(Sunset at Gnarabup Beach, South Australia, 1st February 2008)
Margaret River is about 12km inland from where our hostel was, and we check out the town as we drive through. We follow signs for Prevelly Beach, which then leads on to Gnarabup Beach. Surfpoint Resort Hostel is just the other side of the road from the beach so we check in, drop our bags, and walk over to the beach. The room is large, en-suite and has a TV, and the hostel seems clean and well organized. As we get to the car-park, there is a bunch of work mates, all in uniforms. Nothing unusual there, except they are all soaking wet. There might have been some checking of contracts that evening, I reckon.
A quick walk back to the hostel, a change into swimming gear and a short drive to a headland past Prevelly also called ‘Surfpoint’ where we watch windsurfers and kitesurfers do their thing in, and there really is no other word for this, the shimmering sea. A little further down the coast is another beach better suited to surfers, and on the way back we find a café and have some coffee. The houses all around here are outstanding pieces of architecture, the most impressive being a modern cliff-top place with a long cantilever roof covered in zinc. We discuss it’s value, as we sneak up the private road and have a quick look at the outside, and guess at about GB£3m, or A$6m.
Back to the first beach we park, drop our towels and run into the water. It’s gorgeous. Half an hour of drying out on the beach and it’s 8.00pm by the time we get back to the hostel, shower, and head out to eat. In the town we find a vegetarian place that’s still open, have some fantastic food, and have a nose around a couple of the real estate shops on the way back to the car. In one, there are a few pictures of a modern house overlooking Prevelly Beach, with a long cantilever roof covered in zinc. It’s priced at A$3m, or about £1.8m, and almost seems cheap.
It’s the 1st of February, and we only have 7 days of our Australian adventure left. As clichés go, ‘It’s all flown by’ is pretty apt right now. We sit and have brekky at the hostel after Chelle has been out for a long run along the cliff road, and decide we have to make sure that these last 7 days count.
The first plan today is a visit to a winery. Now, we know very little about wine. We know that we like white, dry, and not chardonnay, or some light reds. In fact, we drink a lot of rose at home, because it saves the choice. That’s how much we know about wine. So, these wineries, of which there are thousands, are quite intimidating to me, but Chelle picks one, based purely on the fact that she likes the name, Xanadu. I like the name as well because it reminds me of Olivia Newton-John in her prime, and we drive up the long private road following the expensive looking signage.
The building looks expensive too, like one of those barn conversions, and we go in. We are the only people in there. We look around the displays, not sure of what we are looking at but nodding and pointing anyway. The girl behind the counter clearly knows that we know nothing, but she plays along too and offers us a taste of our choice. Chelle chooses a rose, tries it and likes it, so we buy a bottle, because it will be Chelle’s birthday soon. And we buy a bottle cooler, because we’re in Australia, after all.
I visibly relax as we drive away, mainly because we seem to have got away with visiting a winery, but also because the next stop is my choice, and it’s a micro-brewery. And I know a little bit about beer – well more than I know about wine anyway - having spent so long hanging around with Shane and James. Come to think of it, it’s surprising we don’t actually know more about wine, because we hang around with Hannah a lot too…
A recommendation from Jot Nick, the Colonial Brewery is a little out of town, but worth the drive because it brews 5 different beers, from a pilsner in the German style to a stout in the style of you-know-who.
Chelle settled for the Pilsner, and I tried the Golden Beer, and we ordered a bowl of fries to go with them. The beers were excellent, as were the fries, and we headed back to the beaches in good spirits. We headed south this time, stopping at a number of small and empty but beautiful bays, one of which had two horses standing around on the sand, before settling for one and doing the running into the sea thing again. It seemed even hotter than yesterday, so we headed back to the hostel before we got too crispy around the edges.
The pool was inviting when we got back, and another hour or so was eaten up with a dip, a sit, a dip then a sit, until we decided it was time to eat. We wanted to go back to the place we’d had coffee at the previous night, called the Sea Garden Café, and try the pizzas. We were glad we did. The huge pizza was covered in pumpkin, garlic and spinach, and lasted no longer than the small beers we guzzled on.
We headed back to Gnarabup Beach and watched the sun set. It was beautiful.
The relentless programme continued the next morning. Brekky and packing were followed by the drive into Margaret River, enlivened by the addition to the passenger list in the car of 2 ladies. They had been standing by the road near the hostel when we stopped to take a few pictures of the outside. After a quick chat we offered them a lift into town, and they climbed in the back.
Of later years, it turned out they had just met too, both waiting for a non-existent bus to take them. One was German, and said very little, we assumed that she spoke very little English, and our German is not as good as it ought to be, and the other was English, but had lived in Australia for ages, working with Aborigines and lately in Thailand teaching English. She was off to a days worth of learning Circus Skills. We couldn’t figure out what the other lady was up to, but we dropped them off in Margaret River and they seemed happy.
We turned north and headed back towards Fremantle, where we had an apartment booked for five days. Neither of us could hide our excitement at having a place to ourselves for 5 whole days, and we rather rushed our now traditional lunchtime picnic, on San Remo beach, so we could get there a bit quicker.
After a 3 hour journey we picked up the keys from the Information centre, figured out how to open the car park gate and dragged our bags up to the 5th floor of a decidedly 70’s looking tower block slap bang in the middle of Fremantle. Despite the block looking very Coronation Street, the flat itself looked like an advert for Ikea. Very white, wood and black, a brand new kitchen/living room, a bedroom and a bathroom, this was an unspeakable luxury, and we embraced it with gusto. Being a short-term let it is very soulless, but we soon spread our stuff out and start to make it look a bit lived in.
After unpacking (wahoo!), real coffee (yeah!), and our own shower (double wahoo!), we called Jot Nick and Kylie, got directions, and 30 minutes later pulled up in front of their house. And what a house. I’d seen various pictures of the place over the last few years as they had remodelled, but they hadn’t given me a clue as to how big the place is. Nick was worried about how I was going to describe the place on this blog, having read some of my previous descriptions, but they have nothing to worry about. It is homely, comfortable, and lived in – in stark contrast to the clinical apartment we have just left in Fremantle. The only things missing are their three children Amber, Max and Ellie, who are all at Grandma’s for the night. We get to meet them tomorrow.
We get the tour, which takes longer than most house tours thanks to both the number of rooms and the fact that this was our first meeting with Kylie, and we kept chatting about anything other than the facts about this room or that room. Beers appeared, pizza was ordered and quickly devoured, and Chelle, designated driver for the night, drives us ten minutes down the road to their friend Cameron’s house, the venue for tonight’s party. We meet people, learn names, forget names, drink beers, chat, and by midnight there is a hardcore of 8 or 10 people sitting around on the grass in the garden. It’s a lovely warm night, and suddenly guitars begin appearing, worryingly attached to very drunk blokes.
Chelle, being very sober, is well aware of what’s coming, having sat through it in the UK a number of times, but Nick surprises her by being the first to play, and playing not only original songs, but playing them very well. Unfortunately for Nick, and to a slightly lesser extent for us too, there is a guy who insists on playing along, even though he doesn’t know the songs. He’s a technically gifted player, but the result is very distracting. I’m not sure if God exists, (and that statement, and subsequent discussion, lives in an entirely other blog), but when the guy accidentally drops his guitar and cracks the neck, my first reaction was to look upwards and check…
Others join in who, unlike Nick, are showing the effects of drinking all night in the fingers, and struggle to remember chords, or words, or indeed who they are, and Nick subtly puts his guitar away and we sneak off, thanking our gracious hosts and leaving them to clear up the mess, both bottle and human based. It’s 2.30am when we leave, 3.00am when we drop Nick and Kylie off, and 3.30am when we get back our apartment.
Despite the late night, we’re up and wandering through the market at the port by 10.00am the next day, and then find the much better and more local market in the town. By this time the heat of the day is starting to tell. A quick stop at the supermarket to get something to take with us, and we’re on our way back to the Taylor’s house to meet the kids. Although we’ve only been in the apartment for 24 hours, we feel grounded and comfortable in Fremantle, something we really haven’t felt since leaving Kirstie and Manu’s in Sydney. On the way there, we both agree that meeting Nick and Kylie has already had a lot to do with that.
Of course, the kids are great. After the standard initial 10 minutes wariness, they are showing us around their parts of the house, their Playstation games, the Foosball table, the incredibly over-engineered playhouse and of course the swimming pool. The garden is as impressive as the house, and Nick is slightly embarrassed by his lack of organisation in the shed. I try to tell him that even knowing what any of these tools do is a lot better than I can manage, but he doesn’t seem convinced and carries on apologising.
As well as raising these three kids (and Jesse, from a previous relationship), rebuilding a house, running a computer business, being a well respected and busy musician he has now embarked on a four year degree course at the local university – the same place Kylie has just graduated from – studying sustainable energy. One of his plans involves building a fully sustainable house as one of the projects. Kylie is a little bit younger, but as accomplished. These guys are a formidable team - if I could achieve half of what these guys already have, let alone what’s to come, I’d be a happy man.
We graze on all manner of snacks, laze in the pool, drink more beer, Chelle gets involved in a Hula Hoop show (the big plastic rings, not the potato based snack) and a snowboard game on the Playstation, and then we are fed a fantastic meal of rice, salad and green-cheesy pie. Tomorrow is the first day back at school for all the kids and Kylie, who teaches at a different school, so hair must be washed, bags must be readied, teeth must be cleaned and bed time is a strict 8.30pm.
We sit in the dining room and chat, I get to strum Nick’s loverly Lyrebird guitar, we leave Chelle and Kylie upstairs and sit in Nick’s office to swap music and we eventually leave them alone at 10.30pm. What a gorgeous day. They insist that we call in for tea on our way to the airport, and we readily agree. It’s going to be hard to say goodbye.
The next morning we have a bit of admin to attend to. What with it being Chelle’s birthday the next day, she has finally decided what she wants to do, so we go and book a dolphin trip at the Visitor’s Information. I get half an hour to find a present that isn’t pointless, too big, too heavy, and happen across a store in Freo (the locals call it Freo, so we shall from now on) that almost gives me too many options. Luckily a necklace ‘jumps’ out at me, and I find a card with dolphins on the front to go with the trip. On the way back to pick up the car we pass a busker with a lisp. No big deal, but if you were busking, and you had a lisp, would you really choose to play George Harrison’s ‘Thomething’?
Today’s plan is to drive up the coast and visit Kirstie’s mum, who lives north of Perth for 6 months every year, living in either Sussex or France the rest of the time. Kirstie had sent on some cards for Chelle’s birthday, and Claire had sent a CD with all the pictures she took on New Years Eve, plus we thought it would be nice to meet her anyway.
We both managed to miss an obvious turn off and soon found ourselves driving through the centre of Perth, but a combination of guesswork and quick map-reading soon had us on the right road. We did manage to find our way back to Oxford Street in Leederville, and nearly stopped for poached eggs…
The Perth Aquarium is (obviously) right near the coast and we called in on the way. We had been lurking around Aquariums for our whole trip, and not managed to make it through any of the main doors, so with an hour to spare we paid the rather large entry fee and headed in. Boy was it worth it. All the displays leading down to the main room are interesting in themselves, and relate to the variety of life found on the West Australia coastline, but it’s the underwater walk-through which has the all important (and much over-used) ‘Wow’ factor. Talking of over-used words, this was indeed ‘Awesome’. The usual glass tube under a huge tank arrangement is used here, as you would expect, but the shear variety of sea creatures, and their size and frequency, is what makes the difference. We went round twice, just to make sure we hadn’t missed anything, but it was so hard to tell. The sharks didn’t look toothless and bored, the turtles and stingrays glided around looking cool, heaps of smaller interesting fish looked perky and interesting, and the signage was easy to understand and well laid out.
Outside we watched a huge ray leap out of the water, inside the jellyfish glowed and Nemo swam around his own little tank, but didn’t talk to us. It was time to move on.
Kirstie’s mum, or Gloria as we should call her because that’s her name, lives in a caravan park near Burns Beach for 6 months of the year, and has done for a couple of years since selling her last place just up the coast to finance this and a place in the South of France. She was proud to tell us that she was 80 this year, but worried that it might affect her chances of getting a visa next year. She has been coming to Australia for 23 years now. The caravan was one of those places that isn’t really a caravan. A lounge, kitchen, two bedrooms, bathroom, laundry and decking, with a carport outside, it was homely and comfortable enough to make me feel a little sleepy, and I struggled to keep my eyes open while Gloria and Michelle stood in the kitchen nattering. Until the phone rang, that is. The dolphin trip was cancelled thanks to the weather forecast of storms. We were both a little annoyed, but understood that it would be pointless to go out in a storm. We hoped that they would go out the next day, because that would be our last chance.
We liked Gloria very much, and finally left her in peace by 6.00pm, when we had a walk along the beach near her park, before heading back south to Freo. The evening was taken up with laundry (2 loads), getting online (blog upload and many, many emails to read reply to) and eating eggs and beans, which had originally been bought for breakfast. By midnight the rain was pouring down outside, and an hour later it was joined by thunder and lightning. Neither of us could sleep, so we passed the time by deciding whether it really was Chelle’s birthday yet because of the time differences. She says it just means that she effectively has 2 birthdays, and I agree just in case she’s actually right. And it is, after all, one of her birthdays.
Chelle likes the necklace, the dolphin card has lost a bit of it’s sparkle thanks to the trip cancellation but is still appreciated, and we decide to take the ferry along the Swan River to Perth, as Nick had recommended. As chance sometimes has it, Nick rings as we are sitting on the small boat about to leave Freo, and we have to turn down a coffee meeting that morning. The ferry trip is excellent, lasts about 30 minutes, and is a big help in getting our bearings. There are a lot of impressive houses overlooking the river, one of which, the captain tells us, is worth A$85M. To over look the sea I might pay that, but a river?
Landing in Perth is strange because it feels so familiar, and we catch the free Cat bus into the city. A quick saunter through the CBD leads to the train station, where we catch a train back to Freo and jump on the free Cat bus there too.
We get off near the Visitors Centre and go to re-book the dolphin trip for the following day, except someone forgot to put us on the list, and there is only one space left. I think the people in the centre realised just how annoyed we were by the time we left.
The rain had started falling again by the time we got back to Freo, so we checked out some bookshops, had a snack and some coffee and nipped back to the apartment for a shower before grabbing the bottle of pink we had bought at the winery in Margaret River and eating at a noodle place in town. Most of the conversation revolved around how much we like it here.
And so, just a few words from ‘Mrs’. Some of you have said when does Chelle get a go at the blog, but, well quite frankly Stephen’s been doing such a grand ole job, I don’t really like to interfere.. and when he’s tapping away on the keys, its not like I’m lazing around doing nothing just in case you wondered - I’m normally found vaguely planning our next few days with maps and the like and trying to sort out where we are staying. It’s worked quite well so far, well just the one small hic-cup that you may just read about in a few days time, but my part of the deal has gone quite well so far I’d like to think. I’ve got quite good with the maps now – although I still get lost when I let go of them, and go out for a run – I know, keep the sea on the left.. (and Jill just in case, no I’m still not good enough to plan our bike routes when I get back!) I officially retire on the planning front once we hit the USA though.. uho, hope that doesn’t mean I have to write that part of the blog.. or drive even for that matter.
Anyway, its my birthday, so thought it’s a pretty good excuse for me to get just a little bit of a go on the keyboard.
I’m never a big fan of having a birthday at home – winter birthdays are rubbish when you hate the cold, so I’ve often tried to escape to somewhere a bit warmer instead. OK, so Cornwall was pushing it a bit last year maybe. This year tops the lot by far though – Perth is just gloriously hot, even I had to admit to being a little bit warm. Wonder if I can come here again next year?? Despite the whole dolphin trip disappointment, I have a great birthday (what is it – we seem to have done lots of boat type things – I normally shudder at the thought of a boat unless I am attached to waterskis trailing behind the boat..)
A big big thank you to everyone who sent messages/cards/texts - it was lovely – thank you.
Now, what shall we do tomorrow….It’s dry the next morning, definitely not Chelle’s birthday anymore, and again we walk down to the ferry terminal, this time to catch one to Rottnest Island. Named by a Dutch explorer, who famously thought that the local marsupials, called ‘quokkas’ and found only on this island, were big rats and so called it a ‘Rat Nest’. Nice.
It’s a longer journey, which Chelle copes with very well considering her dislike of being on boats, and we are soon walking to one of the beaches on the island. No cars are allowed on Rottnest, so the only ways to get around are by bike, by foot, or by the bus which circulates the island on a regular timetable. The first beach is quite busy so we carry on walking. It’s a hot day and we’re pleased to reach the second, much emptier beach, called ‘Longreach’. T-shirts are pulled off, bags are dropped and we run into the clear water, eager to cool down. Within 10 minutes of sitting down on the beach we are both dry, such is the power of the sun, and sunscreen is called upon to do it’s job well – there is a lack of shade on this beach. The other end of the beach is overlooked by a collection of fairly primitive buildings that are available to stay in. I decide it would be a great place to spend a few weeks and write, Chelle decides it would be a great place to swim, run and cycle.
According to the Bill Bryson book I am reading, he thinks that Australia has too many tourist attractions and not enough tourists. I’m quite pleased about that as we hop on and hop off the bus, stopping at various places around the island, and for a lot of the time we are on our own. We sit and have a beer while waiting for the ferry back in the early evening and the open-air bar is full of quokkas and peacocks who seem to pay no regard to us.
When we get back to the apartment we cook, sit and watch the Bridget Jones movie and generally put off the fact that we really should be packing as neither of us wants to leave Freo, or indeed Australia. We’re booked on a flight to New Zealand tomorrow night, and it’s touch and go whether we’ll be on it.
We go to bed late but it doesn’t make a lot of difference as the rain falls from about 3.00am, and means business. It has some catching up to do, what with Perth being essentially dry for the last two months, and has chosen our last day to get cracking.
We have to be out of the apartment by 10.00am, and we’re almost packed and discussing what to do when the cleaner turns up. She’s another ‘bloody Pom’, and we have a good chat before getting out of her way. Just running to the car-park leaves me almost soaked through such is the ferocity of the downpour, and we load up quick.
Fremantle is the kind of place that attracts oddities, people who maybe feel that they stand out in more conventional places, and one of those is multi-millionaire Peter ?????. Peter has built and lost his fortune more than once, but has maintained an obsession with cars and motorbikes which finally manifested itself into the Fremantle Motor Museum in the late 90’s. Situated down by the port in one of the old import sheds, this mostly private collection was a perfect destination for us in the pouring rain – although while we walked round the staff, and indeed the roof, were struggling to keep the water at bay – and we used up a good couple of hours enjoying the collection which included an impressive Bentley, one of Jackie Stewart’s Formula 1 cars and the Aussie land speed record holder.
We drove back into town and parked up, deciding that this would be a good day to go to the movies. We booked our tickets to see Sweeney Todd and have an hour or so to kill, so we buy some postcards, sit in a café and write in an old school style, just for a change, to our folks back in the UK.
The movie is great, it’s still light when we emerge from the dark cinema (weird), and we jump in the car ready to visit the Taylor family for the last time on this trip. The kids are excited and, apparently, upset because they didn’t realise that we had to go back home and thought that we would be coming round all the time. How sweet is that?
Nick has been kitchen monitor this time and we have gorgeous veggie pate and home made bread, a broccoli and rice pie, and copious amounts of fruit, washed down with some bubbly stuff. The kids do a gymnastic show, I have a last fuseball game with Max (which he genuinely wins and accuses me of letting him win!) and we have to leave by 9.00pm because we have a car to get rid of, and a long time on planes ahead.
Thanks Nick, Kylie, Amber, Max and Ellie – it was so hard to leave because you all made us feel so welcome.
The airport is an hour’s drive, we drop off the car, run into the terminal and try to check in on the auto check-in screen. It tells us to go to the desk, and we are sent to another, where the extremely helpful Qantas woman checks us in for both our flights (we’re flying to Sydney and then connecting to Christchurch) and ensures that we don’t have to collect our bags until we get to the final destination.
We saunter through the security, sit down near our gate, and wait. And wait. And wait. We decide to have coffee but there is a long queue, so we wait for that too. Eventually our plane is ready, 2 hours late, and because a previous flight had been cancelled, it is rammed. At one point, we fully expect the crew to start putting people in the overhead lockers. By the time we take off, the captain is announcing that anyone with connecting flights at Sydney should keep listening for information. It’s 1.15 in the morning, and it’s going to be a long night.
