Having come to the end of the Birdsville Track, I enter the town of Birdsville. This would be the first of 3 B’s in a straight line going northward. Later I would enter Bedourie, and then Boulia. These are all towns in what is called Channel Country. (There is also Betoota, but I didn’t go there.)
The area is called Channel Country because it is flat. And when it rains, which is not often (since it’s desert), the waters can flood the whole area, and cut channels every which way as it tries to move. Since the area is flat, most of the water, though, stays in pools in many various places. This area was where it flooded a bit this year, thus showing green fields as I passed through.
The three B towns were formed in the early 1800’s, thus cementing its place in the westward expansion of white Australia from the east. Thus they became places to visit for people wanting to see the outback.
Birdsville. I heard about Birdsville from its namesake track. When I got there, I found a strange mix of modern connectedness and remote emptiness. There were over 50 caravans parked just outside its boundaries, and maybe 30 more parked in the caravan park in town. It’s a heavily visited town. Tourists pass through there to go places, such as the once remote Simpson Desert. It has a very modern airport, modern geothermal energy plant, and modern caravan park suites including the most modern kitchen I have seen in all my travels. I can tell these were heavily funded by the Queensland government to aid Birdsville’s tourist efforts.
But strangely enough, it has no grocery store. The only food store was at the roadhouse, which sorely lacked essential things for a good meal. I asked one of the residents who worked at the caravan parked what she did to get her essential grocery items. “Oh, we order through the internet,” was her reply. Hundreds of people passing through, and no grocery store. No restaurant either– except for the dinners served at the century-old Birdsville Hotel. I went to the expensive buffet dinner at the hotel and it was packed full of urban gray nomads stopping in Birdsville. There used to be the Birdsville Bakery as another restaurant, but strangely enough, it closed down. So much for the “big town” of Birdsville. There really is nothing there, despite its modern trappings.
Boulia. At the other end of the road (known as the Eyre Development Road) is Boulia. The caravan park I tented at was also packed full, so much so that I had to go to a motel in Boulia the next night to get some sleep. The town had a very decent supermarket with– would you believe it– reasonable prices (am I getting closer to the end of the outback?). All of these towns have become tourist towns, drawing its economic life from outsiders passing through, a situation of the outback I’ve come to recognize.
Bedourie. In between the two towns mentioned above is Bedourie. Oh Bedourie, Bedourie, what can I say about you. Someone mentioned that I might encounter redneck conservatism in Queensland. I sure found it here. At the Simpson Desert Oasis Tourist Park.
I can’t say I didn’t like the town. I was treated very well at the Simpson Desert Oasis Tourist Park , especially from Michelle, who ran the front desk, and from Louise, who volunteers in the kitchen. When Louise found out I was a foreign visitor, she introduced me to several slang phrases I should know (which I have since forgotten). And made sure I enjoyed my beer by paying for one glass. Michelle at first was reserved, but later bent over backwards to make sure my stay was good, as I needed several changes made while I was there. After her shift, she hung around the crowded bar, being enjoyably friendly. I really liked her casualness.
The men at the bar (they called it the bar since it really wasn’t a pub), on the other hand, were “overly” friendly with the bar attendants, all of whom were young women from Europe (and one from the US) on the travel work visa. They talked with sexual innuendos (“I haven’t eaten yet, but I sure like what’s on the menu.”) loud enough for the women to hear. That second night there were two young French women freshly hired and new that day, both of whom looked puzzled and uncomfortable as the man who hired them called them “pretty little things.” The American woman mentioned that one man hugged her and then groped her butt.
I have to say I don’t have any photos of the bar, as there was a sign that said, “No photography.” It’s hard to say, but I can only surmise that what I saw was the reason why.
I really felt like I was watching a live replay of the documentary movie, Hotel Coolgardie, available on Amazon. The documentary is about two Finnish girls in Australia on a work travel visa, working behind the counter of a hotel pub, facing all kinds of taunts from redneck patrons, and who ultimately left Australia dispirited. In a news account I read, the town council felt that the town was unjustly portrayed, but the director stood by his position.
But the women were warm, friendly, and helpful. The day I left, Michelle let me know, while I was having breakfast in the restaurant, that I shouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. When I approached her to say goodbye, she gave me the warmest hug to send me on my way.
For me, there is a charm in Bedourie. I’m not sure I can say the same for the women on the work-travel visa.
Yes, passing through Channel Country, a strong area for cattle stations, was certainly a unique eye-opening ride.