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.It is certainly true that it was used as a stop-off point onsome international flights and more regularly on cross-countryflights from Queensland to Western Australia, so it was a kind ofcrossroads.The airport stayed open until 1947.The pub opened in1938, so it is not by any stretch the oldest in the outback or theNorthern Territory, but it is certainly one of the most extraordi-nary.As with most outback pubs every inch of interior surfacewalls, rafters, wooden support posts was covered with mementosleft by earlier visitors: college ID cards, driver s licenses, foldingmoney from many nations, bumper stickers, badges from variouspolice and fire departments, even a generous and arresting assort-ment of underwear, which dangled from rafters or was nailed towalls.The rest was nicely spartan: a large but basic central bar, con-crete floor, bare tin roof, an assortment of tables and chairs of dif-ferent vintages and styles, a battered pool table.At the bar seven oreight men, all in shorts, T-shirts, boots, and bush hats, stood drink-ing stubbies squat bottles of beer served in insulated foamholders to keep them cold.They all looked hot and dusty, but theneverything in Daly Waters was hot and dusty.The atmosphere inthe pub can best be described as convivially sweltering.Even stand-ing still, the sweat dripped off us.The windows had screens, butmost were full of holes and anyway the doors were wide open soflies came in freely.The men at the bar gave me compact butfriendly nods as I bellied up to the bar, and obligingly made space forme to stand to order, but showed no special interest in me as an out-sider.Clearly, as the souvenirs attested, visitors were not a novelty.I acquired a pair of chilled stubbies and conveyed them to thetable where Allan sat beneath a bumper sticker commemorating avisit by the Wheredafukarwi Touring Club. Allan was suffusedwith a strange happiness. You like it here? I said.He shook his head with a kind of speechless delight. I do.I ac-tually do. I n a S u n b u r n e d C o u n t r y 241 But I thought you hated it. I did, he said. But then I was sitting here looking out thewindow at the setting sun, and it was lovely I mean really quiteastoundingly lovely and then I turned and saw the bar with allthese outback characters, and I thought, Bugger me, I like it here. He looked at me in the frankest wonder. And I do.I really like it. I m so pleased. He drained his beer and rose. You ready for another? Now it was my turn to be filled with wonder.I started to pointout that it was a touch early to be setting such a blistering pace, butthen I thought what the hell.We had come a long way and thisplace was after all built for drinking.I drained my bottle and handed it over. Sure, I said, whynot? well, i can t pretend i remember a great deal of what fol-lowed.We drank huge amounts of beer huge amounts.We atesteaks the size of catcher s mitts (they may actually have beencatcher s mitts) and washed them down with more beer.We mademany friends.We circulated as if at a cocktail party.I talked toranchers and sheep shearers, to nannies and cooks.I met fellowtravelers from around the world and talked for some time to theproprietor, one Bruce Caterer, who told me the complicated storyof how he had come to own a pub in this lonely and far-flung spot,of which confidence I have not the tiniest recollection and certainlynothing approximating a note.As the evening wore on, the bargrew almost impossibly crowded and lively.Where all the peoplewere coming from I couldn t guess.What was certain was thatthere were at least fifty cheerfully committed drinkers tucked awayin the bush in the vicinity of Daly Waters and at least as many visi-tors like us.I got comprehensively beaten at pool by at least four-teen people.I bought rounds for strangers.I called my wife andprofessed my lasting devotion.I giggled at any story told me and ra-diated uncritical affection in all directions.I would have gone any-where with anyone.I awoke the next morning, fully clothed andon top of the bedding, with no clear memory past the catcher s mittportion of the evening and a head that felt like a train crash.I pressed my watch to an eyeball and groaned at the discoverythat it was nearly ten o clock.We were hours late if we were ever 242 B i l l B r y s o ngoing to get to Alice Springs.I stumbled down to the bathroomand put myself through some cursory ablutions, then found myway blearily into the pub.Allan sat propped against a wall with hiseyes closed, a cup of black coffee steaming untouched before him.There was no one else around. Where coffee where? I croaked in a tiny voice.He indicated vaguely with a weak hand.In a side room Ifound an urn of hot water and containers of instant coffee, tea bags,powdered milk, and sugar with which to make a hot beverage.Iloaded a cup half full with instant-coffee powder, dribbled in somewater, and rejoined Allan.Weakly, in the manner of an invalid, I lifted the cup and intro-duced a little coffee to my lips.After a couple of more sips, I beganto feel a little better.Allan, on the other hand, looked terminallywretched. How late were we up? I asked. Late. Very late? Very. Why are you sitting with your eyes closed? Because if I open them I m afraid I ll bleed to death. Did I disgrace myself? I peered around the room to see if myboxer shorts were draped from any rafters. Not that I recall.You were shit at pool. I nodded without surprise.I often use alcohol as an artificialcheck on my pool-playing skills.It s a way for me to help strangersgain confidence in their abilities and get in touch with my innerwallet. Anything else? I asked. You re doing a house swap next summer with a family fromKorea. I pursed my lips thoughtfully. North or South? I asked. Not sure. You re making this up, aren t you? He reached over and deftly plucked from my shirt pocket abusiness card, which he presented to me.It said, Park Ho Lee,Meat Wholesaler or something and gave an address in Pusan.Un-derneath it, in my own handwriting, it said, June 10 August 27.No worries. I placed the card, folded once, in the ashtray. I n a S u n b u r n e d C o u n t r y 243 I think I d like to get out of here now, I said.He nodded and with an effort of will rose from the table,wobbled ever so slightly, and went off to gather up his things.Ihesitated a long moment and followed.Ten minutes later we were on our way to Alice Springs. C h a p t e r 16now here s a story to ponder.In April 1860, during the second of his heroic attempts to crossAustralia from south to north, John McDouall Stuart reached thealmost waterless center of the continent, roughly halfway betweenthe present sites of Daly Waters and Alice Springs.A thousandmiles from anywhere, the spot was the very climax of desolation, as Stuart s fellow explorer Ernest Giles once nicely put it, andStuart and his men went through hell to get there
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