"You've got to be fucking kidding me," was my first thought. I was standing alone in the unlit parking lot of a closed gas station at 11 PM in the middle of a long, empty road with two suitcases, a backpack, a laptop case, and no idea what to do.
My day had started 15 hours earlier in Cairns, catching a 7:30 AM Premier bus to a small town down the east coast of Queensland called Marlborough. The previous week I had applied for a bartending job on the Travellers at Work site, and literally within five minutes of submitting my resume my phone rang and the owner of the pub was asking me to get a bus down and start.
As desperate as I was for work, I put him off for a couple days to think about it. I had thought I'd have time to put in a few other applications and maybe find something in Cairns or with a bunch of other backpackers. This job was in the middle of nowhere. On the other hand, I'd always wanted bartending experience, I'd get free accommodation and meals during work, and although it was only $15 an hour, I could also do additional farm work nearby (and I was saving on rent so it all equals out).
After calling a working hostel nearby a few days later and finding out they were booked up, I panicked and finally called him back, and luckily he was still happy for me to come down. I told him I'd get a bus a few days from then because I was still clinging to civilization for awhile longer.
That brings me to my miserable 15 hour bus ride, where the driver dropped me in front of the Caltex station which had closed hours earlier. I looked around at the long deserted stretch of road on either side of me and asked the driver where I was going. He pointed far back down the road (an area we had passed on the bus) and asked if I could see the lights. "That's Marlborough," he said, then shut the door in my face and took off, leaving a 24 year old girl on her own with four huge pieces of luggage in the dead silent night. Thanks, pal!
I stood there and weighed my options. I had the number for Bob, the pub owner, but it was pretty late and I didn't want to make a bad impression by calling in the middle of the night. I couldn't see any immediate transportation options, so I just gathered my heavy bags and started trekking a quarter mile back down the road. I couldn't even tell if I was on a road or a sidewalk, and all I had was my extremely weak light from my Nokia phone screen that I kept having to click to keep activated to assure me that I was still on the pavement. I couldn't see two feet to either side of me and didn't know if there were dangerous creatures or murderers or what hiding in the shadows.
I was exhausted by the time I finally turned onto the road into town and felt like I was going to pass out from dehydration. Luckily I could somewhat relax now that there were streetlights and I knew I wasn't going to die. The town was empty and absolutely quiet except for one building in the center of the road. I figured that was where I was heading, and immediately upon coming up to the stairs I was swarmed by about five people all grabbing my bags, asking me if I was the new American bartender and introducing themselves. Everyone, including my new boss Bob, was totally hammered, but they made me feel really welcome and insisted I have a few drinks after I put my things down. The fact that there were good people around immediately made me feel better about my situation, and so with a few tequila slammers I started my four months in Marlborough, QLD.
Aussie Lingo
How ya goin', mate? Before I tell you about life in Australia, I should probably teach you the language. If someone wants to shout you a stubby, do you know what you're getting? Or if they ask you to bring over an esky full of VB tinnies in the arvo, will you know what to do? More importantly, will you know that VB is for bogans?
First off, "shout you" just means they'll buy you a drink. If it's "your shout," it's your round. A stubby is a bottle of beer. A tinny is a can. VB is a beer called Victoria Bitter that you most definitely do not want to drink. Arvo is the afternoon. An esky is an icebox... in fact, after four months, I couldn't remember what I had called an esky before Australia.
As for mealtimes, smoko is a break from work for food or a cigarette. Brekky is breakfast. And if someone asks you what you want for tea, they don't expect you to tell them Lipton. Tea is dinner.
Basically, anything that can be shortened and made to end in a Y or an O, will be. Mozzies are mosquitoes. The dunny is the bathroom or an outhouse. Maccas is McDonald's, footy is the football, ambo is an ambulance, and devo means you're devastated, but not really devastated as it's usually used casually as in "I can't make it out tonight. Devo."
If you're crook, that means you're sick. A chook is a chicken. A ute is a very Aussie word for a pickup truck, although apparently they might differentiate between the two. As in the UK, lemonade is Sprite and petrol is gas. A torch is a flashlight. Ordering an alcoholic beverage with dry means you're getting it with ginger ale. If you're into something, you're keen. If you're pissed, you're drunk.
If you're unfortunate enough to be English in a town of Aussies, you will likely be referred to as a "pom" or a "pommie." This is derived from the acronym, "prisoner of mother England." As an American, I was a yank.
Generally, you'll be greeted with, "How ya goin', mate?" They're not concerned with your method of transportation, they're asking how you're doing. Everything is measured in "heaps", not lots or tons. There's "heaps" of something or you're doing "heaps good." Everything is "too easy." Can you do me a favor? Too easy. Winning a game? Too easy.
To tackle one of the most uniquely Aussie sayings, "fair dinkum" means something is honest or true. If someone says "fair dinkum," it basically translates to "honestly". This is also used in question form, like if somebody just told you something unbelievable, you might respond in surprise with "Fair dinkum?" which just means, "Seriously?" or "No shit?"
There's no full explanation as to what defines a bogan, so all you need to know is that they are basically Aussie or Kiwi white trash.
And finally, cover your ears if you're sensitive, but "cunt" is part of everyday conversation. In fact, it's not even necessarily a bad thing. "He's a cunt," is bad, but someone can be a "good cunt," and that's a compliment. You'll probably use it as a term of familiarity with your friends. Also, twist!, it's used in reference to men just as much if not more than to women.
So now that you're fully schooled in the native speech, good on ya, mate! Onto country life.
Marlborough
I was not the least bit prepared for how small Marlborough actually was. I took a little walk on my first full day to get familiarized, and it took me five minutes to make a circuit around the town. The tiny square block holds a police station (and we all knew the town cop)...
...a fire station with one garage...
...a post office, an unmanned museum and craft store (just leave your entry fee in the box)...
...a car repair shop, a tiny convenience store next to the pub (that and the Caltex down the road are the only two shopping options in Marlborough), a library that is only open for a few hours every Tuesday and is run out of someone's house, and a park with one swing set and a pool that is closed during the winter. One day while Nyah and I were babysitting Rhonda's little girl, she accurately summed up the sad state of the park when, after finishing up on the swing set, she told us, "I want to climb the lion statue!"
This should not have to cross a child's mind as a viable play option at the park.
The nearest city is Rockhampton an hour south, or Rocky as the locals call it. Bob made a trip down there every Tuesday for supplies and offered us rides if needed, so I usually ventured into civilization about once a month to do my grocery shopping and marvel at all the real life people. I usually spent more money than intended at the shopping center as well. It was attached to the Woolworth's (aka Wooly's), so that was where I'd wander before buying food. I'd recharge my Vodafone plan, treat myself to Boost juice and exotic food court meals, and of course spend $13 on cigarettes because that was the cheapest pack you could get.
There is no public wifi in Marlborough, so my first order of business in Rocky was to buy a 3G Telstra wifi USB stick because I didn't know how else I'd survive. I'd top it up about $50 every month which would give me a limited amount of megabytes to use. It was enough for casual Internet surfing, but not enough to stream any kind of video. Even Skype had to be audio only. Once while skyping a friend I hadn't seen in awhile, I left the video on, and it drained $15 in an hour and a half. As a result of my limited wifi, I spent a large majority of my time watching movies on DVD. Nyah's boyfriend James loaned us a bunch, and she had some others on a USB drive. I literally watched more movies than I ever have in my life. I'd say I was averaging about six a week. I also dragged out finishing Oblivion for ages, because playing a video game was a nice break from more freaking movies.
The Pub
I worked and lived at the Marlborough Hotel, the only hotel in Marlborough, which had about 10-12 rooms and usually filled 1-2 on average.
Back view.
My roommate was the other bartender, a Scottish girl named Nyah who had started work there just before me. We permanently resided in one of the rooms during our four months, a prime spot with an extra set of doors that opened to the porch. Thankfully she was just as messy as me and slept in even later, so we got along perfectly.
Room pre-disaster zone.
The job was actually the easiest ever. I had never bartended before, and this was a good place to learn. Aside from serving drinks, I'd run the Keno machine, take dinner orders, and check people into the hotel on the rare occasions that it happened. It was an old school check-in system which involved writing the guest's name in a book, taking an actual key for the room (no fancy card systems around these parts), and then walking them to the room and showing them where the kitchen and bathroom were on the way. The kitchen had coffee, tea, cereal, and bread available for breakfast. Nyah and I were allowed to store our own food in the fridge and never once did I worry about anyone taking it.
I quickly was familiar with all of the locals and their drink of choice. If they didn't live in the main area of town, they lived nearby on one of the properties, farming or raising cattle. Sometimes we'd get miners coming through. Part of the job in a small town like that was knowing exactly what each person always drank and practically having it on the bar for them before they even had a chance to sit down. If they drank beer, you would also grab them their stubby cooler (beer cozy). Some of them had their own personal one, anyone else would just get a random from the pile. Nyah and I were both given complimentary Marlborough Hotel stubby coolers when we started to write our names on. I picked lime green and black. Most of the locals didn't switch up their drinks, and I knew which ones did.
Nobody would tell you if they needed another round, they would just finish their glass, push it slightly forward, and you would see it and get them a refill. Vigilance was a big part of the job description. One night I was distracted by the TV for literally about five seconds and didn't notice that one of the guys had pushed forward his empty glass, and Bob got so annoyed with me he grabbed my water bottle and threw it across the room into the trash to get me to pay attention.
Oh yeah, maybe you've never had a boss who literally sat and watched you do your job every second of every shift. Bob sat at the end of the bar every single night and had eyes like a hawk no matter how much alcohol he'd consumed (usually a lot).
Bob at his spot.
He was the epitome of an Australian, and a Scorpio on top of that, but he loved a good time and usually had positive intentions. We had somewhat clashing personalities near the start, but by the end we were friends. His wife Annie, who was originally from Scotland, ran the kitchen, unless it was a Sunday which was Bob's pizza night. Rhonda also worked in the kitchen with Annie and was an amazing baker. On birthdays she would make these ridiculous cakes. On Annie's birthday, we had one that was five or six layers all dyed different shades of purple with the bottom ones being caramel and the top two buttercake, topped with delicious icing and Annie's name spelled out in candy buttons.
I'd get free meals when working, and the food was good and came in huge portions with chips (fries) and salad or veggies on the side, but let's just say that vegetarianism is not part of the Australian vocabulary. There was literally not one thing on the menu I could eat, but luckily Annie is a great cook and made up a few various dishes for me that I would cycle through. Generally I'd have omelettes, salsa and cheese potatoes, grilled mushroom burgers, toasties, eggs on toast, or cheesy garlic bread with chili paste. Near the end she started doing some pastas and whatnot, but it was carb overload. Bob pointed out that all I eat is comfort food, but I'd like to point out that all anyone else eats are dead carcasses.
If there weren't drinks to be served, you were not expected to do anything else. No busy work. Just stand in the corner and wait, keep an eye on the bar, and watch TV. Even closing was simple. Run the dishwasher, turn off the electronics, lock the doors, and shut down the registers. Took about 15 minutes tops.
You can see Nyah hard at work on a day shift back there.
We had only a few beers on tap, but plenty in stubbies and tinnies, mostly Aussie brands. My personal choices were Tooheys Old (our only dark beer) or Pure Blonde. We had two gigantic bottles of whiskey and rum hanging on the wall, which were what most people would get nips of. A nip is the measured amount that the machine would distribute. We went through at least a bottle a night on average.
The rum to drink in Australia is Bundaburg, or Bundy as you would more commonly call it. I'm a fan of Bundy Red. Soft drinks were sold by the can and had to be purchased separately. We also had RTDs, aka ready to drink premixed cans. Eventually if I was drinking at the bar, I learned to just buy a bottle of wine to save money, as that was only $10 and you could keep it on the bar with you or behind the bar and just refill as you go. We only had moscato and sav, neither of which I like, but it was the most cost efficient way to drink. My takeaway of choice was a big bottle of Stone's ginger wine for $20.50. The bottles were massive and it was 13.7%. Other people may say it tastes like medicine, but I was pretty fond of it. That warm, gingery Stone's taste will always bring me straight back to Marlborough.
There was no drinking during work (unless Bob decided to make an exception), but we'd get a staffy (a free end of shift drink) afterwards, and on some nights we'd go back and hang out in the kitchen with Bob for more drinks.
I worked five nights a week and shifts never really changed. Wednesdays and Sundays were my two days off. Friday nights were the only nights that Nyah and I were both on shift because they were the busy ones where the entire town comes to the pub, and each alternating Friday we would take turns finishing early. Usually everyone drank on the right hand side of the pub in the area with the bar stools and casino machines, but on Fridays everyone moved to the left for the "nightclub." Bob would put on the flashy colored lights and jukebox, and everyone would dance, sing, and play rounds of pool.
The other shift exceptions were the State of Origin games. Rugby is the biggest sport in Queensland and is referred to as footy, which is confusing because in most places, footy would mean soccer. New South Wales and Queensland are big rivals, and State of Origin, a best of three tournament, pitches the two against each other. Of course, we were in Queensland, so the majority of the bar was decked out in maroon, and those NSW supporters in blue were ostracized for the night. They also have cute nicknames for each other- the QLD supporters are cane toads and the NSW fans are cockroaches. On these three Wednesday nights, the bar was packed, and Nyah and I were both on shift. Bob would even set up a "corporate box" with two armchairs and a personal TV right next to the bar, and for each match two names were drawn from a raffle for those lucky winners who got the VIP treatment. They were given their own appetizer platter and we'd serve free pitchers of beer right to the table.
Farm Work
As I said, there isn't much to do in your off-time, and since my primary goal was saving money, I took the opportunity to go do some extra work at a nearby farm owned by the Roches once or twice a week. Pam and Ken (referred to around the pub as John Wayne for his cowboy hat and silent demeanor) ran the place, and Pam's dad Bryan lived in a house on the property as well.
Pam would pick me up on whatever day we agreed on, sometimes we'd stop at the library if it was a Tuesday, and then we'd head to the farm and I would spend four hours helping out with whatever was needed. I'd weed the garden, water the plants, clear sticks from the lawn, do stock take in the garage, clean out the sheds, knock down cobwebs, clean Bryan's house, and spent a good few weeks pressure washing the outside walls and verandah ceilings of all three houses. It was actually good to get out of the hotel for a few hours, plus I'd walk away with $60 cash each time.
Also, I'd get to join them for smoko with coffee, cookies, fruit, and sandwiches. Sometimes Pam even brought out baking like pumpkin pie or pudding pie. She also made her own amazing chili sauce, and after inquiring about buying a bottle off of her, she was nice enough to give me one for free.
I always liked being outdoors on my own for awhile at the pretty farm full of animals, but disaster struck the farm in my last few weeks in Marlborough. One night, Nyah and I were still awake very late in the night when all of a sudden, we started hearing rattling throughout the entire hotel. We were sort of freaked out thinking someone was trying to break in, but then it stopped.
The next morning we found out that Ken and Pam’s barn had burnt down, and the rattling we had felt was from the gas canisters exploding in the fire. To clarify how bad it was, their property isn’t even close to the hotel, it's about a five minute drive, and we still could feel it. The brigade had gone over and managed to save the two houses, but the whole office, stockroom, and large garage were all gone. It was on the news and everything. I saw Pam again about a week later and she came to give me a hug goodbye and tell me she was sorry that there would be no more work for me, but everything was gone. I felt awful for them.
Marlborough Station
Another nearby property, owned by one of the younger guys, Max, was Marlborough Station.
I actually managed to get my English friend Karl (my old flatmate from Melbourne) a job there so that he could finish his farm work, and so we spent some nights drinking at the station after the pub would close.
This is how I found Max one of those following mornings.
The house itself had the weirdest ever setup with single beds lined up all against the walls.
There were tons of cattle, horses, and dogs on the property.
The dogs I actually felt terrible for, they were the skinniest things you'd ever see and were all chained up out in the sun. Going over to pet them, they'd jump and strain at their chains like they'd not had anyone touch them all day. At one point though, there was a litter of puppies, and they were pretty adorable.
There was also a sweet cat named Clyde.
The attitude towards animals was something I struggled with a lot. They were there for work and/or food, and if something was injured or needed to be gotten rid of, shooting it in the head seemed to be the go-to solution. Needless to say, that infuriated me, but walking into a rural Aussie town ranting about animal rights doesn't go over well.
However, nights out there drinking around the fire were good. One night someone had their rifle and so like a proper country party, we took turns shooting. I also had Max give me some manual driving lessons after a night at the pub on the totally deserted back country roads, of course with a bottle of Jim Beam. He was a very methodical teacher though and after repeating the clutch/gas part about fifteen times while he was controlling the stick shift, I was getting very impatient. I wanted to speed up while he wanted me to take it slow, I got bored with repeatedly changing gears so I could practice the clutch to accelerator transition, so we called it a night and I never really ended up learning.
As much as I wanted this to be one solid blog post, I spent four months in this town and am only halfway through. Stay tuned for part two where I'll cover wildlife, the issue of casual racism, domestic violence, and friendship.
To Be Continued...