Next stop from Flinders is Whyalla. Ahhhh Whyalla...
Where the beach is littered with broken shells and seaweed.
Where the park equipment is busted and rusted.
Where the nightsky glows red from the steelworks that never shut.
Where apparently nobody eats out, ever, because there’s only one fish n’ chip joint in the whole city, and poorly signed to boot.
But – importantly - the laundry works (critical with gastro bug still on board), our caravan site is on the foreshore (so we can nod off to the sound of lapping waves), there’s time to attend to some overdue repairs on van and car, and there is a Woolies supermarket where we can replenish our dwindling supply of essentials (who would’ve guessed that rice milk and tofu would be so hard to find in the small country towns and outback stations we’ve been lodging in of late!).
Less than 48 hours later and we’re more than ready to say bye-alla to Whyalla.
