Oompa Loompa dippity doo

Coral Bay is a difficult place to drag yourself away from. The lifestyle here is about as relaxed as it comes; it’s a one street town –and even calling it a town is pushing it – where the sole attraction is the Ningaloo reef. Aside from a couple of tiny, expensive supermarkets, a campsite, hotel, hostel and a small number of dive shops, there’s unlikely to be much to satisfy someone who doesn’t like spending all day on a beach. Luckily me and the beach, including the incredible expanse of coral reef within wading distance from the shore and vaaaast quantities of irritating, sticky sand, have become well acquainted. Turtles, stingrays, and more neon fish than you can shake a stick at are a daily occurrence that I’m reluctant to give up.

By the time I leave on Saturday I’ll have been here exactly two weeks. Aside from the crystal clear, 27 degree water which still leaves me dribbling like a pensioner on acid every time I walk through it, the other thing that’s kept me here is my bank balance. Let’s just say I’ve taken on a...a...sanitation role, oh alright – a cleaning job, in exchange for free accommodation at the hostel. For two hours each day, paradise is interrupted by a list of chores including shower scrubbing, kitchen wiping and err – window cleaning. News shock: 5 ft 3 girl cleans window twice her height with startlingly bad results, but generally the jobs are painless and give a bit of structure to an otherwise lazy day.

There are four of us ‘Oompa Loompas’, as we’re "affectionately" called, working for our keep. Yesterday me, Bill and Ted were joined by a German girl whose onward travel plans are much the same as mine (ie. She has none). So together, we’ve hatched a plan. The desolate Kimberley region in the north west, now entering its quiet wet season, is sitting about 17 hours up the coast. It’s the wrong time of year to go but the humidity, heat, flooding and electrical storms currently whipping through Broome are just a few reasons that have intrigued us enough to go up there.
The question is...how? A plea for help has been put on the hostel notice board in hope of finding some kind soul with two spare seats heading in the same direction. If no one responds, we’ll hop on a bus to the next town, Exmouth, and try our luck there.

At this rate, I’ll be spending Christmas on an empty road trying to keep scenes from Wolf Creek out of my sweaty, overheating head...but at least I’ll have something to write home about. Providing I still have my hands, that is.