Fractious (adj.) – Easily irritated; bad tempered
We left at the crack of dawn, dropping our room key at a boarded-up reception and sneaking out without being seen or even seeing any other form of life. I never imagined I’d feel so relieved to be back in our beast of a truck and heading down the eerily silent winding roads out of this town. I still felt a little hazy from a broken sleep; surely this jet lag had to bugger off soon? Cara had braved the communal showers and had returned to our cell smelling cleaner than Shelley and me, but in a stinking mood. The five-minute-shower rule wasn’t just a request. The thing turned itself off after five minutes and wouldn’t go on again, so she’d had to wash the suds from her hair in the sink with only ice-cold, recycled rainwater that dribbled out of a funky-looking tap.
‘So much for this eco shit. They can stick it!’ she’d grumbled as we left, running her thin fingers through her damp locks. Wet-dog hair was not the look she’d been going for, though today’s outfit choice was just as impractical as the one she’d worn yesterday. Patent ruby stiletto heels, black drainpipe jeans, a trendy black floppy hat and a draped maroon cape made her look like she should be some top style blogger about to cover London Fashion Week, not a backpacker preparing to soak up some culture and natural sights. ‘There’d better be coffee in my hand in the next five minutes, or else.’
Her moaning increased in volume when she realised that her demands weren’t going to be met any time soon, as all the small, quaint coffee shops we drove past showed no signs of life.
‘How can people even live like this? I swear it’s so primitive to not even have a Starbucks!’ Cara spat, pulling out her phone and scrolling down the screen.
I noticed Shelley flinch but she stayed quiet.
‘The guide books said there’s somewhere to grab a drink when we get to the Twelve Apostles,’ I offered, hoping she’d give the whining a break. Compared to Shelley’s normally sunny demeanour, her cousin would make Oscar the Grouch seem high on life.
The one-hour journey took us out of the sleepy fishing village, through emerald-green forests, then down along the coast, just as the sun was trying to break through. It was only when we reached the entrance to the visitors’ car park for the Twelve Apostles – taking in some pretty hair-raising bends and shutting my eyes, praying that the tyres of The Beast would stay on the narrow lanes – did I properly wake up and get excited. An excitement that even the dismal weather couldn’t budge.
The blazing Australian sun that I’d imagined was here 365 days a year didn’t look like it was going to make an appearance today. I’d bundled myself up in a waterproof jacket, chunky scarf and as many layers as I could find in my bag. One of the very few good things about The Beast was that it did emit a lot of heat; Cara had turned it to the max this morning to try to dry her hair. The only problem was that this toasty space made the outside even more bracing.
‘Jesus, it’s Baltic!’ I heard Cara cry, as we clambered out into the chilly morning air. ‘Right, where’s this coffee you promised?’
I winced as I saw the grille on the tourist centre coffee shop pulled shut. ‘I guess we’re still a little early.’
‘Great. Just great,’ Cara huffed and pulled her coat tighter across her skinny body.
We wandered down the signposted path in silence to the main vantage point, with Cara grumbling under her breath that this was not her idea of a hen party.
‘Is that them?’ I asked, ignoring her and pointing to the bruise-coloured sea where unusual rocks stood like crumbling ruins in a messy line. According to my guide book the Twelve Apostles are imposing rock stacks out in the ocean that once were part of the rugged sandstone cliffs, and over time eroded from caves to arches to pillars. I looked again. ‘Wait – I can only see eight of them?’
‘What? So we’ve come all this way, stayed at Bates bloody Motel, forced to function without caffeine and it’s not even the real deal!’ Cara looked aghast at where I was pointing. ‘Oh, that is just bloody typical!’
Shelley bristled next to me. ‘I guess over time they’ve been battered by the weather and now there’s only eight of them. It’s still pretty impressive if you think about it …’
It was as if huge chunks of the cliff had just decided one day that they needed a break, but had only got a couple of metres out to sea before thinking, sod it, I’ve proved my point. I’d seen the white cliffs of Dover and the crumbling cliffs of Northern France, but the rock stacks here were more of a golden yellow – well, the photos online showed them to be that way, but in this dull light and with the froth from the churning, murky waters, we could hardly see a thing.
‘Just think, when our children travel, there may not be any of them left standing,’ I mused, pointing to a plastic information board glistening with sea spray.
‘God, don’t! I think a lot more will have changed in the world by the time we have children. Seeing those backpackers yesterday was bad enough, imagine the technology when our kids travel?’ Shelley shivered, and I don’t think it was just from the icy wind.
We walked higher up the coastline, more to keep moving to generate warmth than anything else, following the snaking path that a few other hardy (mad) souls had braved. There was a group of Chinese tourists with every camera and gizmo you could imagine, but none of them had brought an umbrella, and an older couple, plodding behind, shaking their heads when they nearly got a selfie stick in their eye.
‘God, it is bloody freezing!’ Cara unhelpfully informed us yet again.
‘We’ll go and see what’s up here then head back to the car, shall we?’ I suggested, trying to be the peacemaker. Cara grunted a ‘fine’, then strode off on her long legs.
I turned to Shelley. ‘What’s with her this morning?’
‘Eurgh, Lord knows.’ She seemed distracted herself, glancing over at the rocks as if looking for something. ‘Do you reckon it will get sunnier?’
I shrugged and blew on my fingers for warmth. ‘No idea; it would need a miracle to clear any time soon.’
Shelley nodded slowly, looking as if she was working something out in her head.
‘Hurry up!’ Cara bellowed at us, bouncing on the spot for some heat.
The path led us to a spectacular vantage point. Well, it would have been if the morning fog rolling over the water hadn’t cast everything in a dull, milky light. Within moments our already sketchy view was blocked off by the bad weather.
‘Oh, well that’s just bloody brilliant. What a fucking view,’ Cara said sarcastically, stretching her arms out wide, gesturing to the thick, soupy mist.
It was almost laughable how Shelley had planned our route specifically to see these iconic Australian rocks; we’d got up before the crack of dawn to experience a spectacular sunrise, but all that lay ahead were some odd shapes peeking out of heavy clouds. We were coated in a fine sea mist, hungry, thirsty, tired and a little pissed off.
‘That was such a waste of time. We could have had a lie-in and gone for a proper breakfast. I’m starving!’ Cara grumbled loudly, before casting an unseen glare at one Chinese man who was now doing impressive star jumps as his companion tried to capture it on film.
‘Let’s think of the positives – we wouldn’t have wanted to spend much longer in that hostel, we’re a little closer to Adelaide, and we can say that we kind of saw the Twelve Apostles. Plus, by now it must be time for cafés to finally open for breakfast?’ I said, nudging Shelley in the side gently, and casting a look to Cara. I didn’t want a bad mood, tiredness, bickering or shitty weather to ruin this trip for her.
‘I guess.’ Cara stomped her feet.
‘Right, we can head back in a minute, but first can you take my photo?’ Shelley asked, handing me her phone.
‘I’ll take it, as there’s no way anyone is getting a photo of me looking like this,’ Cara said, taking the phone off me and pointing to her hair, which had begun to clump in the sea spray. ‘Georgia, get in.’
I stepped forward when Shelley cried out. ‘No! I mean, I just want one on my own if that’s all right?’
‘Okay …’
‘It’s just I’m making a wedding scrapbook for Jimmy so I need to get photos of me on my own for it,’ she hurriedly explained.
‘Right then, say cheese!’ Cara lifted up her phone as Shelley held her engagement-ring-heavy hand in the air and grinned at the lens.
‘Wait! I’ve got a copy of a wedding magazine in my bag …’ She rummaged around, pulled out a battered copy of Wedding Wonders and held it up, posing like she was actually reading it. ‘This might be a fun shot!’
‘Err, yeah, there you go.’ Cara took the photo and handed her phone back.
‘Oh, excuse me. Would you mind taking our photo?’ the older woman we’d seen before kindly asked and passed over a clunky camera.
‘Aww, that’ll be you and Jimmy soon,’ I whispered.
Shelley laughed, ignoring Cara teasing that they already were like an old married couple.
‘They are so cute. I just love it when you see old people so happily married after all these years.’
The woman’s husband shifted from one foot to the other. ‘We don’t need another bloody photo,’ he grunted. ‘I’ve told her we already have more than enough photos,’ he barked, as Shelley awkwardly took the camera. Judging by how loudly he was talking, I guessed he was a little deaf, or maybe it was for our benefit to make sure his negative views were heard over the crashing waves behind us.
His wife flashed a tiny smile at Shelley and shoved her arm through the gap in her husband’s many layers of jackets and fleeces, pulling him closer. It was a long-suffering smile that had clearly been perfected over the many years of listening to his grumblings.
‘I mean, seriously. You can’t even see the rocks, and all we do with these pictures is leave them on the computer clogging up the memory!’
He was staring at Shelley like she was as much of a nutter as his wife, wanting to document this, admittedly poor, view. I was waiting for Cara to jump in and agree with him.
‘Oh shush, these women don’t need to hear what you have to say,’ his optimistic and patient wife added brightly, nodding at Shelley to press the button and take the photo.
‘Okay, err, say cheese!’ Shelley said, making me stifle a giggle. The old man had his thin lips in a tight line and his wrinkled forehead creased in a frown.
‘Cheese!’ the woman sang. Her husband muttered something under his breath. ‘Oh, thank you so much!’ She gratefully took the camera from Shelley. ‘You know, the weather man said it was meant to be nice today. In fact, it might still break into a lovely day.’
‘Nice!’ he barked incredulously. ‘Look at the state of it!’
’Well, we’ll let you girls get on. Thanks for the photo. Come on now, Bill, let’s go for a stroll.’
His eyes almost jumped from their sockets at her suggestion. ‘A stroll! Well, I’ve heard it all now.’
‘Come on, dear.’ She pulled him away and cast a grateful smile back at us as he continued to moan about the fact there was bugger all to see.
‘What was it you were saying about happily married older couples?’ Cara sniggered, nudging Shelley in the side as they left.
Shelley gave her a look. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
‘Before you know it, that’ll be you and Jimmy,’ Cara teased, as Shelley stomped off back to the car.
*
‘Where are we?’ Cara looked up from her phone a few hours later, which she had been permanently attached to for most of the morning. ‘Why are we slowing down?’
Shelley flashed a sly smile and indicated to turn right. ‘Oh, I just thought this would be a good place to stop and stretch our legs. Surely you want another coffee soon?’
‘As long as it’s not to get us to go to some crap museum or cultural site,’ Cara grumbled. ‘The Eight Apostles were enough of a let-down for today.’
‘It’s not, I promise, and the sun is coming out!’ said Shelley.
Like some freak force of nature, the misty fog appeared to only be location specific. As soon as we’d pulled away from the Twelve Apostles and driven further inland, the weather had vastly improved. The town she was driving through was like something from an old classic movie. A place where everyone knew everyone. The adorable town centre was pretty much just two short streets with local businesses dotted on each side; a white latticed pavilion stood at the end. It had an air of vulnerable innocence that it had survived as a result of faithful inhabitants and sporadic passers-by.
‘This is too cute,’ I beamed, as a woman waved to us going past, holding a wicker basket full of colourful fresh blooms.
We drove past gas pumps with patiently waiting attendants, images of beehives hanging in the tatty-looking windows of the hairdressers, and a diner that I imagined selling soda floats and luncheon meat fritters. Suddenly, I spotted something from the corner of my eye; hidden by a large bush was a sign tacked to a stake in the ground. ‘Welcome to the home of the well-known Willie’.
‘Err, Shell, what the heck is the well-known Willie?’ I asked.
Cara let out a bark of a laugh and looked at her cousin. ‘Have you driven us to see Willie? Finally this hen-do is picking up!’
‘Is Willie a person? Who the hell is Willie?’ I flicked my head between the pair of them. ‘Is he related to you?’ At this, the two girls burst into a fit of giggles. ‘Is this some Australian humour thing, as I don’t get it.’
‘Well, you can’t come all the way down under and not see for yourself. But first, to avoid ruining it, close your eyes and we’ll take you to meet Willie.’ Shelley grinned.
‘Really?’ They both nodded. ‘Fine. But if I don’t get the joke, then don’t be annoyed.’
I covered my eyes with my hands as Shelley led the way. I could smell something sweet in the air, like doughnuts or candy floss.
‘This is Willie. You can open your eyes now!’ Cara shrieked in delight.
I slowly opened one eye. Willie wasn’t a man; in fact, he wasn’t a person. Willie was a giant six-metre-tall, pale pink penis.
‘Oh my God! I’ve heard about these!’ I laughed, straining my neck to look up the wrinkled sides to an impressively smooth, polished tip, covered in bird-poo stains. ‘This is one of the Big Things!’
The Big Things of Australia was something Ben had told me about from his previous trips down under. Apparently nearly every Australian state had one; they were usually man-made sculptures that seemed completely pointless but drew in crowds of tourists purely for the novelty factor. It had become a sort of challenge to see them all.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Shelley asked, leaning against the base of Willie. ‘Pretty big, right?’
I laughed and peered up, shading the sunlight from my eyes with my hand. ‘Yep, it may be the biggest Willie I ever did see.’ I giggled like a schoolgirl.
‘I’d only ever read about it online, never thought I’d see it with my own eyes,’ Cara mused, looking much more impressed with this than the previous tourist attraction.
‘As soon as I knew this was on the route, we had to make a pit stop,’ Shelley laughed.
Nearby was a wooden shack serving as a gift shop selling postcards, t-shirts and even hats, all with the image of the phallic statue plastered across them. A group of tourists were posing with Willie and some children were playing in a small park area that had been built underneath the base.
‘One question though – what the hell is the point of it?’ I asked.
‘Willie was this old man who lost his, ahem, little willy years and years ago. There were urban myths of exactly how he lost it – legend has it that the severed genital was found in this very spot. The most popular version was that he lost it when he single-handedly saved the town from a rabid pack of dingoes that had ransacked the place.’ Her eyes widened as she retold the tale. ‘Anyway, turns out he actually lost it in some farming accident when he’d been drunk one night, but he was already the town’s hero by then and no one really seemed to care that he didn’t save any lives as the thing had already been erected.’
Cara stifled a giggle at this. ‘It is erect all right.’
‘So, that’s the famous Willie. The fella died a few years back and, once the truth came out that he wasn’t such a legend, there was talk of taking it down, but everyone petitioned to keep Willie standing tall.’
I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it all, Australia was slowly but surely winning my heart.
‘Selfie time!’ Shelley said, pulling out her phone for a photo. ‘Can you get one of me for the, erm, scrapbook?’
‘Jimmy sure is a lucky guy!’ I laughed.
She pulled out the wedding magazine from her bag once more.
‘What’s this? Is this trip sponsored by them or something?’ Cara snorted.
‘What? The last photo didn’t come out very well. Cheese!’ She grinned. ‘Right, come on, we’d better be making a move.’
Next stop: the Grampians.