Rancid butter verses Sandalwood

What a start to a day. This morning we found out why our tent not only smelt of petrol (due to jeremy spilling it over his sleeping mat and my sleeping bag) but also of rancid butter. Initially we thought it was stale milk but didn't know where it had come from. Then we investigated our trangia which we hadn't used since port Augusta 9 days ago. There inside where we'd kept a few essentials was the culprit. in port Augusta, over a week ago, we'd eaten fresh tortellini for our tea. There was some left over that we didn't eat, so we wrapped it up and kept it. And forgot it. Along with the butter. In plus 30 degrees for many days. Yuk yak yingalooloo. It had molded and melted and mixed and flowed through our saddle bag. That is why I am typing this on my phone while Jeremy is wafting a sandalwood incense stick that we were gifted from a lovely Indonesian restaurant here in Burra. I hope it works!

I have included today a photo of my lovely wooden lizard named Kulgera after the pit stop I bought him from. Made by a local aboriginal lady. I strapped him onto the rest of our things and on we went. Poor Kulgera survived one day on Norman, then as it seems is the fate of many a lizard in the desert he met his demise on the road. He must have slipped out the back ofthe bungees and smashed to smithereens on the tarmac. We only noticed he wasn't there because a mile or so up the road I got hit in the shin by a stone flicked up from a passing road train and therefore stopped at the side of the road. We went back to find him and sadly only found patterned splinters.

Another annoyance this morning was I found my helmet visor had a big scratch across it. Very annoying and really typical of the morning we had in Woomera.

Today we ended our desert experience. We had to say goodbye to miles and miles of straight road. Goodbye to the mystery yellow balls at the side of the road that we eventually found out were plants called paddy melons. Goodbye to bottles at the side of the road, empty and placed upsidedown on the end of tree branches. Burnt out cars and gun shot signs. Bridges over rivers that didn't exist in liquid form. And no more friendly waving to other desert road travelers as you pass by.

Before our road took us from the wild the clock struck eleven o'clock. Today is the eleventh of the eleventh and therefore remembrance day. Jeremy, being a trumpet player, has always played at remembrance services and today was going to be no exception. At five to eleven we stopped at the side of the road, Jeremy took out his pocket trumpet ( a specially small trumpet for traveling) and as the imaginary clock struck 11 he played the last post. I felt emotional as I always do on hearing the last post. We stood for a minutes silence, a few cars swished past, then packed up and went on our way.

We have returned to lovely rolling agricultural land. It seems somewhat lacking in character or energy or something compared to the wild natural desert, but in a selfish way it's also cosy and easier. We're back in white man history rather than country steeped in unfamiliar yet fascinating aboriginal understanding. Of course aboriginals lived here in this now tamed land too, but the museums tell more of early settler and the discovery of copper and the building of Cornish style cottages. All things I find equally as interesting but different.

What next? I'm not sure. Hopefully a good nights sleep in a fragrant tent, then we'll see.