Darwin / Larrakeyah: 9 p.m.
Actual Temperature: 28 degrees Celsius.
Apparent Temperature: 33 degrees Celcius.
Humidity: 79%
I woke at 6.30, looked out my window, and found this.
I was tired and hungry.
The next thought that ran through my head was, "I need to get to Woolies."
(Anybody who knows my Mum knows that she loves going to Woolies).
I have joined the ranks of the FIFO (Fly In, Fly Out - not Fit In or Fuck Off) worker. And I'm turning into my mother, because all I want to do is go to Woolies.
I've been here less than 24 hours.
The heat pickles your brain. It saps every last bit of your energy, makes you sweat and wilt in equal measure. The slight breeze you feel as you walk along the street helps a little, but you search out air conditioning like prospector searches for gold. You start to learn the back lanes and arcades which give you some respite from the unrelenting heat. I'm sure you could find a map which shows these lanes of gold.
There is currently an hour and a half time difference between here and Melbourne. It's just enough to royally fuck you over. From this weekend, the Territory goes back to Adelaide time, which will make things a bit more palatable when it comes to annoying jetlag. Going into the office, my laptop was set to Melbourne time and this did my head in. All is well now, we changed the clock settings and life felt a bit better.
I'm also told that wait a few weeks, when the dry starts, and it will be just delightful.
At present, I feel like I'm in Bali. I thought I was going to fall asleep at my desk - but battled through.
The thing that kept running through my head was I needed to get to Woolies.
Why? I wanted to sort out my breakfast for the next few days. I needed a hairclip, some water and a few nibblies for the evening. A packet of muesli bars for snacks. Oh, and almond milk for my coffee in the morning. It was the normality I was craving.
This is going to become normal. I'm going to be up here for a week every month for the next eight months. We come up on the Sunday night, go back on the early hours of the Friday or Saturday morning. We? There's a group of us. Everybody is lovely. As I'll be keeping a desk drawer up here, I can leave a few things. A sealed packed of muesli. Spare shoes. A water bottle. I'll get a YETI mug. I'm told I need to get a YETI mug. That's your passport to becoming a Territorian, allegedly.
The streets are long, and slow, and sleepy.
"Where is everybody?" I asked my colleague.
"Hiding from the heat."
The tourists should start to return next month when The Dry starts.
There were meetings in the afternoon. I think I'm contributing. This is the third, large utilities transformation project I've been part of. Been there, seen that, done that. Got the t-shirt.
Relationships will be forged. The one great thing about this job is it appears I'll have a lot of license to do what I want. This is both a blessing and a curse. This is an incredible amount to do - and it is scary. I like a challenge.
I left the office, which is next door to where I'm staying, at 5 p.m. Dumping my backpack and laptop in my room, thrilling at the cool coming from the air conditioning, fans and de-humidifier which I left running over the day.
Then I went to Woolies.
The pace is different here. You don't move fast. There are some indigenous people wandering the streets. My colleague told me there was more than normal as some of the communities had to be cleared to recent weather events. I watched them move slowly down the streets, their long limbs graceful in the heat. This is Larrakeyah. This is their land.
I feel like such an imposter.
But I got to Woolies. I purchased the yoghurt and muesli and nibblies for the days ahead, as well as a big hairclip to sort my frizzy hair out, and then all was right with the world.
On arriving home, I threw myself under the shower. You sweat differently up here. Ecrine sweat. It's pure saline - not the smelly stuff. It felt good to rinse off the day.
Dinner was taken at the Cavanagh Hotel. A Monday night ritual for those coming to Darwin. The small piece of eye fillet was some of the best steak I've ever eaten. The gin and tonic, not so much. I am a gin snob. Post-mix tonic is not great. Instructing the barman, who looked all of 12, that you never put citrus with Hendrick had to be done. As they had no cucumber for garnishes, I settled for a strawberry. Yes, I am a snob.
Now that my blog post is done, it's off to bed.
I'm tired and happy, and despite the fact I'm missing my cat, I reckon this could be one of the best things I could have done for myself.
Even if I am turning into my mother.
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