It’s the end of my first week in Marvel Loch (The Town Midas Touched) and any pre-conceived doubt I had about coming here has been well and truly eradicated. In fact, I’ve quite enjoyed being out in the country away from the rat-race, cut off from society; and despite my tendencies to piss and moan (albeit in a very facetious and sarcastic way) about there being nothing to do, the silence and the solitude I’ve experienced throughout the days have been strangely liberating and very refreshing, so much so that I’ve felt kind of lucky. In all, I’ve come to find that if I can appreciate having so much space, if I can make use of my imagination, and if I can make the most of the situation I’m in by savouring every moment and enjoying the tranquility, then it can’t possibly be that bad at all.
The weekend passed pretty quickly. It didn’t even feel like a weekend if I’m being truthful. And even today, as I write this, I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m correct in thinking that it is in fact, a Monday (it is Monday, right?). You see, the mining community out here tends to do things a little differently than your average city dwellers would; for some reason (and it’s mainly to do with the shift change and rotation I mentioned in a previous blog) Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday seem to be the biggest drinking nights whereas Fridays and Saturdays are dead. On Fridays and Saturdays the place feels even more like a ghost town than it already is…and that’s pretty hard to imagine, believe me.
That said though, I’ve not been short of entertainment, and already I’m beginning to take a shine to a few of the characters that frequent the bar. There’s the cheeky Irish chaps who are all for the craic and can barely be understood after they’ve sank a few cans of Emu Export; there’s the local old-timers with their shaggy beards and unkempt hair who love the banter and enjoy slagging off the Kiwis; there’s the more mature mining fellas who are great for a bit of decent convo but tend to keep themselves to themselves; there’s the tall, curly-haired, devilishly handsome Irish rogue whose charm and chat I’ve completely fallen for; and then there’s the younger lads, the ones who are gallus and over-confident in their convictions, the ones who will push their luck given the chance, but the ones who are pretty well behaved, well mannered, and a lot of fun to be around.
I’ve also been occupying myself the last couple of days by doing a bit of exploring; now, I’ve not gone too far off the beaten track (yet) and I’ve not seen everything Marvel Loch had to offer, but I have discovered a few derelict houses (or what look to be derelict houses, although knowing my luck, I’ll put one foot on the seemingly neglected land and a scraggly-haired pikey will pop his head out of a broken window and start shouting obscenities at me), a few abandoned motors, some rusty old engines, a kids play area, a couple of farms, some fields, more fields, some dirt roads, some more dirt roads…oh, and a dead kangaroo. That was the highlight.
In the coming weeks, providing the weather improves, I have it in my sights to do some more wandering, for even though there’s a solemn stillness about the place, and even though it feels desperately run-down and tired, I’m sure there’s a lot more to Marvel Loch than meets the eye. And with the promise of being whisked out to a farm near Southern Cross where I can chase sheep on a quadbike and ride a John Deere tractor while wearing a straw hat and chewing on a piece of wheat, I’m thinking that the next eight weeks are going to be filled with experiences I can cherish forever.
Chasing Amy-Lou 