(Image credit: Jessanne Collins)
A long drive with the most popular postman on the planet.
No one loves the mailman quite like outback Australians do. It’s mid-afternoon when the truck pulls into the dusty driveway in front of a small ranch house. The door bangs open and a small blond boy comes running down the walk pushing a big yellow Tonka. He wraps a hearty hug around the mailman’s legs—and receives a pat on the head in return—before accepting the delivery of letters into the bed of his truck.
As the boy pushes his haul back toward the house, his mother and a few other women step out. They, too, greet this mailman with easy familiarity, eager to catch up on local gossip and news for a few minutes before he continues his route.
If the scene sounds unlikely, it’s because this is no ordinary mail route. Peter Rowe’s path carves a 372-mile loop through a landscape that looks extraterrestrial: the South Australian outback. Rowe doesn’t look like a typical mailman. He’s in his sixties, with friendly, round features, and today he’s wearing a polo shirt and jeans. And for that matter, he drives no ordinary mail truck: It’s a rugged, caterpillar-like four-wheel-drive minibus that can hold a dozen passengers and still leave ample space for supplies and deliveries. For a decade, Rowe has been traveling this route twice a week, delivering mail and sundries to the few human outposts that dot this endless landscape. On an average day, it’s a 13-hour trip. To pass the time he invites tourists like me to come with him.
(Image credit: Jessanne Collins)
Australia’s outback holds a special place in the imagination. It’s a destination synonymous in many American minds with snakes and scorpions, big rocks, and swashbuckling adventurers. People come to marvel at the stunning desert scenery and the diverse wildlife. But there’s something more mystical than that too. It’s cliché to say that people go Down Under for a perspective shift, but it does feel like a different planet. The thing that keeps awing me is the way my sense of time has changed. I don’t mean that things move slower than they do in New York City, where I live, though of course they do. It’s something deeper.