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Marla & The Case of the Missing Penis
For those who don't know, and few probably do, Marla is best described as a service centre along the Stuart Highway. It is 160 km south of the Northern Territory border, and also marks the end of the Oodnadatta Track that runs 600km from Maree and past the normally dry "Lake" Eyre.
The previous day at Alice Springs, we had seen the headlines in the Centralian Advocate :
"Body in dam : Is it Falconio?"Referring to the well-known case of an English backpacker who went missing, feared murdered, after being stopped by a still-unknown man near Barrow Creek in July 2001; Falconio's disappearance sparked one of the largest manhunts in Australian criminal history across a vast area larger than much of Western Europe. And where was this dam? Apparently, on a station some 30km East of Marla. And the "body" referred to was actually a largish flap of skin to which was attached what looked like, to the man who found it, a "circumcised penis". Well, you don't see that everyday. At least, not bobbing around in an Outback watering hole. Needless to say, Marla was rapidly full of police and media up from Adelaide -- forensic specialist, divers, chubby guys hunched over laptops sending through their copy... you can guess the mayhem in that part of the World. As we were to find out, the local opinion at the Marla bar was quickly dismissive of the human dick angle to the story, and consensus settled on a wild donkey that had probably dropped dead in the dam some years ago. Also needless to say, every hoary old joke involving donkey dicks and possible owners of same came as equally quickly to the surface as that flap of skin. Yeah well. Hardly of much interest to us. (Actually we still don't know what the outcome was). So we pulled into Marla thinking this was going to be as quick a visit as when we went through on the way up. But we did have one thing we wanted to do. Knowing Mum and Dad had once ventured to Maree, we thought we would grab a quick photo of the other end of the Oodnadatta Track to show the folks back home. Ho-hum, no? So we pulled into Marla, filled up the car, emptied ourselves, and puttered off down the road looking for a good spot for the photo. We wanted one with the road stretching off into the never-never, so had to go for a good 30 minutes to get past all the mulga scrub that was lining the road. Found a good spot, set the camera up, and took our photo. Now, Coober Pedy... here we come. Or, that's what we thought. Coming back into Marla we were attacked by a gibber -- those hard rocks that litter the plains of central Australia and make a habit of bursting tyres or smashing windscreens. A mean-spirited big bastard launched itself off the road and aimed straight into the corner of Burt's sump. Or, it could have been hiding just under the surface of the road and come through as we scraped over a bump. Regardless, we didn't like the sound of that crunch, so tested the ABS brakes in a rapid stop... and found the engine oil running out of a generous hole. We wouldn't be going nowhere, so it was immediately off with the engine and a sit-and-wait for a passing vehicle. (Dale's mobile couldn't pick up a signal in the area). Not being complete fools, we travelled even along the Stuart Highway with water and supplies just in case we were ever stuck somewhere; so we weren't worried about being marooned. If need be, we could have pulled out the tent and comfortably waited out a good 5 days or so. Fortunately that wasn't necessary. After only 30 minutes we see a dust cloud approaching, heading into Marla. Oh good, rescue message-stick time. A little closer and we see it's a truck. As it pulls up with a hiss and cloud of dust... I don't believe it, we have just been rescued by Adelaide's crack team of police divers in their special purpose truck! Here they have been swimming around in some skanky dam all day looking for an owner for that dick, and they turn the corner on the way home to find a couple of dickheads broken down beside the road. But, at least they have a honking big satellite phone in the truck and the boys from Marla Garage are soon on their way with a trailer to haul poor Burt back to his salvation. About an hour later Luke arrives, and another hour later we are pulling up to the internationally famous resort town of Marla. We have been reading the Lonely Planet during the wait...
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 This is what did it. We thought it would a good idea to go a few kilometres down the Oodnadatta Track and take a photo for Grant's Dad (his parents have been to the start of the track, 600km away).Nice spot. Nice photo. Glorious colour. OK, outta here...Heh, heh, heh... not so fast boys...
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And here is poor Burt, after having been gibbered in a sensitive part.With nothing better to do, we decided to pull out the chairs, boil the kettle and enjoy a nice cup of tea while watching the sunset. We had already contacted the Marla garage to come rescue Burt, but one other car did pass us that evening... of course they stopped to see if we needed help, and found it quite entertaining to see us set up for a carefree picnic while broken down in the middle of a desert.Simply a matter of Style my dear...
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If you do happen to have nothing to do but sit and watch an Outback sunset, you will at least be rewarded by the fantastic play of light over the red soil and dull green flora.This photo was taken at about 6.30pm, about 30 minutes to sunset. All we could hear was a gentle breeze through the mulga and the click and whirr of grasshoppers (which come in a huge range of shapes, colours and sizes -- some of them are ENORMOUS and extremely well camouflaged when they sit down among the gibbers).
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Now, after having survived the first night and done a few hours of run-around between the Garage, Holden parts dealers and the insurance company on Saturday morning the conclusion is in -- the part will arrive 1100km from Adelaide as quick as we would otherwise get Burt sent to where the part is. Henry, the mechanic, is sure they can make the repair (actually it's going to be Luke and Lloyd, because Henry is going on holidays). The RACV is firmly talked around to understanding we are not anywhere in the neighbourhood of any of their assessors, and they approve the work to be done in Marla. OK, that means... we are here for the next 3 days... oh, dear.
Thinking back, the conversation with the RACV was quite funny. The woman taking Grant's call in Melbourne was extremely helpful and charming, interrupting to first make sure everyone was uninjured before continuing the call -- a nice touch that did remind us what was ultimately the only thing that really mattered. When she asked if we were near a large town, Grant replied and she had to try hard not to crack up laughing :"It is 40degC today, and dust is blowing everywhere and sticking to the sweat running down my face.This was taking on shades of "Wake in Fright" and Tibooburra. We decided we had hit the Marla Triangle, never to be seen by friends or family again. On the verge of thinking we would end up losing the plot completely, another rescue came our way; this time in the generous spirit of a local lass known simply to one and all as "BT". That's her initials, as you can guess, but we are sworn to secrecy. If we told you, we'd have to kill you. Anyhoo... If you are in Marla, it's difficult not to meet whoever else is in town. There is, remember, only the one social and cultural outlet -- the Marla Bar. We got chatting with BT, found we all enjoyed a bevy as much as the next bloke ("I'm not a bloke, I've got tits!") and Saturday soon passed into a blur of a Sunday. The beer blow-out was helped by the good missions of Scott at the bar, and we began by thinking he only knew two words -- "Another beer?" -- as he kept placing another round onto the bar. Well, don't mind if we do... it's not as if we're going anywhere! And at least we knew the kitchen closes at 9.00pm and not 9.30pm and that we wouldn't have to once again content ourselves with a large sausage roll from the 24-hour service station (and beer) for dinner. Thank heavens, because we really didn't want to see Tia do her "You poor bastards" look again! By Sunday, thanks to the good cheer of BT, we were beginning to like the place. Not ready to move house, mind you, but there is something good about the open generosity of a small place where everyone is simply just thrown together and gets on with making of it what they can. And for Monday, BT had invited us out to the opal mining camp where she has a claim and had been working for several years. Now, this'll be different to Commercial Road I'm sure... if we'd guessed anything about BT by now, we also knew it would be a hoot. |
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Here we are, looking for more missing dicks!No not true. It's just that after watching BT drill a hole in the ground, we all decided the weather had got too hot for work and thought a beer and a swim in a local dam would see us right. That's BT with Grant, and the extras were Bobby and Cassie up for a few days. They run the Temptation Cafe in Coober Pedy and could not only remember us having lunch there 2 weeks before, but what we ordered. That is a scary memory! (and a damn good BLT and a short mac -- you'll find them next to Underground Books)
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As it was, with Bobby in town a fantastic bbq dinner was quickly happening over the campfire. Joined by a few local legends -- that's "Sarge" on the right, "Wombat" second from the left -- we soon made a fair dent in all the slabs of Cooper's Pale we quietly acquired at Marla the night before. And we finally had a proper opportunity to snap open the bottle of vintage Chandon we had been carrying around for weeks. Lucky we waited for the right time, because we couldn't have found a better place or person to share it with than sitting on a milk crate at BT's camp. Another beer? Oi! Oi!
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This is a message for all the young kiddies out there who may have stumbled onto this webpage. Health Warning While drinking beer is fun, it does have consequences. Some of them happen as you are drinking (particularly, some very bad looks that people won't ever let you forget). Others happen afterwards. We call this a hangover.With no small measure of accuracy, the rough road from Marla to the mines at Lambina has been named Hangover Highway.
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Almost brings a tear to our eyes...Having never thought we would (could?) ever spend 4 nights in Marla, we left with sad farewells. As we have always found, while tourist attractions are what draw people to somewhere; it is the people you meet who make travelling such an adventure.Far from being a loss, our little accident in Marla has instead given us some of our happiest memories of the trip. This was all due to the good people we met, with Lloyd in the garage summing up BT in just a few simple words -- "She is a wonderful ambassador." Too right she is!
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