Kalgoorlie, Room 12: A Touring Week in the Goldfields
A touring companion spends a dusty, windy week in a Kalgoorlie motel, and finds that the loneliness of the road is easier when she stops fighting it.
Monday. Flew into Kalgoorlie with a suitcase, a garment bag, a box of my own pillowcases and a travel kettle that has survived four years of touring. Room 12 at a motel I'll leave unnamed has a clean bathroom, a humming fridge, and a view of the car park and a very red sky. The wind throws grit against the window all afternoon. I unpack everything, because living out of a suitcase makes me feel temporary, and I've learned I work better when I feel like I live somewhere.
Tuesday. Busy. Mine workers on their days off, most of them tired, sunburnt and unexpectedly shy once the door is closed. One apologised for his hands, which were rough as sandpaper. I told him I'd met rougher. He laughed so hard he had to sit down. It's funny how often the best moments of this job are the ones where two strangers stop pretending.
Wednesday
Quiet day. I walked the main street in the morning, looked at the old pub facades and the ornate verandas, bought a pie and ate it in the car with the air conditioning on full. I rang my sister. She asked when I'm coming home and I said Sunday, and I heard her kids yelling in the background and felt that familiar pang. Touring is good money and good freedom, but it asks you to miss things.
Thursday
A regular from last year rebooked. He brought me a little jar of quandong jam his mother makes. We talked for most of the first half-hour about her garden and his new dog. I am always surprised by how many people just want someone to hear them without judgement. The rest of the visit was warm and easy and entirely private.
Friday
Hard night. Long, full, and by the end of it I was so tired my smile felt borrowed. I took a long shower, ate crackers and cheese on the bed, and watched a cooking show with the sound off.
Saturday
I finally stopped fighting the loneliness. I let it sit next to me on the motel bench outside my door while I drank my tea and watched the sunset turn the car park gold. It wasn't so bad, once I let it stay.
Tomorrow I fly home. I'll leave Room 12 cleaner than I found it, and take the jam.
You might also like
From other topics.
Regular Sexual Health Checks: What to Expect
Routine sexual health testing is simple, confidential and one of the most caring things you can do for yourself and your partners.
Writing a Profile That Attracts the Right Clients
Your profile is your shop window. Here is how to write one that is honest, distinctive and draws in the clients you actually want to see.
Launceston at Leisure: Cataract Gorge, Tamar Valley Wine and Quiet Evenings
Tasmania's northern city combines a gorge on its doorstep, a celebrated wine valley and an evening pace that suits people who like to take their time. Here is how to plan a visit.