White Man Down a Hole

More bleak landscape greeted us on our road to Coober Pedy.  We passed a sign that said Welcome to the Outback, but I swear it could have been a couple of hundred clicks earlier and not look out of place.. 

It was white line fever after a couple of hours as this video clearly shows…

Finally in the distance, mounds and mounds of dirt either side of the highway and stretching away.  It was like bull ants at a convention. The town was as dry and dusty as you can imagine and in the heat of the early afternoon, we were content to find our free RV site, unhitch, set up and wait for the cool of the evening.  Tamika had researched a tour of the area through Noble Tours which we booked for the following afternoon.  Coober Pedy is a mining town, pure and simple. Ram shackled, ill-disciplined, a place where people come NOT to be found.  No-one finds opal, but there are a dozen opal stores in town.  Disputes in the past were settled with firearms or gelignite or an accident down a disused shaft.  It’s estimated that there are 1.5 -2 MILLION 30 metre mine shafts across the opal fields, so late evening strolls are NOT recommended.

With the daily temperature around 35 degrees we panted like dogs around our Sirocco wall fans waiting for the sun to move behind the hills.  Luckily a cool evening breeze sprung up (right on time according to the locals) and we caught up on our emails and Netflix.

The tour guide collected us in his air conditioned 4WD bus at 1:15 for a five hour explore. A lot of the tourist attractions are within 1klm radius as the town grew up around the early mines.  Mining was eventually banned within the town limits as tunnels were accidently drilled into people’s houses (and worse).  We spent a good hour at the Umoona Opal Mine.  The tour guide was a library of information.  We went down into an old mine that had been tricked up with audio visual displays.  There were sections on dinosaurs, indigenous history and of course, opals for sale.

Now, some of you are already aware, that was a minor medical episode (judging by Tamika’s response time) or a near death experience (judging by the urgency everyone else showed).  Just a little back story.  IT is very dusty out here.  You breathe it in and it settles in the back of your throat – which I appreciate now.  We had both gone to the loo and as I stood at the basin I decided to quench my thirst by gulping down some tap water.  This had the unfortunate side effect of congealing aforementioned dust into a tiny mud ball that very effectively cut off all incoming and outgoing oxygen.  Now those who have experienced sleep apnoea know how disconcerting not breathing can be.  And this time, there was no auto correct.  I staggered outside doing my best cardiac arrest impression and with the last few microns of oxygen left called out to Tamika.  Some woman said “He’s having a heart attack. I’ll get help!” and ran back inside.  Luckily, another worldly gentleman cried out “No he’s not”, and gave me a couple of whacks on the back, dislodging the lethal obstruction, heaving my starving lungs back into some semblance of functionality.  “I’m OK, I’m OK” I wheezed to the onrushing throng of assistance.

AT THAT POINT, and only at that point, do I hear from the direction of the ladies loo, “Are you OK darling?”   Now mind you, I was still bent over sucking in the big ones so I can’t vouch for the level of consternation on her face.  What I do know however, was my earlier heaving gasps were merely some external irritant by someone unknown, interrupting an otherwise blissful bladder release.  The desperate cry “Tamika”, heard probably by everyone else in Coober Pedy, could not penetrate with buttressed walls of indifference of this princess on her throne.  Not one to rush to the potential aid of her betrothed on a mere suspicion, she waited till “He’s OK” to echo across the courtyard before hoisting up her pantaloons and running all of two metres to my side.  Needless to say the conversation on the bus was somewhat subdued as the realization that I was truly at the mercy of the kindness of strangers, NOT my intended, slowly sunk in.

All manner of terrible deaths were invisioned. Snake bite – “Quick darling, drive back to that pub for help.”  Never to be seen again, or at least four hours later, with a couple of drunken locals clutching the remains of a six-pack, well after my passing.

Luckily, the funny side didn’t kick in for a few hours so Tamika’s belated attention was milked for all it was worth.  The next stop was a Serbian underground church, which, given the previous half hour, I found unusually comforting.

The drive out to The Breakaways was the highlight.  There remnants of an ancient mountain range, with particular significance to the local indigenous peoples.  There were restrictions to where we could go, but the lookout over the plains was spectacular.  Last stop, the tour guides own mine, two railway tunnels disappearing into the plains, already worked over, but that elusive vein of opal could be just behind the next pick axe swing.

Postscript

I want to thank all of Tamika’s friends on their genuine concern and their condolences for my choice of life partner.  Yes, I kinda knew, but until I saw it in real life, there was always a little hope……..