Fuming

Slowly sauntering along Fifteenth street in the searing sun, I feel a slight tug underneath my left foot. I must have caught it in a paver, I think to myself as I look down. Ewww what’s that?...In my horror, I see a bubble of brown on the ground near my foot. What the hell? Is that my sandal melted to the ground?.  I jack up my left heel in anticipation for my Billabong sandal, that’s barely a week old, to follow. It doesn’t. The sole is stuck to the ground, I check the right, that’s pretty glue like too. Day three of my welcome to Mildura, you’d think I’d have learned by now. Learned to bring water, learned to stay in the air condition and learned to not hand out resumes in 44 degrees Celsius.

A wide eyed backpacker, having lived in Ireland up until 3 weeks before, my insipid skin was now sporting a luminous red glow. Today, I did learn to wear longer sleeves. The rubbing between skin and shirt with an unending laser like penetration from the sun reminded me to do it sooner than day 3. I’m standing here, downtown Mildura and can see a stretch of palm trees, some buildings and a familiar M for McDonalds. The sun is bouncing off the cars that whizz past and all I can focus on is getting my sandals off this molten pavement. I knew Australia was going to be hot but I could never imagine this oppressive feeling of humidity. A Summer in New York City 14 years earlier was the closest thing I had to this experience. My Mother described it as putting your head in an oven, not too far wrong Mam. Mildura was another level of oven or was it just because it was another day of infinite burning. Does it just feel worse because there’s been no reprieve?

I slip my foot out and gingerly skim my big toe on the ground to investigate if I can go barefoot. It’s a resounding no. I am here with a plastic bag full of resumes, about $4 in coins, no water and am bonded to the spot by melted plastic. One thing, I am certain is that I cannot present myself to potential employers in broken sandals, hair greased to my head in sweat, clothes soaked through and a smear of mascara down my cheeks. I am not channelling the model candidate right now. Not enough cash to get a taxi back to the hostel, I start to feel panic rising. I look around there are no pedestrians in sight, just arrogant cars that leave me with intense puffs of heat. I thought it would be ok today, surely my resilience to the sun would be building by now, obviously not, I think to myself. I’ve got three choices here.

One. Walk back on my tip toes, dragging my sandals underneath. With my tight calves, I’ll hardly get 500 metres down the road before my muscles begin to seize.

Two. I get myself to McDonalds, cool down, buy a bottle of water and reassess.

Three. Hitch a lift.

Scenes from Wolf Creek spring to mind with my final option. Being kidnapped doesn’t seem like the worst scenario in this blistering heat, at least there’ll be a fan I think to myself. In saying that, my kidnapper may have an old car with no fan or worse again he will leave the air conditioner off on purpose as torture. OK scrap that. I’ve got two options. I risk my chances and head towards the hostel. From memory, there’s a milk bar about a kilometre away. If I can make it there, I’ll get an ice lolly and stand under their air conditioner until my body’s regulated. I need positive thoughts right now. What was that mantra I learned in my Meditation class? ‘I’m calm and in control. I’m calm and in control. I’m calm and in control.’ An inner voice says ‘You’re a big fat liar, you’re not calm and you are definitely not in control. How do you always get yourself in situations like this? You’ll never learn, this time you’re totally fucked.

With that, the fear spreads across my body, questioning my physical ability to get to store. Am I going to collapse first? My mind drifts to when I fainted in my aunt’s kitchen 12 years ago and how scary that was. I had people around to pick me up and get sugar into my system, care for me. Now, I find myself in a foreign country with no friends., no family and no phone. I look up as I hear some music baring from a passing ute. ‘bloody eejits’ I mutter to myself. Come on Karen, get your self together.

 Now the movie, Finding Nemo comes to mind now with the funny blue tang fish, Dory repeating, ‘just keep swimming, just keep swimming.’ This makes me giggle for a brief moment. Before I became an Atheist, I’d be bargaining with God by now, prayer is not out of the question I muse. I return to the mantra and with what brain power I have left begin repeating ‘I am calm and confident’ over and over in my mind while ignoring any intrusive thoughts that advise otherwise. A few metres forward and I begin to feel a mild strain in my left calf, there’s an intense pressure in the balls of my feet but I’ve got a rhythm happening. Arriving at the milk bar, I’ve already decided that I’ll open the fridge door and pretend to browse for drinks so I can feel the coolness hug me, soothe me. Once I’ve exhausted that moment or a beeper goes off, I’ll go do the same with the freezer and back to the fridge again. I calculate that this will offer enough time to help lower my heart rate at least. As I approach the milk bar, my sandals flopping behind like a moody teenager I cannot fathom what I am seeing. The store is in darkness, I check my watch, it’s 2:15 p.m. on a Thursday. It must be open I think to myself and launch my body up the steps only to be greeted by a sign that says.

‘We are sorry for the inconvenience – aircon’s given up the ghost – stay cool everyone’

‘Stay cool?....Stay cool? How bloody patronising!’

I’m fuming.

I stumble my way down the steps and slide down to a shade below a palm tree, peeling the plastic bag off my wrist and hurling it across the nature strip. I consider knocking on someone’s door, would they turn me away, would they think I’m a fool for going out in this heat? They’d be right. I notice a public toilet across the road, where there is a toilet, there has to be water. Renewed hope, I spring to my feet. Ouch! That hurt my tender, burned legs. I bound across the road between traffic and am in hopeful anticipation of something to get me home safe. There it is. A glistening silver water fountain sitting east of the toilet block. I break into a staggering giddy sprint with my bag flying high behind me. Before I touch the tap, the scorching heat makes itself known so I cautiously hover close by realising I cannot touch this with my bare hand. I hoist my right foot up and release my what’s left of my sandal from my foot, dragging some skin with it. I awkwardly balance on one leg as I use my sandal as a shield and push on the tap. There it is. Magnificent water. I lower my face towards the tap. Taking a huge gulp and instantaneously spit it out. My mouths on fire. Wait a minute I scold myself. Watching the water run, it feels like an hour before the water runs at a drinkable temperature. Is it cold? No way! Does it feel amazing? Hell, yeah!

Gasping and gulping my way through some unusual tasting water for ten minutes, I’m now feeling like a normal human again. I lean against the darker side of the toilet blocks to get a break from the sun and find myself up on my feet shortly afterwards. I’m in awe of the change that’s occurred. I’m able to breathe properly again but more importantly think properly. I scan the long stretch of road ahead and map out where I might take some breaks on my route back. I embark once again on my journey as a hydrated, calmer and wiser lady. I’ve got this. Maybe I really am calm and in control. O.K I do have a questionable odour right now but who wouldn’t?! Bear Grylls could learn a thing or two from me. I should tweet him my top tips. I purposefully stride towards the pavement again until I’m puled back again by my sandals. Baby steps, I think to myself.

Back into tip toe walking becomes excruciating within two minutes of taking off. My spirits are flattened and am now counting the trees until my first pitstop. Sweats trickling down my forehead again, taking its own pitstop at my eyebrows and sliding with a final plop into my right eye. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, very confident now that any trace of make up has evaporated into the atmosphere. It reminds me of the hot yoga class I tried. I couldn’t fathom why this was a good idea, doing an already intense yoga class and then choosing to do it in 40 degrees. I must admit, although it was hellish, I did feel like a purified goddess after that class. I didn’t touch sugar or wheat for 2 days afterwards because I felt so cleansed and anything less than divine could not enter my sacred body. That celestial cycle abruptly ended with a mars bar. I wonder will I feel the same after this second hellish experience? Only time will tell but right now all I can think about is how appealing my cave like hostel room seems. When I first arrived, I thought it was quite oppressive from the lack of windows but now I crave nothing else. I understand the architect’s logic.

My grit gets me past the first planned stop and the second. I decide if I stop now I may not make it, keep going. I’m running on fumes now, nothing left in the tank. I turn onto my street and can see the hostel. Elated, I begin my final hurdle, I can see huddles of backpackers spilling out from the hostel onto the street. Crazy. Who would be out in this weather by choice I ponder? Speaking of fumes, a blast of pungent gas whooshes past me. I look up and catch a sign saying ‘Free shuttle’ on the side of a red bus. I can see now it’s pulling in towards the hostel.

A free shuttle that’s come exactly the way I was…..You have GOT to be kidding me!!!!