Stranded!

"Stranded, stranded on the toilet bowl,

What can you do when you're stranded,,

An you don't have a roll?",

My indulgent readers will forgive the above schoolyard version of the theme song to the Chuck Conners classic western television show, Branded once I have completed my sad tale, but before I do I must catch you up on what happened to us after arriving in Darwin a few days ago. All will be revealed.

Our happy railroad trip to Australia's top end terminated in the charming city of Darwin, and since I have gotten into the habit of describing these sites by making American comparisons, I will say the city seemed a lot like Hawaii (without the devastating wildfires presently burning). The climate is tropical, and the denizens of the city are just as likely to parade around in swim suits and shorts as they are shirts and jeans. Most of the architecture of the place was new and modern; exactly what you would expect from a place that was nearly wiped out by a cyclone in 1974 and one that endured several raids from the Japanese in World War II. The Northern Territory library is situated in a very attractive building that also serves as the legislative assembly hall, and we were delighted with what we found there. No deep-colored wooden paneling for this place, it was clean and quite modern, with some of the most impressive displays I have seen in any museum. One which described the opening of the Australian outback to touring vehicles featured a stationary bus with screens representing the passing scenery one would have expected while driving along one of the endless red dirt roads leading across the vast landscape. Our hotel accomodations were also in a modern hotel, and quite luxurious since it was a complete apartment with kitchen, bedroom, living room, and even a washer and dryer. We made good use of the latter dealing with our dirty clothes after three days on the train. Although the city has its fair share of homeless, especially of Aboriginal people down on their luck, there were certainly no more than one can see in any American city of equal or greater side. We bought groceries at a nearby store and cooked a delicious steak during our first night in the hotel, and I was even able to gratify my craving for a chicken schitzel on the second day. Finally the view of the ocean was outstanding, observed from a water front park sprinkled with giant fig and banyan trees.

Unfortunately the good times did not last after taking our flight to Brisbane. The limo driver did not appear to take us to the hotel for our one night stay in the city and poor Ronald had to secure a cab

for us after a considerable delay. We did not arrive to the hotel until after sundown, and we were as tired as you can imagine after the three hour, forty-five minute flight. The rooms were again very nice, apartments really, with all the amenities we enjoyed at Darwin, but I was so keyed up by the ordeal I found it difficult to sleep and a real chore getting up to catch another cab back to the airport this morning at nine o'clock. Due to the time change it seemed much, much earlier, and we arrived at the airport bleary-eyed and ready for our flight back to Newcastle for the drive home. Alas, the flight was cancelled, and a substitue has not been scheduled for us until after six this evening. We are, in sort, stranded in this airport with no recompense for our inconvenience beyond a miserly fifteen dollar meal voucher grudgingly provided by the rather unhelpful Qantas staff. That amount of money in this country will get you a cup of barrista coffee, or perhaps a meat pie, and of course airport concessions are much more expensive than the normally expensive prices one would pay in the city. We are making the best of it, as all travelers must, but this ordeal has taxed my own sleepless constitution to the max. I am reminded of a hotel host in Madrid who once told us, "The life of the tourist is hard." True that!