The Gibb River Hilton … Part 1 “In The Beginning”

On Monday, Mr W. and I will be embarking on the adventure of a lifetime … an adventure which has inspired me to write my first series.  Actually, perhaps we should call it an epic, it might be more fitting.  Four weeks camping in the outback is certainly more than just an adventure …

And so before we set off I thought I’d fill you in on all the details …

Gorgeous Mr W. has provided his princess the most luxurious of camper trailers to rest my pretty head in.  I’ve named it the “Gibb River Hilton”.  Seriously, both Paris and Nicole would be proud of this one!  Being the big strong man he is, Mr W. has fitted out the “Gibb River Hilton” with all the essentials … a gourmet kitchen (seriously, wait until you see photos … which I will post at our first stop … you see, he’s so organised he’s already packed it away and I’m not allowed to open it until we get there!!), a queen size mattress (for all the snuggling we are going to be doing … not!), a tub for bathing (um excuse me?  a tub?  Do I look like I bathe in a tub??), plenty of toilet rolls (I actually asked Mr W. what all of these were for, I mean, don’t most camping grounds have ablution facilities.  He just giggled and walked away.  Apparently trees will be my friend) … we’ve even got a kitchen sink, I kid you not!

I’ve also added my own essentials (and some of these will be news to Mr W.).  I’ve traded in my beautiful designer handbag for a backpack, yes you heard it here first.  This backpack contains a now not so secret stash of chocolate*, disposable toothbrushes, make up wipes and perfume, battery operated hair straightners … hey you never know who you’ll meet in the outback … perhaps Hugh Jackman will be re-visiting the set of Australia?  And of course, there will be all those romantic nights with Mr W. under the stars … just me and him, spending quality time together.  There certainly won’t be any repeats of last Tuesday night, that’s for sure (although I’ve hidden the panadol deep in my backpack, just in case).  I’ve also stashed a carton of my most favourite red wine in the 4 x 4.  I can see it now, gorgeous sunsets at Cape Leveque, red red wine.  Yes I know, I’m dreaming again aren’t I.  I’ll be too busy trying to find suitable trees to be admiring the sunset!!

I’ve been advised that stilettos will have no place on this trip, however that I will need a pair of “good” shoes, should we head to the pub whilst staying in little towns along the way.  Now, my argument is that stilettos are “good” shoes, in more ways than one, and therefore should be allocated cargo space.  Mr W. and my definition of “good” shoes obviously differ.  He suggested I bring a pair of Dunlop volley type shoes that I had purchased as part of a fancy dress outfit.  You can imagine the look of horror on my face.  Well, after weeks of debate, and anxiety on my part, we have come to a compromise (a word Mr W. has quickly learnt the meaning of lately) … my “good” shoes will be a pair of low heeled black Zu cowboy boots.  However, it has been stipulated that they remain under my jeans.  My skinny jeans have also been denied cargo space on this trip … but I managed to sneak chocolate in, so leave that with me.

I’ve even put the word out to see if anyone knows of a manicurist in Kununurra … cos my poor old acrylics will need refilling by the time we get there.  They really aren’t red dirt resilient.

It’s going to be one epic tale … so make sure you subscribe to the Pilbara Princess so you don’t miss any of our adventures.  We are going to doing things like chopper flights, visiting the Wolf Creek Crater and staying at Fitzroy Crossing and Halls Creek.  Not to mention all the stories that Mr W. will provide me with.  Don’t miss it!!

*after reading this blog post … Mr W. ate my “not so secret stash of chocolate” … guess I’m off to Woolies again tomorrow.

Who Said Romance Was Dead?

Imagine getting home from work mid week to discover that your partner is intoxicated.  And not just a bit tipsy either.  Well, I’m slowly learning that this is just a normal occurrence when you live with a shift worker.  You see, up here in the red dirt, weekends and public holidays really don’t mean anything.  Half the time no one knows what day it is due to the roster they work.  And so, Mr W.’s “weekend” often occurs mid week … totally opposite to my mon to fri grind.

Well, I came home from work last Tuesday (which was Mr W.’s Sunday) to discover Mr W. having a few quiet ones, or so I thought.  It wasn’t until everyone had left that I actually discovered just how pissed he really was.  Noticing that he was stumbling around like an emu on ice skates, I asked him if he was ok.  He replied … nope … and then he proceeded to cook me dinner (something he would never do while he was sober).  God bless my gorgeous Mr W., he had lovingly marinated some chicken breasts in Nandos sauce all day.  And so he got out the George Foreman and proceeded to char grill the chicken.  He was so obssessed with getting that criss cross pattern on the chook but he’s just lucky he didn’t end up with a nice little criss cross pattern on the side of his face.

Well, the fun didn’t stop there.  After watching me put the garlic bread in the oven, he asked me to cook him some garlic bread … no less than three times!  Now I must admit, despite the fact that his brain had clearly left the building, he did cook some very amazing chicken.  It’s a shame our dinner conversation wasn’t as juicy.

Now, it was about 7pm by this stage and Mr W. was well, shall we say, a little worse for ware so I told him that he needed to have a shower.  And it’s at this point that I secretly started wishing that we had a video camera permanently set up in our bedroom (no Mr W. we can’t do this, it’s just a blog honey).

Have you ever had to undress someone who’s quite inebriated?  It’s not easy at the best of times … especially when you know you’re not gonna get lucky.  Well, I managed to get his shirt off.  It was his socks that nearly landed him in the local hospital.  You see, we have one of those gorgeous wooden beds with a flat edge that you can sit on.  And so Mr W. managed to perch himself on here (after several attempts) and stuck his foot out … his way of “helping” to get his socks off.  Not realising that he was wearing 2 pairs, I pulled them … and a drunk Mr W. has gone from sitting on the edge of the bed to sitting on the floor quicker than he can stick a lemon wedge in a corona.

His head has then made contact with the chest of draw … oops.  I thought I’d killed him … but no such luck.  Before I knew it he was laughing uncontrollably … obviously no brain, no pain.  He’s just lucky he missed the edge the bed … or red dirt would be the least of my problems.  And so, after 10 minutes of watching him laugh until he cried, I managed to stand him up.  It took me another 10 minutes to get his pants off … longest that’s ever taken 😉

I decided that for his own health and safety (they’re big on that in these mining towns) that a shower was a bad idea and so just put him to bed.  Now you can imagine that I was really not impressed at this point.  I was expecting a romantic evening with my man …

Obviously Mr W. has no recollection of his near death experience, or the opinions he expressed about his mother in law whilst in this state … but he is starting to learn that the Pilbara Princess has a memory like an elephant and she never forgets.  I had great pleasure in reminding Mr W. of the events of the night before when he woke up at 1am with a thumping headache.  It’s funny that with such a great memory, I sometimes forgot where the panadol is in middle of the night.

Oh, and Mr W. … thank you for taking me out for a surprise lunch yesterday.  That was really lovely sweetie.  You’re half way there.

Love pp xx

I think I’ve grown fish scales …

Yes it’s true, I think I’ve grown fish scales …despite the fact that I’ve never lived so far from the ocean!  (you know the ones I’m talking about … they drive you nuts with itchiness and have that white flakey skin going on!!!  yummy)  I thought I would share with you a tale of my “Pilbara Makeover” …

Most of the time we have make overs to make us look more appealing … change our make up, hair colour or style, wear trendier clothes.  Well, in this case I would say that I have done the  complete  opposite (although I have to say that Mr W. is more than happy with the results, aren’t you honey?)

It all started with the fish scales … a direct result of  all the calcium in the  water here  (there’s enough calcium in the water to grow another arm or leg … just ask my shower screen) … but also the fact that it’s actually cold at night  ( and you know, there is no one to keep me warm coz Mr W. isn’t the most cuddly person in the world, well, unless … well you know!!!)  and so you have boiling hot showers and then when you get out of the shower you’re soooo cold that you can’t be bothered to moisturise … let me tell you this is a vicious cycle with to no end … in fact the only end is the fish scale effect!!!  And don’t get me started on the effect that it has on your feet … I mean, we are talking cracks you can put 20c pieces into … like I said, I really think that Mr W. is more than happy with my Pilbara Makeover, he just can’t keep his hands off me …

My daily make up routine has been somewhat reduced … once a smoky eye kinda gal … I now get by with just the basics, foundation and mascara … cos I mean ,  who needs blush when you have red dirt everywhere, all the time.  (and they say theres no dust in Newman – feel free to bring your white gloves and do the Michael Jackson test at my place)  I mean you are literally covered with it.  It gives you that healthy, just been on holidays  in Bali glow … not !!!!!

White is totally out of the question.  I found this out the hard way.  My crisp white singlet suddenly turned pink…… literally before my eyes).  And not even nappy san can resurrect those stains.  Oh and that’s not to mention my white sneakers … which are now a beautiful shade of, you guessed, pink.  At least I can prove that I do exercise up here … well I did once or twice anyway lol.

My corporate wardrobe has had a huge makeover.  I’ve gone from skirts and stilettos to fluro orange high vis shirts, jeans and steel capped boots (I’ve steered clear of the camel  / tan coloured suede favoured by most and gone with a more fashion forward black … lace up to the ankle … come on peeps, ankle boots are so hot right now  but on the bright side the heels don’t get caught in anything ).

Actually talking about boots … I’ve actually lost a few inches … no seriously … my stilettos have been banned  (I think Mr W. is a little embarrassed to be seen in public on a Saturday morning with me while I’m wearing them actually) … and in their place I have thongs … not just one pair … a “crap” pair for around the house (these thongs are well worn, about 3 years old and very very comfy).  And a “good” pair.   These ones are for “going out  for a night on the town (can you hear the sarcasm in my voice?) … and feature a little diamonte on each one … despite the fact that they too are well worn, about 3 years old and very very comfy.  Gosh … I could write a whole post on thongs … hmmm watch this space …

in a while crocodile
pp xx

Cheeseburger Trafficker

How far would you drive for a big mac?  a cheese burger?  What about a bucket of KFC?  You’d be surprised what you would do when you haven’t had it for a few weeks.  While my withdrawal symptoms have settled down now, it was touch and go there for a while.  Seriously … was my gorgeous new man worth a lifetime sans whoppers with cheese?

Those that know me will tell you that I would have faded away to shadow had it not been for me living less than 1km from McDonalds (this is really quite handy when you get home from a boozy night with a serious hankering for a Big Mac … you can walk less than a kilometre when you’re drunk if there is food at the end of the path).  Well, I’ve been in Newman for over 4 weeks now and in this time have not even had a whiff of anything greasy (oh ok ok, I have stood out the front of Chicken Treat and breathed really deeply, but I haven’t actually been in).

And so, when one of our friends said she was heading to Geraldton for a few days and would I like anything from there … I didn’t hesitate in asking for a few frozen Bacon Deluxes.  It seems whenever you head down to Perth, or Geraldton, there are always numerous requests for the couriering of fast food.  HJs in Geralton are so used to this that they double wrap their whoppers.  KFC on Great Eastern Highway in Perth will sell you a “travel pack” for $10 which allows you to put your KFC in the hold below the plane … so as not to drive fellow air travellors wild with the morish smell all the way home.

Actually, having half a dozen whoppers in the freezer makes me feel a whole lot more comfortable about potential cooking disasters … although, in my experience you really need to defrost the whopper before nuking it … salad really doesn’t freeze all that well.

Last time Mr W. flew from Perth to Newman … without me :-(, we pulled up at McDonalds and ordered 23 cheeseburgers (we really only needed 20, but you try driving 20km with a bag of cheeseburgers in the car and not eating any … so we had to account for temptation).  I have to tell you that we really confused the drive thru girl … she ended up calling her manager to speak to us and confirm our order … clearly thought it was a hoax.  Anyway, we loaded up a cooly bag with our 20 cheeseburgers and proceeded to the airport … and even though the bag was sealed, the smell still wafted out.  The security man pissed himself laughing at the site of 20 cheeseburgers going through an x-ray machine, but you can’t tell me he hasn’t seen worse.  I dared Mr W. to wait half way through the flight before ripping one out and devouring it in front of all his fellow passengers … popular man he would not have been.  Although then there was my other suggestion of selling them off at $20 a pop … come on, quickest $400 he’s ever made!  Well to cut a long story short, after about 3 hours in that bag, they were just as hot as when they went in … clearly we all need one of these bags … especially if we are going  into the trafficking business … trafficking McDonalds that is.

Just in case you ever need to know these things I am going to share some Fast Food Trafficking Wisdom with you.  In my experience McDonalds freezes way better than Hungry Jacks (Homer was onto something when he penned the lyrics of “you don’t make friends with salad).  And if you’re ever asked to courier some KFC, it really does travel well, so I’m told.

So, if you are ever coming to visit me … please call me first … you never know what I will want you to bring me from the greasy lands far far away.

pp xx

Breakfast at the Tropic of Capricorn

I’m woken up by Mr W. suggesting that we head out for breakfast.  The thought of a good breakfast perked me up somewhat, despite the fact that I was awake at 5 am on a Saturday morning and I’m feeling a bit hungover from drinking too much wine at the footy club the night before (although I would never admit it).  So I hauled my seedy ass out of bed, showered and got dressed (leggins, leopard print tunic and denim vest, just in case you were wondering).  Mr W. raised his eyebrows at my attire (come on there were stilettos involved, I really didn’t see the problem) … but the thought of a good eggs benny and double skinny latte had lifted my mood beyond caring.

And so we set off to drive the 15km or so from Newman to Capricorn ( … the “Cappy” Roadhouse as it’s known around these parts.  The Cappy Roadhouse is a popular “trukkie stop” which also doubles as a restuarant and a pub.  And so in we go.  We are greeted by a typical roadhouse set up.  I checked out the menu on the counter … no eggs benny in sight.  I ordered bacon and eggs and Mr W. ordered the “Cappy Special” … which is basically everything.  I already had my sights on his hash browns.  I then proceeded to ask for a latte … before I knew it I was holding a yellow mug containing a teaspoon of instant coffee.  I could hear a voice in the back of my head “toughen up princess, you’re in the Pilbara now”.  Swallowing hard I took the mug and wandered over to the urn.  With my steaming mug of instant coffee … I stood there searching for the milk.  Hmmmm I stared blankly at the space next to the urn, hoping it would miraculously materialise.  A truckie happened to walk past at this point, so I asked him “excuse me, but do you know where I would find the milk?”.  He pointed at the bar fridge that I was standing in front of, before casually asking me “dye job?” (obviously referring to the fact that while I might be a brunette, he clearly thought I should be blonde).  I couldn’t help but chuckle at his quick wit.

And so, with my milky coffee in hand I headed into the restaurant section to find Mr W.  Now, I must admit, I was quite taken with the place.  There was a well stocked bar, pool table and lots of retro signs and paraphenalia from a time gone by.  I got my ass kicked at pool while we waited for our brekkie to arrive.  It was pretty cool, we had the whole place to ourselves.  Good music on the telly.  Good lord it took all my strength not to jump the bar and crack open a tinnie.

And then brekkie arrived … and what they put in front of me was waaaayyyy better than any eggs benny!!  You can check out the photos for yourself.  Whatever they do to that bacon works …

Mr W.'s "Cappy Special"

My bacon & eggs ... BEST bacon ever!

best cure for a hangover ... I'm not shy ... ate the entire thing! plus Mr W.'s hash browns ... YUM!

Now before I go, I have to share this next photo with you because it has provided me with endless hours of giggles.  When we finished brekkie, I noticed one of the girls was “setting” the table next to us … now all I have to do is find out what the hell I have to do to be a VIP at the Cappy Roadhouse Breakfast Table cos god knows even a princess needs to feel special once in a while.

Now, if you think the fun was over, you’re wrong.  A few kilometres down the road on the journey home, Mr W. started to slow down.  I was too busy facebooking to see what was going on, however was soon alerted to the fact that the road was being taken over by a herd of station cattle … excitement was a bit of an understatement … I had the camera out before they hit the bitchumen.  You can’t get anymore outback than this.

pp xx

The Best Underwater Ceramic Technician He’s Ever Had …

Over the past 3 weeks, I have prided myself on becoming somewhat of a domestic goddess.   People that know me and love me (yes, you know who you are) will tell you that I am generally not the most organised, tidiest or for that matter domestic sort of girl.  In saying that, I can cook (thanks to a few months in Italy) … it’s more a lack of motivation to do so really.

And so Mr W. has been witness to the massive backflip of this little princess over the past few weeks.  Bathrooms have been spotless, bins emptied (and even hosed out), washing has been done … and a myriad of hot dinners have appeared on the table, generally followed by dessert.

I made it my mission over the past few weeks to perfect the art of Lemon Meringue Pie (LMP).  You see, LMP is Mr W.’s favourite dessert … but as you girls would know, we can never do it as good as his mum (and in this case, it’s a hard task as his mum’s LMP is the bomb) .  Well the first attempt was with store bought pastry and green lemons … all things considered, it really wasn’t that offensive.  However, I must say, my second attempt was a lot better, delicious actually (Mr W.’s words!).  Just don’t tell him that I bought that pastry too, he thinks I kneaded it myself 😉

Now the fact that I have turned into a Nigella Clone extraordinaire does not mean that I haven’t had my fair share of mishaps … I wouldn’t be me without these.

There was my first day in Newman, where upon waking up I thought I would impress Mr W. with my washing skills.  Into the laundry I went, pressing all sorts of buttons on the washing machine.   Without giving it another thought I followed Mr W. down to the only supermarket in town, and then back again.  Upon our return, Mr W. said “honey, that washing machine doesn’t sound right”.  I raced into the laundry to discover the water was not only ankle deep in the laundry, but also in the spare bedroom, bathroom and passage way.  Washing Machine 1 : Pilbara Princess 0.  Lifting the lid of the washing machine to stop the water flow, I discovered that all the hoses were fine, the water was actually overflowing from the drum.  Apparently I had set it to be “super high” (translation: overflow and spoil my fabulous first day impressions).  Needless to say I spent the next hour mopping up the water with every towel in the house.  At least I didn’t have to wash the floor for a few days.

And then there was my quiche (or bacon and egg pie as Mr W. refers to it, cos you know, real men don’t eat quiche).  Well you see, there was only a little milk left and it was a long weekend (and to be honest, I really didn’t want to drive the manual four wheel drive down to the deli) … so I made quiche with only a dash of milk … definitely the recipe for disaster.  And so, when Mr W. arrived home from a hard day at work, I served up a fabulous looking quiche … or as we discovered upon eating it … scrambled eggs tossed with bacon & sweet potatoe … and wrapped in pastry …. but to his credit, he ate every bit and told me it was lovely.  Awwhhh he really is just gorgeous xx.

Oh … and in case you were wondering about “underwater ceramic technicians” (better known as someone that does the bloody dishes) … it’s what the blokes around these parts refer to their “other halves” as … and let me tell you, I much prefer this title than “the new cook”.  It sounds a bit more classy, don’t you think.  And as you know, class is all important to us princesses.

pp xx
underwater ceramic technician

Life Lessons of a Pilbara Princess

Well … I’ve been here nearly 3 weeks and in this short time I have learned so many lessons … many of which I will carry with me forever.  I thought I would share some of them with you … just in case you ever find yourself a bit north of the Tropic of Capricorn.

  • Apparently once you get a manual into 5th gear it is NOT like driving an automatic.
  • And while we are on the topic of gears and clutches (and no not the evening bag kind) … driving bare foot is much easier than in stilettos … or even thongs for that matter).
  • Always make sure you have alcohol in the house for any ocassion which may arise.  The fact that you cannot buy wine prior to 12pm may be hinderous to pre-lunch drinking sessions otherwise.  Just something I’ve learned.
  • Wine Time comes earlier when you live North of the Tropic of Capricorn … no seriously it does.  Something to do with the sun?
  • When your partner is on night shift and has only been asleep for 45 minutes … don’t burn your toast, thus setting off the smoke alarm and waking them up … they really don’t appreciate it.  However if you’re bored while waiting for them to wake up around 2pm, then the smoke alarm thing is always an option.
  • If someone tells you not to touch the settings on the washing machine, DON’T TOUCH THEM.  A flooded house will usually be the result and you will then have to spend an hour soaking up the water with towels when you realise the drains are blocked.
  • If you’re really unsure of the car you’re driving (mainly because it is a dirty great big four wheel drive with gears) and you’re worried you might kill someone upon entering the local Woolies carpark, then it’s best you park at least 1 km away at, say a local visitors centre, and walk into town.  This will avoid any minor, or major mishaps.  Although at some point you are going to have to go into that carpark … the weekly shopping will not carry itself that far.
  • Getting “dressed up” may have different translations depending on how far North you live.  Wearing jewellery to Woolies is definitely not essential … and stilettos are forbidden.
  • The wearing of stilettos to job interviews is also a bone of conention up here … if in doubt carry your thongs in a bag and swap them whilst in a quiet isle in the supermarket.  Just don’t get caught.
  • Sometimes the local supermarket runs out of meat, sometimes they run out of vegetables … and sometimes they run out of both.  It certainly makes for creative cooking.

Well … I hope these help you if you’re ever up this way …

pp xx

Just like an automatic …

I’d always heard stories about the road trains (RT) up here, but never really thought about how big they really were … until I had to overtake one.  Now you may not think this is really that big a deal … and it probably isn’t to a normal person … but as you have probably realised, I’m really not the definition of normal.  Far from it actually.  Just ask the poor bloke who had to spend 17  hours in a car with me (this poor bloke will now be known as Mr W … xx).

So why was overtaking a RT so BIG for me?  Firstly, I haven’t driven a manual car, let alone dirty great big four-wheel drive, since I got my licence (and sadly that was over 10 years ago now).  So you can imagine the fear that set in when I was told … “ok, it’s your turn now” … pardon me, what???  The horror of learning to drive the first time around was all of sudden very real again … the fact that I could never quite get that clutch/accelerator thingy right … and the fact that I failed my first driving test … it was all flashing before my eyes.  But praise where praise is due, I had the best teacher … patience of a saint that man.  He didn’t bat an eyelid when I forgot to take the hand brake off, meaning I stalled it before I’d even left the side of the road … and didn’t flinch when I accidentally put it into 5th gear … instead of 3rd.  God love him.

And so, after my “Dummies Guide to Driving a Stick” Driving Lesson, along the road we went, me thinking, gee this isn’t that hard … once you get into fifth gear it’s just like driving an automatic (this has been quoted back to me by Mr W. on several occasions, apparently this really isn’t the case).   And so, Mr W. decided he would have a little nap (god knows how he drifted off, I certainly wouldn’t have been sleeping with me at the wheel).  Anyway … there I was cruising along … when all of a sudden I was behind a RT … yes yes I know, it’s not like I hadn’t seen one before … however … you don’t realise how huge they are until you have to overtake one on a skinny road where you really can’t see that far in front of you!!  So I slowed down, thinking, this is ok, I’ll just sit behind him for the next like 10 hours, all good.  But oh no, next thing I know, Mr RT driver put his indicator on, letting me know that it was safe to pass.  And there was my old friend fear.  But after a couple of deep breaths, and some reassuring words from Mr W. (who had woken up to see the ass end of Mr RT) .. I put the pedal to the metal (and in 5th gear just like an automatic) I overtook my first RT … woop woop … one of my proudest Pilbara Princess moments to date.  Mr RT was probably wondering why the hell some woman was waving at him like her life depended on it … I was THAT excited.

I took some photos (while I was a passenger … I might be able to eat/drink/talk while driving an automatic, but a manual is a whole different ball game, even in 5th gear) … so you can see just how big the RT really are.  And some of these are on the mini side … the further North you go, the bigger they get.

3 Trailer Road Train ... same as the one I over took!

RT stopped at Meekatharra ... we overtook this one ...

RT Cab ... apologies for my finger lol.

And if you ever find yourself driving through the Pilbara and happen to have a two-way on board … my tip is tune in and have a listen to the RT drivers chatting to each other … it’s some of the funniest stuff you will ever hear.  Another tip … try not to get involved in their conversations too much … ha ha ha they really don’t take kindly to that lol.

Stay tuned for my next post … Life Lessons of  a Pilbara Princess …

pp xx

My Life on a Trailer …

What’s the longest journey you’ve ever done by car (none of this aeroplane comfort caper!!)?  Bunbury to Perth?  Perth to Shark Bay?  Pffftt.  My longest journey to date is the drive from Harvey to Newman … in total it took us about 17 hours (ok so if you have a journey longer, then yes yes you win lol).  The drive was loooooong … mainly due to the fact that we stopped so often (I’m a girl … I have needs!!) … and the fact that we had the entire contents of my life following us on a trailer, which restricts just how fast you can go on a gravel road.   It didn’t help that (due to circumstances outside of our control) we had only a single tank (yes folks, in these parts you need long range tanks that can get you about 900km) … just call me a seasoned long distance traveller!

Now that is some SERIOUS diesel!!

While the journey was long and somewhat boring (despite numerous attempts at playing eye spy) … it was also exciting and full of gorgeous scenery.  Apparently it was exciting because it was my first time.  I nearly wet my pants when I saw a family of bush chooks (emus to the rest of you), not to mention the wedgetail eagles, cows, goats, sheep and of course good old skippy.  I was fascinated to learn why a lot of the trees and bushes were all perfectly hedged around the bottom … billy goats if you were wondering.  And don’t get me started on the amazing Pilbara Sunsets!!  Oh and did I mention roadhouse toasted sandwiches?   Well I should …

Although perhaps the most exciting part of the journey for me was seeing the sign that said “The Outback Starts Here”.  While it may seem small, this was for me the beginning of my journey as the Pilbara Princess.  What laid ahead was an expanse of gravel road … and beyond that, my dusty new life … sans stilettos.

The Outback Starts Here!

And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better … I passed the 26th Parallel ( … and then the  Tropic of Capricorn (!  There’s not much there … just a roadhouse which is known to locals as the “Cappy” Roadhouse … this also doubles as a pub and the best place to get breakfast in around 200kms (but that is info for another blog post!).

And so after a mammoth 17 hours in a car, with an albeit gorgeous man (who, god bless his cotton socks, did all of the driving), I have never been happier to see a driveway and front door!  Home sweet home … dusty, dusty red dirt.  I can vouch for the fact that red dirt gets into EVERYTHING by the fact that any boxes that were on the back of the trailer were filled with fine, dusty red dirt … much to my delight!

And it’s here that the fun really begins … stay posted for my adventures with road trains … and my life as a Domestic Goddess … Nigella … eat your heart out!

pp xx

The Big Move

Where do I start?  At the beginning is always a good place!  Well … I think perhaps some background information is needed to fully appreciate the gravity of the move that undertook 2 weeks ago.

The basics … 28 year old single city girl has lived in apartment block akin to Melrose Place for last 3 years.  2 best friends live on either side of my lovely little townhouse which means socialising, champange and coffee were always at my fingertips.  I also lived close to shopping centres … my homes away from home.  Always a sucker for a good cocktail, monthly visits to the hairdresser, fortnightly visits to my nail technician … the dalliances of a city chick.

However, as you can see … there was one catch … “single”.  After dabbling in internet dating for the past 3 years (it was not a complete failure) … I met lots of gorgeous friends through this medium, but never “the one”.

And so it was with great surprise when I met a gorgeous guy one fateful Tuesday morning over coffee … and as with anything there was one “catch” here too … he lived 1200km north … far far away in a mystical red dirt expanse … and this is where the story really begins … after a few weeks of spending time together … both in the city and in the red dirt we decided that there really was something special here and that it would be an option for me to move north and become … you guessed it … the Pilbara Princess!  And so my blog is all about my move north and the culture shock that has ensued … hopefully you will find it as amusing as I have!

The ultimate city girl!