Colder than a Witch's....

Yesterday was our second full day in Kalgoorlie. We rose from our lovely bed, eventually, and pondered our day's possible activities. The sky was leaden and the day did not look warm. That was the understatement of the century.

Michael had previously regaled us with tales of working in the Goldfields during winter, of not being able to feel his hands, of having his coffee cup slide as the ice melted underneath, of a bitter wind and freezing drizzle. As I had camped with him during both June and July and not experienced any of these conditions, I merely assumed that these were the ravings of my delusional husband.

I discovered that he had not been telling porkies. We set off for Ora Banda to have lunch at the historic pub and discuss Back to Ora Banda Day, which usually occurs in late September. As we exited the car, having reached our destination, the Antartic blast caused us to scuttle inside. Immediately. In all our visits there, we have always sat outside. Not this day.

The pub was warmish. Being old, it leaked cold air like a sieve. We attempted to toast ourselves in front of the open fire. As they were not pyromaniacs like us, there were only two logs on the grate. At least our knees defrosted.

Although the day was lacking in any semblance of warmth, Rhonda, on the bar, made up with her cheerful and welcoming disposition. She and her husband had passed the reins of the Inn to the younger generation. She was babysitting the hotel as her daughter Kiri was making the short trip to Perth (1200 or so round trip) to pick up the latest crop of backpackers.

We chatted amiably with Rhonda and enjoyed our burgers. We chose not to dally. Making one stop on the way back to Kalgoorlie, we stopped to pay our respects at the local historic cemetery. Reading the inhabitants' causes of death were about as inspiring as the weather. We left.

The heat in our smart loan car was up to thirty degrees. We eventually thawed out about five kilometres from our destination. Whether the cold or a chronic lack of sleep added to my discomfort was not clear. But I retired to bed for the rest of the afternoon.

Dinner with Sam and Wayne at the Lot 35 restaurant, a swish establishment on Hannan Street, was most enjoyable. And warm. A cheery notice of their front door advised us that this was not being left open, in order  to keep out the cold. Dinner, vino, and company were all top notch.

We retired back to our toasty room at the hotel. A cup of tea and I was out for the count. We knew the cold was going to continue. We were just hoping to see the sun in the morning.

The rather depressing cemetery board...