Welcome to Mitchell, pop. 900 902

I have now officially arrived in the Outback proper.  Mitchell, as my guidebook pointed out, is a one-street town.  I was incorrect in my initial assumption that they don’t have so much as a stoplight – there is, in fact, one light on the bridge.  I stand corrected.  There is also one gas station, one grocery store, and at least three bar/motel/restaurants, AKA “hotels.”  In Australia, this is an all-encompassing term.  I arrived in town on a Greyhound bus with one other backpacker, a French girl, to begin a term of six weeks’ work at the Hotel Mitchell.  Upon my arrival, I was somewhat disheartened to realize that Mitchell makes Bundaberg look like a bustling metropolis.
It is certainly a stark contrast.  For one thing, the population is quite a contrast to that of Bundy.  There is an Aboriginal tribal land here and consequently a very large population of native people.  It seems that most of the townspeople are related in one form or another.  Certainly they all know one another, and I garnered a few odd looks on the (quite short) stroll to the grocery store on my first day.  Outsiders are most certainly welcomed in the friendly and affable manner typical of most Australians; despite what Paul Hogan may have led you to believe, there is less “g’day, mate” and more “howyagoing,” not so much  question as a polite greeting.  Even the local sheep (and one goat) seemed startled to see me as I passed by the field where they were grazing.
As in most small, quiet country towns, there is not much to do in Mitchell.  This is where the hotels come into play.  Between the bar, off-track betting on horse and dog races, and video slot machines (aka “pokies,” short for poker machines – still trying to wrap my head around that little peculiarity), we have managed to stay pretty well occupied during our working hours thus far.  In our off hours, there is also the illustrious diversion of television – all three channels.
On our first night in town, Muriel (the other barmaid) and I were treated to a rousing evening of karaoke interspersed with beer, pizza, more beer, a patron who insisted on spinning us around the, uh, dance floor, and more beer.  This made for a very interesting first day of employment, but we managed to recover after a brief post-breakfast nap.  Fortunately, the accommodation is actually quite comfortable, and superior to the house in Bundy in that we have a space heater.  Sadly, the room is not “en-suite,” and therefore casts us in the role of rednecks (locally referred to as “bogans”) per the official Jeff Foxworthy declaration that going to the bathroom in the middle of the night requires shoes and a flashlight.  To be fair, they do leave the lights on, but add a jacket to that list.  It’s damn cold at night.

Main St in Mitchell - butcher, bakery, grocery store, pharmacy, & that's about it.