Nullabor Roadhouse

Today we started our trek across the Nullarbor Plain. There’s not much to see on this journey so far, especially when the world is in lockdown. Anything that could’ve broken up the journey was closed due to COVID-19, except the roadhouses, which are still open for essential services and truckies.

We filled our jerry cans just in case, but we needn’t have worried... so far. Daph thought Ern was tempting fate when he kept checking to see if we had mobile phone reception. We didn’t. Zilch. SOS only. Even with our emergency SIM card. And we are truly in the middle of nowhere. Not the best place to break down. There were still a few fellow travellers to wave to on the way. So, if we did break down, it wouldn’t have been too long before someone would come by to help.

We didn’t break down.

Daph channelled the positivity, thinking nothing but happy thoughts to cancel out the negative electromagnetic field of Ern checking the phone reception. The Kombi did just fine, loving life cruising along the empty highway with the wind in her roof racks, making it to our first pit stop without incident.

Although the Nullarbor Plain is a vast vortex of nothingness, it’s greener than we imagined. One thing that is in abundance around here is the flies! They are everywhere!! They are loving life with all the roadkill to munch on, and no humans to swat them.

We treated ourselves to a motel room for the night at the Nullarbor Roadhouse. Mainly because we wanted to lock ourselves away from the flies. But also, to put some money back into the community because the Roadhouse staff are doing it tough at the moment. Daph also bought an extortionately priced tea towel and a novelty thong-shaped fly swatter[1] just to help the guys out with cash flow. However, the fly swatter has come in very handy. And Daph loves a good souvenir tea towel.

It’s a fabulous place to stay! We were pleasantly surprised with our room. It looks like a creepy Bates Motel from the outside but is quite luxurious on the inside, all things considered. The original roadhouse buildings are still standing and the whole place is a shrine to the 1950s through to the 1970s, with so many antiques from the period to explore.

Daph is disappointed we haven’t seen any camels, as per the warning signs. But we have seen dingoes. They are sleeping outside our front door! Daph wonders if they eat flies.

***

It was a very comfortable night at the Nullarbor Roadhouse. The sunset was beautiful, and the stars were magnificent. The solar-powered flies settled down, and then the moon-seeking moths revved up. It was lucky that we did get a motel room so Daph could watch from the safety of behind the window, and not suffer a most grisly death by King Mothra. We fell asleep to the sound of the dingoes howling. This is Australia.

Daph and Ern, whilst loving everything about each other, don’t like to hear each other’s morning evacuations. So, when in hotel/motel rooms, the routine is to put the television on loud whilst someone is on the loo, to respectfully drown out the bottom burp symphonies.

Ern pops the television on and channel-surfs to find some tosh worth watching. We don’t usually watch television because it’s all mind-numbing rubbish that sucks you in and brainwashes you. After bypassing all the channels with fearmongering “news” reports, we settled on the infomercials.

“Pain Erazor. But wait! There’s more! Buy one within the next five minutes and you’ll receive, not one, but TWO!!”

Daph: “I promise I won’t get sucked in.”

Daph had bought two by the time Ern had finished his poo.

Ern came out just as the SaraMia bra advert came on and got sucked into the hard-sell voiceover...

Ern: “Ooh. Looks so comfortable. It’s about time, with all the modern-day textiles and fabrics, that they create something more uplifting and supportive without an underwire.”

Daph’s turn in the toilet. Ern settles in as the adverts finish, and on comes...

Ern: “MacGyver! Yeeeeeeessssss!! They’ve locked MacGyver in a supplies room. It’s big trouble.”

We are so easily sucked into the vortex of mind-numbing television. This is why we don’t usually watch it!

Onwards to Border Village.

[1] The word thong means flip-flop shoes in Australia, not tiny little undergarments which are no good at swatting flies. Unless you used them as a catapult, but you’d have to be a crack shot. Haha. See what I did there?