TRAVEL// Oasis

Rusts, ochres and burnt oranges disappear amongst the khaki leaves of the Australian bush. Multicoloured termite mounds peppered across the foreground, rising up from the earth like natures sandcastles.

Nighttime at the Oasis is like what I imagine an African watering hole to be…patrons graze through looking at what food is on offer. Insects flicker towards the light. Beverages are consumed at the ‘world’s smallest bar’ (the claim it stakes).

Standing in the telephone booth to make a phone call, there’s limited reception. I’m mesmerised by the artificial lights. And when the generator drops out at the Oasis, the phone booth turns into an electronic beacon, sending invitations to all the surrounding bugs to gather.

The absence of the service station lights magnify the night sky.

Inky blue-black stark against the glitterati of stars.

The smell of hot chips and fried food lingers on the breeze. A warm evening despite being mid-winter. The hum and rattle of road trains punctuate the otherwise still sky. Talk of dinner, livestock and how much money you make falls around me – the conversations not so different to their cosmopolitan counterparts.

The generator kicks back in, to a chorus of cheers.

The moment is lost once more to the artificial lights.