Aussie Road Trip Day 8, Monday 22nd July 2013

Being a tourist is such hard work!

John says:

It has been bitterly cold. The aircon rattles. Overnight if we turn it off the silence is bliss, but we then shiver. On the plus side our campsite cabin has room for us to spread out and oh joy, oh rapture, we have a kitchen. Oh the downs and ups of life!



The Line of Load

Barb sitting on the Big Seat

First on the to do list in Broken Hill was the Line of Lode. This name describes the line of the ore bearing lode - an inverted boomerang with points rising out of the ground and the bend digging deep below the surface - which  is Broken Hill's reason for existing. Its manifestation for we tourists is an enormous flat topped mullock heap (UK readers: slag heap) of waste from a century or more of mining. And enormous it is, 30 metres high and getting on for a kilometre in length. Sitting on top of this mountain of barren rock of various types is the Miner's Memorial, an architecturally striking memorial to the 800 or so miners who have died at Broken Hill. The road to the top was sealed but there was little else in its favour: potholes and hidden ramps abounded. John thought it was great fun. Barb did not.







John outside the Miner's Memorial

Have I mentioned it's been cold? The sky was clear, a beautiful blue, and freezing. Once at the top we also found that the wind blew very strongly to emphasise the effect. The views across the town in one direction and over the surrounding semi desert in all others were breathtaking. We have to confess that the coffee shop drew us in quite quickly, and it was very nice of the waitress to bring more banana bread after she inadvertently tipped some of Barb's on the floor.

The names of the 800 cead miners



John and Barb at Line of Load



The view of Broken Hill. Not a highrise in sight















The Town Hall

From the top of the mullock heap we had looked down on the town and identified the town hall and other likely buildings of interest. We parked on Argent Street and walked along passing Oxide Street, Iodide Street, Chloride and Sulphide Streets. We felt a pattern was emerging and later encountered Beryl, Graphite, Cobalt, Kaolin and several more rocky roads. The town hall was Italianate and rather lovely, the court house was charmingly cute and even the police station was easy on the eye. Rather attractive hotels in the colonial style abounded, even if delapidated in some cases. We started to like Broken Hill.





The Court House

Broken Hill town centre






Titanic Memorial

We wandered, albeit with a pupose, up Chloride Street to Sturt Park. The object of our interest was the town's memorial to the Titanic. WHAT! Titanic? In outback NSW? C'mon! The memorial was a modest affair made up of a single stone column. The plaque had the grace to concede the incongruity and the tenuous nature of the link, but it seems that at the time of the sinking brass bands were an important part of the town's culture, and, well, it's known that the band played on as the ship went down. It was felt a memorial from other brass players on this side of the world was appropriate.
Pausing only for an enormous pastie each (ok, ok, with chips and gravy) we made our way to the Broken Hill Regional Art Gallery. I'll leave it to Barb to describe, but we spent a pleasant hour or more there.



The Broken Hill Regional Gallery

Barb adds: I've been busy doing our mountain of washing while John does today's blog. I loved the Regional Art Gallery. They had a very fine collection of well known Australian artists including James Gleeson, Arthur Streeeton,Frederick McCubbin, Eric Minchin, Rupert Bunny and more. Pro Hart and Jack Absolom were also represented, but they also have their own galleries so we may backtrack there to have a peep (and see if its as good as the one in Mooloolaba!)

Broken Hill is doing its best to become a tourist destination for art and culture, although mining is still clearly its major source of income.

Australian artists

Inside the Gallery

By contrast the Silver City Art Centre and Mint was a bit of a let down. True, the paintings were more vivid, realistic and accessible to the hoi polloi such me (that's John), but there was a great deal of tat as well. There was a video of how wonderful a local mining operation is in its approach to safety underground, and it was actually quite fascinating! We did NOT feel the need to part with $7 each to see the "Big Picture" (100 metres long, 12 metres high) ... the worlds largest painting housed here although we did see some of the artist's smaller works.







One of the Flying Doctor's planes

By this time fatigue was setting in and we went back to the car with a view to going the the School of the Air Visitor Centre. It was closed until 8:30 tomorrow. This left more time to pop several kilometres down to the airport and visit the Royal Flying Doctor Service. Although brief, the tour was truly interesting and worth doing. The museum presentation, like so many we've seen in the last week, was outstanding.


John in the Flying Doctors Museum

Barb posing with sculpture

Our final call for the day was the Living Desert sculptures, across town and then a mere 12 km further out into the desert. Let's not dwell on taking the wrong road to nowhere!

We got there in time for sunset as we had intended. I had not heard of the Living Desert before and although the sculptures did not overwhelm your scribe he's glad he went there. The story is that a collective of sculptors wanted to extend the range of Broken Hill's artistic credentials beyond painting and to embrace sculpture. The hill 12 km outside town had already been identified, and 50-something tons of sandstone were donated, as were transport, a front loader, food, shelter and money. Full marks for project management!



John in the desert landscape



The impressive sculptures

The final approach is via a narrow, winding hilly road, ending at a car park perhaps 10 metres below the summit. The summit is where the sculptures - perhaps a couple of dozen - sit in a setting with spetacular views.

John and Barb waiting for sunset





As the sun sets

John at sunset

A full moon too

The pieces, like any artwork, are a matter of personal taste and interpretation, but the setting was beyond reproach with stunning 360° views. The town had diminished to a collection of specks in the distance and the rest was just scrub or semi desert.

When we arrived there was only a handful of visitors, but as sunset approached more and more arrived, including a rowdy bunch of teenagers and adults. They could at least have shared their wine and cans of Jim Beam. The sunset was worth waiting for but it was COLD!


More tomorrow.