than one person admitted to us that they'd been ruined by sports betting or poker machines.
On the rare occasions we turned on a TV, we were bombarded with adverts for the many websites trying to relieve you of your dollars. It was the first time we'd been tempted, and we'd lost a dollar but gained a good laugh and one more memory. It was time to look for a quiet spot to sleep.