A small opal-mining town in the middle of nowhere and the backdrop for such movies as Mad Max, Priscilla: Queen of the Desert, and Pitch Black.



One of many road trains along the way.



There wasn't much to eat in the Red Centre. Thank God for Mrs. Mac's beef pies.



Called the Castaways, just outside of Coober Pedy, much greener than it usually is due to record rainfall.
(photo by Karen)



The Dingo Fence runs for 9000 km east-west and is just outside of Coober Pedy. Ranchers used to have such a problem with dingos destroying their livestock that they collaborated to build this fence which would keep the dingos north.
(photo by Alies)



Here's the rest of it.
(photo by Alies)



Driving into Coober Pedy, you see a lot of signs warning you not to fall into a mine shaft and die.



Here's Debbie in the underground hostel. Carved out of an old mining shaft, the hostel is naturally cool.
(photo by Karen)

From: Jeff Nyveen To: my friends and family Date: Fri, 17 Mar 2000 03:43:26 -0400 Subject: Ayers Rock and Coober Pedy Happy St. Patrick's Day. Alice Springs is a lot like Tucson with a few drunk Aborigines. It's a hot, dry town surrounded by mountains. Not too commercialized, not too many tall buildings. It's in the middle of nowhere. Pretty much the only reason it exists is to serve as a highway stopping point for outback tours of Ayers Rock. As soon as I got there I went to sleep. I felt like I was coming down with a cold, and I wanted to make sure I would be feeling better for my Ayers Rock trip. Colds have the effect of reducing me to a wheezing asthmatic, and part of the trip would include a very strenuous climb of Ayers Rock. The next morning, I wasn't feeling any better, so I decided to visit the chemist and start taking care of myself. I bought some Nurofen, the Aussie equivalent of Advil, and some Vitamin C tablets to chew on. I also got some Daktarin, the Aussie equivalent of Micatin, to finally clean up my feet. The day after I arrived in Alice Springs, I went to the local public library to use their Internet facilities. What a freak show! I spent more time staring at the characters who sat at the computers to the left and right of me than I did using my own computer. When I sat down, there was a portly woman to my right who was writing e-mail. I happened to glance over to see what she was typing. It went something like this: I have been taking care of a cute little Aboriginal girl named Loretta. Last week, I explained to her how the uterus worked. One day Loretta ran to me, screaming that her uterus had fallen into the toilet and that she wouldn't be able to make babies anymore. I laughed and then explained blood clots and blood jelly to Loretta, told her that her uterus was still inside her, and that everything was going to be OK. After sending off that little morsel, she got up and was replaced almost immediately by an older, taller, conservatively dressed woman named Tricia. She had curly blonde hair and no make-up. After sitting down, she deviously turned the monitor away from me and towards the wall so nobody could see. All I had to do was lean back a bit and I could see perfectly. She was browsing the web for Satanic literature about God and his evil ways. She did a Lycos search for "war in Heaven" and came up with about 6000 matches. She spent about an hour printing out every article she could pull up. Then a girl who must have been King of the Lesbians sat down to my left. Everything about her had "lesbian" written all over it. Her short hair, her hippie clothes, her hairy arms, her stubby fingers, and the look she gave me before shifting her chair away from me. She wrote a simple e-mail to a friend about some kind of social club that she ran called "Divine Chaos" and the hippie music CD that she was planning on recording. The whole time, Aborigine kids were screaming and running around the library. One was pushing a shopping cart and making lawnmower sounds with his mouth. Then some old white guy with a beard strode in through the front door, whistling and wearing a dress. Not a kilt. A pretty red dress. At that point, I turned my attention back to my computer, finished up what I was doing, and left. I had a craving for McDonald's, so I walked across town (which didn't take too long) and treated myself to a Footy Meal, which comes with a Double Quarter-Pounder with Cheese, a large Fries, and a large Coke. On the way home I climbed a hill in the center of town and had a nice view of the surrounding McDonnell Ranges. One thing is for sure, I really do like the dry heat. I definitely see myself moving to Arizona or back to California in the next few years. I woke up early the next morning for my Ayers Rock tour. I was still feeling the effects of my cold, but I boarded the bus and hoped for the best. Troy, our tour guide and driver, quickly established himself as a bumbling idiot. He was training under another guide, named Peter, who was coming along to observe him. We drove for about 4 hours. We passed the Fink River, the oldest waterway in the world. Then Troy told us all about the Cannonball Run, an annual race they used to have out here in the middle of nowhere. Named after the movie and with more or less the same rules, they held it in this part of Australia because there are no speed limits on the outback highways. A few years ago, two Japanese guys in a red Ferrari were cruising along at 330 km/h when they flew off the dusty road and flipped, killing themselves and two race marshals. There has been a monument erected for their idiocy. Our first stop was at King's Canyon for an afternoon hike. King's Canyon is a beautiful place. Millions of years of erosion have reduced layers of sandstone to wind-carved canyons and waterholes. The flies were incredible, but I outsmarted them all by using a fly net that I brought from Alice Springs. We all walked together. The lines just came to me as we hiked through the canyon. Troy took us to an emergency radio up in the canyon. "Is that for people who just *have* to listen to the Spice Girls?" Troy began to explain that the rock we were standing on is over 600 million years old. "Wow, that's older than my Mom." After reaching the top of an overhang in the middle of the canyon, I turned and asked, "Is there as ATM around here?" Everyone seemed to enjoy my musings except for some slimy French guy who kept on giving me dirty looks. While stopping for a picture, I dropped my camera 5 feet onto very hard merinee sandstone. Not a scratch, and it still works perfectly. Kudos to Nikon. Troy then pointed out a cycad palm, whose berries are used to make cyanide. After our hike, we hopped back on the bus and spent another 3 hours driving to Ayers Rock. Peter spent most of the ride discussing the history of the local Aborigines and their sacred places. Ayers Rock, known as Uluru (OO-LOO-ROO) to the Aborigines, used to be home and a sacred meeting place for the Mala, a local clan. The Aborigines ask tourists to respect their culture and ask tourists *not* to climb the rock. Apparently, if we climb and get hurt or die, they have to go through a mourning period, which involves cutting themselves and other similar unpleasant stuff. But no one really seems to care. I decided to climb. We arrived at Ayers Rock in time to catch sunset. We dropped all of our stuff at our nearby camp and went out to our lookout point. The rock was just starting to change color when clouds obscured the sun and ruined everything. So we went back to camp, ate dinner. I was still feeling sick, so I went to bed early to rest up for our morning climb of Ayers Rock. We slept in swags under the stars. We woke up at about 4:30am. After arriving at the rock, we had to wait for the ranger to get the weather forecast and wind readings from the top to see if it was safe to climb. He finally opened the gate, and the group of people that had gathered around began to climb. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and for the first time I could see how massive the rock in front of me really was. The climb is 1.6 km up very steep, crumbly sandstone. I pulled a groin just looking at it. They say that since the 80's, 36 people have died trying to climb it, either by falling off or having a heart attack. I was still sick, and I didn't know if I was going to make it. I was on my hands and knees for the first part of the climb, huffing and puffing after about 5 minutes. I thought I was going to pass out, but I pushed on. About 1/3 of the way up, there was a chain we could hold onto while we climbed. The climb was hellish, and I was tempted to give up and turn back several times. Every time I thought I had reached the top, I would rise over a crest only to discover that I had another 100 feet to go. It was rough. But I kept pushing. Forty-five minutes later, I reached the top. The sun had already come up, and to be honest, the view was not worth the effort it took to get up there, but I was glad that I made it. I collapsed into a wheezing, asthmatic heap for about 10 minutes before getting up to take a few pictures and climb back down. From Ayers Rock, we went to the Olgas, a nearby rock formation which looks like Homer Simpson but is geologically similar Ayers Rock. Troy fell asleep at the wheel momentarily. I was the only one on the bus who was awake, and I didn't like worrying that Troy would fall asleep again and kill us all, so I went to sleep. A while later, Troy gave us an interesting talk about geology of the region, which I won't bore you with here (unless you want me to). Then Peter continued his discussion of the Aborigines. Finally, someone was able to explain why they roam the streets, drunk and homeless. Apparently, the Aborigines lack the gene which produces the enzyme required for the proper synthesis and absorption of alcohol. Some people in Western society are genetically pre-disposed to alcohol addition (which you would know if you have been watching your "Loveline"), but *all* Aborigines are genetically predisposed. That means that Aborigines literally become addicted the first time they drink alcohol. Alcohol, therefore, is banned from Aboriginal society. And when an Aborigine shows up drunk, he/she is thrown out of the clan and banished to the streets. Peter went on to discuss the beliefs of the Aborigines in greater detail. Really fascinating stuff, but I wouldn't want to bore you with it here (unless you want me to). I definitely think the rest of us can learn a thing or two from it. The Olgas were nice, but frankly, the heat and flies were starting to get to me, and I was ready to go home. I was sick of all the dirt, all the bugs, and eating out of rusting metal plates. It took 5 hours to get home. That night, I made a beautiful crocodile out of Play-Doh at the bar. But someone else made a map of Australia with lots of tiny kangaroos on it and won the 2 jugs of beer. I retired to my room. It was hot as hell in there. Some old German lady was half-asleep on the top bunk. I asked her if she thought it was warm, and she said no. She was wrapped up in her blanket, and she needed the heat on. I tried to sleep, but I couldn't stop sweating. Every time I would get up in the middle of the night to turn the air conditioner on, she would get up turn it off a few minutes later. The next morning, I boarded the Oz Experience bus. There were three passengers. A Dutch couple, and an old English woman. Marc, our bus driver, was from Tasmania and was a weirdo. A pathetic, very boring bunch. We drove for hours, stopping occasionally for food or something to drink. It was pretty much flat, hot, fly-infested desert the whole way down. The horizon shimmered in the heat. We stopped at a dingo fence which is 5300 km long. Late in the afternoon, we rolled into Coober Pedy (PEE-dee), which means "white man's hole" in Aborigine. I'll let you read whatever you want to into that one. It's out in the middle of nowhere, and it's hot as hell. We took a quick tour of the opal-mining town, and met some old cracker named Crocodile Harry. He lives in a mine shaft and is a legend in these parts. I then booked a room at Radeka's, the hostel I'm staying at here in Coober Pedy. Most of it is built underground in old mineshafts, keeping all of the rooms pretty cool. The rooms are all carved out and have bunkbeds. Very Flintstones. Last night, my nose started bleeding profusely for no good reason. Then I caught Martin's Night Sky. Some wily Coober Pedy resident with a huge beard takes backpackers out every evening and guides them through the beautiful night sky, teaching them about the stars, constellations, and planets above. He really knew his shit. I submitted his tour to my Australia travel guide for future publication. It finally happened! Last night, I dreamt that I went to a party, picked up Sarah Michelle Gellar, and took her home with me. This morning, I decided not to get on the bus. Instead, I'll spend a few days here in Coober Pedy. I'll wait for the next Oz bus to come through here, hoping that there will be more people and more interesting travelling companions for the rest of my trip down to Adelaide. Now I'm sitting in the TV lounge here at the hostel, watching Imparja, the only Aborigine-owned and operated TV station. The programming is pretty cheesy, but it's actually one of the better channels when you're out in the middle of nowhere. At the moment, there's a pathetic program for kids on. Teenage kids with headsets are dancing around on stage, in front of a bunch of confused-looking kids. Wait a second, now one of the guys is holding a orange cardboard box, and he is trying to convince the kids that he is holding a cat. How pathetic. No Regrets. Jeff

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