This post deviates from the general theme of 3D printing and software curiosities. It is ‘ancient’ history from an old travel blog I was writing while traveling around Australia.

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Well we are finally starting to get settled into Broome. We drove all the way from Karijini to Broome in about eleven and a half hours (the equivalent of Brisbane to Sydney) and didn’t get into town till about 7:30pm; the hospital gave us the keys to the place and some vague directions. We then drove around for a while trying to find the place, and immediately something wasn’t right. It was a bit eerie, like that scene from Amélie. You know - the one where Amélie breaks into the mean green grocer’s apartment to slightly change things around (like replace his slippers with identical ones a size smaller, change his clocks to be running a few hours early, etc). Well it felt like someone had done that to Broome, someone had broken in and changed things; just a little bit. Both Meech and I couldn’t work out what it was, but something just didn’t feel right. Something was missing…

Ah-ha! LETTER BOXES! Broome is a town without any letter boxes. Huh? No letter boxes? Why? Was it some sort of school prank that got way out of hand? Or did the letter boxes get deliberately targeted in World War II? I can just picture it now, some cliché evil Japanese general plotting: “Mwahaha. I know. Re rill destroy their rittle retter bloxes. Bwahahaha.”

Anyway, the lack of house numbers hampered our abilities in finding the apartment. Although it didn’t help that it wasn’t actually on a street; but rather, down a little service lane tucked behind construction work at the hospital. Then we had to door knock a few apartments, since none were numbered. What? Again? Don’t they like ‘counting types’ round these parts? So anyway, we think we had finally found our place, and try the keys. Nothing. “Crap! Are we trying to break into someone’s place? Is this the right apartment? Are we even at the right block of apartments? And why is it still so hot - the sun has gone down already!” It turns out that we did in fact have the right apartment; the housing manager had given us the wrong keys.

So anyway, after much stuffing around, and being moved into three different houses (all in a single week!), we have finally got our place sorted. We headed down to Cable Beach, to see what the big deal is - well the infamous Cable Beach was in fine form. It was low tide; with the sun was setting over the Indian Ocean. So we are walking along enjoying the scenery and the cool sea breeze. Wait a minute… This isn’t sand, this is mud! You can’t go around calling a mud flat a beach. Sure there is some sand, namely sand dunes. But this stuff we are walking on… It’s mud! So anyway, it was all a bit much for my little brain. So I spent the next week planning a misdemeanour on the scale of which Broome hasn’t seen. Well not since that night when all the letter boxes disappeared. I was hatching crazy capers to change all the ‘Cable Beach’ signs to ‘Cable Mud Flat’.

Then last Tuesday we were walking along Cable Mud Flat, Meech listening to me rant about a beach being called a mud flat: “Yes dear, it is outrageous; it is your civil duty to change those signs.” When my ranting was interrupted by some turtle tracks heading from the surf to the dunes – we walked up and lo and behold, a couple of turtle nests. Cool. We walked a bit further, and another turtle track. This time however, there were a few people watching the dunes. A turtle was laying eggs, up in the dunes behind Cable Mud Flat. Super cool (no camera though)! We watched the turtle finish burying its eggs and make the long slog back down to the surf. Super Super Cool. Oh, alright. I guess you can call it a beach.