Kangaroos and an Australian Picnic

Leaving the koalas behind, we’re suddenly in the middle of nowhere. It is surprising how quickly we leave civilization behind and see nothing but open land and...kangaroos.

I see my first kangaroos and, like from a cartoon, they're boxing.   We stop to watch; oddly, the kangaroos pause and peer back at us.  I feel as though they’re ready to take pictures of the gawking humans.   As we resume our journey, they resume their boxing. Thanks to the Internet, you can see boxing kangaroos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEDq0SAYW44 )

A hundred fifty miles from Perth, we arrive in Cervantes, the gateway to our destination.  Cervantes is a fishing town with a population of less than 600 (not a typo:  six hundred).   With so few people, there is not sufficient need for some basic services—like a doctor.  For places like Cervantes and areas with even fewer people,  Australia developed the Royal Flying Doctor Service.

The service provides 24-hour emergency help from twenty-one bases.  When originally developed in 1928, the remote patients and care providers used pedal-powered two-way radios (no electricity needed) to communicate. When I was in Australia, the modern two-way radio was still the most reliable way to communicate, with the cell phone a close second (not, to my surprise, computers).  I came to appreciate this service a lot more in the the Outback.  But now, back to Cervantes.

In summer, the town bustles with vacationers.  But July Down Under is the dead of winter.   No bustling.  Also – no restaurants.  We stop at a barn-like building with tables of souvenirs around the edge of the room and picnic tables filling the rest.

Our driver has packed a picnic lunch. Pink lunch-meat, yellow cheese, white bread.  I sit next to a woman whose husband is desperately trying to find something to please her. Every time he returns to the table, she rolls her eyes, and sighs. Chips?  Big sigh.  Cookies? Eye-roll.  Lukewarm tea? Sigh.

“Is something wrong?”  I ask.  She looks at me sadly.  “I am from ITALY.”  At the time, I had not been to Italy.  But I had been to some great Italian restaurants.  I look at my white bread and pink lunch meat and begin to fantasize about pizza.

(My blog posts are all based on travel journals, which I faithfully keep whenever I go somewhere.  I write from the comfort of home, with the added capability of verifying information or doing a little added research if necessary.  All posts appeared originally in Gatehouse Media publications in the Massachusetts area.)

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