Train, plane and automobiles

It was always going to be tight getting from the train to our flight. Upon waking from yet another night of disruption we woke to the wonderful news blasting out of the speaker next to the ear that we were running somewhat late. One and half hours. So we had previously forsaken the opportunity to go on a very (already paid for) expensive bus/cable cars tour of the Blue Mountains in order to catch the plane on time, only to miss it regardless. Instead we got to spend the morning fretting about flights, costs, timing etc. Compounded by as soon as we hit confirm on the alternative carrier our rather loud PA announcer advised that we were stopped due to a medical emergency and we were waiting at a local station for an ambulance. And so another change to flights was needed.

The train is mostly empty as we traced the very windy tracks with gullies and tunnels interrupting our comms and trees blocking snippets of the grandiose scenery glimpsed as we crawled down to the burbs. I guess we can say we've seen both Broken Hill and the Blue Mountains but haven't actually been there.... and the opposite for Kalgoorlie. We were due to arrive at central station 3 hours ahead of the folks that got off to take the tour. Suspect they'll now beat us there. Interestingly with all the delays we only arrived 1 hour late. With no updates the whole scenario was a bit mysterious. The biggest problem with the silver beast is that in being over 1km long there is no platform that can wholely contain it. It needs be broken up into 3 pieces in order to get into Sydney Central and the break up happens 20 mins away. So platinum arrived about 1 hour ahead of us. Straight into a taxi off to the airport in hardly anytime at all and Kirsty from Jetstar happily plonked us back on the 3 pm flight. Stuff Virgin who wanted to charge exorbitant fees for the change. So after a day of stress worrying about getting home we ended up only being an hour later than original intent.

Eildon is still full and glowing majestically in the afternoon sun. Extraordinary number of people trying to leave town as we were coming in. Must be something wrong with the place for all these waiting/milling throngs to suffer the ignominy of T4 which continues to impress with its ability to show how not to be customer friendly. A quick bus ride to collect the cleaned car and the girl in the console showing a new route through the salubrious back streets of the Carlton gardens to avoid the traffic was great. Needless to say the pooch was rapped to see us.

City of Curches to the splintered mountain

 Another nights fitful sleep, whilst the tracks were a bit smoother as we trundled across the desert noth of the Gulf the cabin movement still had no rhythm and a cacophony of various noises. It was still pitch black when the announcement for breakfast was made at 6:30am. It was a light one as all those continuing past Adelaide were off into town for another  Off Train experience.

They split the train in two in order to fit all the carriages next to platforms and saying goodbye to the crew who were heading home for their week off we were herded onto a bunch of busses and promptly drove into a traffic jam. Nice reminder that civilization and all its foibles is never that far away. Eventually we got to the other side of town and alighted for a walking tour of the area with dark clouds threatening in the distance. Saw lots of statutes of past important folk. Some of them just their heads.

Just like Rome except one suspects this time it was on purpose. As we wandered down the war memorial to the parade grounds stopping to admire the fancy brick work on the old buildings it got darker and more threatening. Timing was sort of ok though as by the time we got inside the Adelaide Oval (where the cricketers cricket and the footballers fly) we had only been in the downpour for a minute or two.

Upstairs we were presented with a sumptuous spread where we got to meet some other travelers from other sections of the long carrier. The coffee and milk dispenser lids had not been screwed down tightly and had pretty much ruined our side of the table before we figured it out. Suspect a discontented staff member is currently sitting at home laughing with their colleagues that they'd got another one.

Back to the reconfigured silver beast was much quicker as the kids were now in school. The cabin now faces the wrong direction, we are down the back and are being pulled by two locos. Apparently we have some hills to climb up ahead.
After another gourmet lunch there was the onboard singer rolling through the the old faves in the lounge followed by special guest from Broken Hill who led us through a round of Drag Black Russian Bingo.

Well Blogger was drinking a Black Russian. The rest was up to her/him. After dropping her/him off at the faulty mountain the train headed off into the winding tracks eastwards which felt like the Tunnel Creek Road. Must be cut up by the heavy metal carriers heading to the eastern ports. Having our last supper as the sun set over the huge lake was very pleasant. Pity the whole spectactular visa being captured in real time out the cabin window was curtailed by the staff who made up the room and shut the blinds. Sometimes it's obviously difficult to get good help.

Not sure how such a big lake exists out this far west...possibly due to the recent rains. So last night on the silver beast. Could be a wild ride.

Accross the no trees plain

 It  was very restless nights sleep with the train rockin and rollin and bumping and squeakin and groanin and bangin and knockin and stoppin and startin.  The tracks out this way don't seem to be as smooth as earlier on. Almost miss the old days of kerthunk, kerthunk...kerthunk, kerthunk... at least that had some sort of rhythm. The early morning sunrise over the sparsly bushed dessert was not spectacular due to annoying cloud cover. Climbed down from the upper bunk to capture it anyway.

The cabin is a tight squeeze with ourselves and the cases performing a merry dance as we navigate around it. It is functional and quite comfortable though. The shower in the loo works surprisingly well. The train was built in the 70s and doesn't look like much has been done to it in the meantime, but suspect looks can be deceiving in this case. It does reek of olde worlde charm though. Our lounge and restaurant cars service 4 sleepers worth of passengers. This is one set of five which make up the entire train and we don't get to see the other 4 as they are divided by power generation cars (no passenger access). 250 passengers. 45 staff. Lots of happy vibes emanating from everyone. The staff are mostly young Adelaidians who spend a week on and a week off, criss crossing the continent on a timeless journey through the timeless landscape. The passengers are mostly elderly and enjoying the fruits of past labour's. By the time we'd had our late breakfast we paused at Forest to drop of mail and supplies to the couple who live there the Nulabor had became truly thus. This day of the journey is Do Nothing day and therefore the Bartender is encouraging folks to consume his wares. So doing nothing means Bloody Mary's post breakfast.

We got lucky with our cabin as the seats face forward and we're up the front of the train. Even managed to surreptitiously clean our window at the Kalgoorlie stop last night so the views are nice and clear. In the middle of knowwhere we stopped at a place called Cook. This is a fuel stop (water for our showers and diesel for the beast up front). Once topped up the consuming hordes are allowed to disembark to wander around the ghost town that was once a vibrant bustling collection of fibro cement, tin roof constructions that supported at least 50 people. Scattering like a pent up collection of crippled overweight aged lizards finnaly freed from a Herpetologist release cage we all headed in various directions from our allocated portable steps to get the only exercise allowed for the day.

The sun was beating unrelentlessly down as the slight breeze drifted in off the plain swaying the salt bushes and filling the lungs with some relief. You could almost hear the metal guitar strings twanging poignantly as the bad guys boots hit the dirt. The various shaped wrinkled chameleons wandered aimlessly around snaping memories on their devices all whilst making sure they didn't go within 2 meters of the tracks. 30 mins later all were back on board with our lounge car being the first of 5 to consume the delights of our resident musican whilst talking over the top of him, louder and louder as more drinks were consumed.

The Nulabor Plain kept on being so for km after fascinating km. And then, just as it looked like rain in the distant clouds the trees reappeared and the tracks started to wind their way through red dunes covered in what looked like Mallee scrub.

Could not tell that was the longest straight train track in the world as the beast jumps around so much one can't really tell were we are going.
Quote if the day when lining up for dinner "where have you been for the last couple of days?" ... for the unexperienced the answer is funnily obvious as the whole group has been contained to only 6 cars in that time. No option.
Dinner was delightful again as the sun disappeared behind interesting clouds throwing the orange light on the tree lined red sand dunes as we weaved our way amongst them.

All Aboard!

Preparation is key to great trip and so we were somewhat annoyed with ourselves that we hadn't bothered to look up the baggage rules for the train trip until it was too late to do anything about our blasé attitude in that we could fit our suitcases in the cabin. She'll be right mate looked like being the opposite where we would end up having to possibly sleep with cases in our beds. Cozy. The major reshuffling and repacking of all our gear late last night was quickly zipped up when we got up and headed out onto the street to catch a taxi to the station. Was sort of funny having two drivers almost come blows over who would get our fare. After it was pointed out it was a short trip anyway, one drove off in a huff and the other drove off with us.

So here we are on the Indian Pacific. Lots of facts and figures will no doubt come out over the next 4 days. Arriving at the station they had a sumptuous breakfast being served on the platform with the silver beast patiently waiting for the hordes to arrive and be herded on board. The trip musician was strumming his guitar and working his way through his Cat Steven's repertoire.. needless to say, once the all aboard was called he'd got to Peace Train. Suspect this type of humor will persist throughout the trip.
Counted 34 carriages all pulled by one loco. Seemingly hundreds of guests and it looks like we're just about the youngest. A foray down the cabins to the lounge car revealed just how keen most of them are in getting stuck into the free grog.

At 10:30 am. Suspect a lot of them will be comatose soon after lunch. Non-Blogger fell asleep pretty much as soon as the wheels rolled. Can see where offspring no 2 gets if from now. Blogger got the first of what will probably be a few slow TV shoots. Heading out of the Perth burbs into and through the winding hills to emerge in the wheat belt. Its very dry out there. Yet to see how well we work with the suitcase in the toilet/shower alcove.
Lunch was fabulous fare in the luxurious dinning car, spent yarning between mouthfuls with the couple from Adelaide sitting opposite. Followed by a drink and a round of trivia in lounge car. A game of scrabble in the cabin (quote of the day as we're stopped waiting for a train coming the other way on the single track -  excuse me miss do we have a flat tyre?) and then back to lounge car as we rocket across salt plains interspersed with patches of scrub and trees sitting atop red soil. All warmly lit by the afternoon sun as it falls into the golden hour.

Pity about the aircon inside freezing lots of peeps bits off. Hanging around the bar meeting a bucket load of poms until being ushered into the dining car for dinner which was another foodies delight. This time shared with a couple from the USA. Although he's originally from the UK as well. Arriving in Kalgoorlie in the pitch dark ushered onto a flotilla of busses.i think the idea of this was to show us the town and get an idea of the history and subsequently what goes on here. The town on a dark Sunday night was incredible. In that there was nothing to see. Because it was dark. And a Sunday night. Everything was closed and all the lights were off. Got to appreciate someone in town getting up to put on a show/play for the hordes. Got to go and play in the monster trucks and then head on up to look at the super pit. In the dark. Apparently its really impressive in daylight. Even though we could hear the distant growling of big heavy beasts chewing away at the planet and a stream of glowing ants slowly moving up and down the far slopes, really had no clear perspective of what its really like. Suggest a daylight visit would be more appropriate. Can't actually see this blogger ever making the effort to do so. Left the pit at 12:00 midnight and spent the next hour driving aimlessly around the two towns whilst the driver told us about every little factoid he knew of. Mostly to to with earthquakes and hookers. For some strange reason the train was an hour away and thus we needed to wait for it until 1:00 am. A very surreal experience.

Consuming (or being consumed by) Perth

 The day started off very low key. No need to get up to do anything in particular. The heavy drapes were closed so the early morning light reflecting off the phallus strewn mural dominating the view outside didn’t penetrate our consciousness. Eventually emerging into the bright warm sunny Saturday morning on Murray street to see the place swarming with an eclectic crowd of peeps that continued to be so for the rest of the day and ultimately into the evening. The heart of our home town has a similar smattering of dislocated people weaving their way through (and thus being part of) the various demographics of humanity making up the rest of the crowd.

There is not enough space in this blog or indeed enough time for this blogger to even start trying to describe in detail those widely varying demographics, let alone how they transform as the day gets older. Needless to say that from the casual observer point of view this town vibrates in it’s diversity and acceptance. This is a good thing and something they should be proud of. We had breaky in a commercial café (first place we came across) and then parted ways. Non-Blogger went shopping. Blogger went around the block – took some snaps and went home to rest, wind down, read some more of the current book and then started to think that maybe the swell of humanity out there needed another look. The malaise was due to the knowledge that we’d booked a tour of the place later in the day and didn’t want to ruin the forthcoming enlightenment.

Once reunited, we headed off down to the quay on the river which has been done up into a brilliantly picturesque example of how we as a race can spend time and effort throwing materials around in a controlled manner in order to create an environment in which we can all collectively appreciate. Lots of family types of activities and attractions.

The sky was a brilliantly clear blue and the waters glistened as they were graciously disturbed by ferries, jet skis and amateur fishing boats. No one was complaining. No one was swimming. The bull sharks were not visible. The connection obvious to only those willing to consider it.

Leaving these contemplations floating away on the tidal drift of the river we headed back up the hill via a garden interlude in order to join our previously booked walking tour. Having an hour to spend hanging around Hay St. Mall was actually good fun… no pressure to go anywhere. Actual pressure to stay where we were and so…. We encouraged a young violinist to keep playing Hey Jude (think about it… it not an easy thing to pass off well …suspect this young lad will be famous one day)... seeing the crowd at the front of the AFL store quickly dispersing when the Eagles lost to the Roos and finally succumbing to the idea of ice-creams (for one) and milkshakes  (for the other).

The walking tour of the local area, initially focussing on the history of the place and then more looking at the street art and modern architecture efforts to uplift the place was awesome. 2.5 hours and 100 buckazoids well spent. From the stories of the original inhabitants to the original settlers and thus the destruction of the former to the benefit of next to the eventual appreciation of the ways the resulting generational emotions can be expressed via paint on walls was pretty much the underlying context of the tour.

Lots of pictures were taken – suspect to the chagrin of half the tour group (which was  group of three local girls wanting to do something interesting before they caught up for dinner) – the outcome of course will be a montage to be consumed by very few and possibly with no idea about what each frame was all about. I’ve already forgot all the details our guide provided, i.e. who the artist was, how long they took to create it, what their angle is and… yadda…yadda..(thanks Jerry).

Still find it pretty funny that one of the highlights of the tour is our bedroom view. Luckily, we have closed aircon as the alleyway below is notorious for its persistent reeking.

The depiction of the historical fabric industry mural was a fave among the walking crew. The amount of artwork, sculpture, architecture and all the associated effort to make the place interesting has succeeded in making the place interesting. Hats off to the Sandgropers – this place certainly deserves attention, not for the wealth they bring in to all of us living on this wide flat brown land but in the way they show how we can (at least attempt to) show some sort of civility to the process.

The streets are buzzing with a healthy vibe, there are a huge variety of people from many races, ages, genders, dressed in a variety of ways all moving around at pace. Most with smiling faces, those without seem to mix in without discord.

Our evening ended up with dinner on the balcony of the Grand Hotel watching the throngs cross the road below and complaining about the huge public signage screen showing obtrusive advertising when they could be using it for something artful and thus for the public good. Lo and behold!– they started do just that. Gotta love a society that appreciates things beyond simply the $

P.S. heading out into that aforementioned  big wide flat brown land tomorrow - daily updates may not be daily...

To the City of lights

Our last fabulous breakfast in this abode was again thoroughly enjoyable, this time the locally produced & toasted bread elevated eggs were poached with a hollandaise sauce topping with spinach and bacon circumnavigating the perimeter of the plate. Not bad for a B&B breaky, suspect the Nuns of past never had it this good, still, one never knows what benefits were beholden to them as a reward for their endeavors (ciggies aside of course). Point is that the breaky was again so spectacular that the taste buds were thoroughly exercised, the stomachs stretched to capacity and the minds fully revved up for the pending days activities. Packing up the sprawling confusion of the room into 2 suitcases gets harder every stop, not sure how this will transpire when we get to the plane on the last leg home, in the meantime though we have a car, a boot, a back seat and an endless capacity for nonchalance for those sorts of issues down the track. Or tracks (…watch this space)

And so after the inevitable stop for a shop browse in M/R village center we headed off northwards in search of the city of lights. Like Mr Glenn it wasn’t that difficult to spot. He looked down, we looked for signage, he whipped overhead, we landed smack bang in the middle. Beforehand, however we had the issue of driving over roads previously driven. No adventure there - except we did play the  Cowaramup game… 27 cow statues adorning the streetscapes that we counted on the way through. That’s not a light hearted effort – someone went to a serious amount of cow sculpturing work here – let alone getting everyone else in town to agree to and facilitate the process. Still doesn’t explain the “up” thing for the town names, but it does show a combined dedication to a pointless cause – gotta love that.

The cool cloudy conditions continued to persist while the Km’s rolled away listening to the tomes of two local young women telling us about the life journey of two famous young women in the USA. It was so fascinating that we almost missed the sign “Mandjoogoordap Drive”, pity it wasn’t an “up” as it would’ve taken the cake….still have to give it to the Sandgropers – that’s another level above Mooroolbark, Korumburra or even… Coonabarabran. Pity those people living on this road all their lives …or the signwriters for the pain of doing so (not so much Paris and Nicole).

By this time we had driven out of the cloudy south into brilliant blue skies and a bustling metropolis which is the capital city of the state. Nice roads. Lots of signs of modern day wealth with flash new trains running down the center of the freshly reconstructed freeways. Turning left we almost ended up in the port of Freemantle instead of Freemantle proper. Interestingly the whilst the first is industrial and the second is touristial, they do collide – as experienced by a really, really long freight train cutting its way through the heart of the touristy wharf area… holding up peeps for a least 5 mins as it trundled its way through the precinct.

Freeo is a nice part of town – we only stopped long enough for a serving of fish and chips, a lesson for others on how to stop seagulls (aka rats of the skies) from proliferating and short wander to spot some beach and to notice some local sculpture work. Bon came from these parts. The local trees looked like they were planted for replacement ship masts in olden times and the architecture is reminiscent of bygone eras. One could possibly hang around here for a bit, but we didn’t – we had a non-booking to get to in the heart of the city and so headed off upstream along the Swan into city central.

Friday afternoon in the heart of Perth on a 23 degree Saint Patrick's Day was a pretty good time to be here. Any hotter and it would become possibly unbearable..and they get this often – possibly remediated by the doctor most days though. The place is buzzing with an eclectic mix of people from all parts of the world, lots green clothes to celebrate the day and a generally good vibe goin’ on.

After checking in (sorting out the booking issue) dropping off the car and a wind down in the very centrally located room, heading out we had drinks on a funky rooftop bar watching the various people of life wander the alley below, had another tipple at the Terrace hotel before heading to our prebooked restaurant for dinner. Considering the pace of the locale it was strangely empty. 2 bookings for the night. 4 people. Thank goodness another 4 decided to drop in. We hung around to enjoy a couple of fabulous dishes. Poor chef obviously had nothing better to than give his (or hers) heart and soul into feeding only 8 people for the evening.

Whilst a bit surreal, it was a very enjoyable foodie experience. On the way out - in the foyer of the place snapped this pic...

Upon later consideration it seems to be wrong on so many levels one felt obliged to include it in the blog.

Wandering home, the temp had dropped but we were wearing our wine jackets and thus didn’t feel it.

 

South West Cape Shenanigans

Waking to the sound of rain on the tin roof was not unexpected (due to accurate forecasting) and did put a literal dampener on the day. Rain does that. Makes things damp. Things like clothes, roads, beaches, vistas, etc. However, it was not going to get to our mood (leave that one to wayward kangaroos).

Our communal breakfast in the ex House Of Nuns (unfortunately, when the owners stopped wearing those habits they also stopped adhering to their habits) was another superb experience – this time the feature was truffle scrambled eggs and the advise as to what to do with day was spot on. We were going caving anyway, their advice simply helped our decision making. And so, in the driving rain we headed off down the Bussell, picked a joiner to get to Cave road on the map and subsequently got it really wrong. The intention was to drive on clean bitumen and thus look after the car and not give the company any more reasons to suck more cash away from the accounts. Woops. The road started off looking OK, bitumen going west (in the right direction), then turned to gravel, then to mud, then to winding bush tracks and (when it was too late to physically turn around) into a soft sand, deep wheel rut ridden 4WD challenge. Make a choice…. 1. Stop (and get stuck in the middle of nowhere, in the driving rain with possibly no recourse) or 2. Go for it rally style….. When we got to Cave Road to turn left it took one more sideways twisting flip of the vehicle to jump the gully and land on the road at speed…two bends away we arrived at Mammoth Cave. Stress levels understandably high were not diluted by the consistent driving rain, a reception area/gift shop full of slow people seemingly in no hurry to do naught but purchase a plethora of tea towels. One by one they were discussed, selected, folded, discussed some more and solemnly packed whilst we were standing there drippingly bedraggled in our expectations of purchasing a ticket.

Once we finally got a ticket, we were told to leave our umbrella behind! even with the solemn promise of not to raise it in the cave it was confiscated because “if we let you take yours in – we’d need to let everyone do so”. Lucky we weren’t chewing gum. And so by the time we reached the cave entrance we were totally damped and in we went.

Stalactites and stalagmites adorn. It’s a pretty big space – with the same acoustics of a public transport carriage – in that the voices of youngsters (that have not yet learnt the ability to speak quietly) get amplified off the walls in the reassuring feedback that yes, they do exist as an individual. Required for every word expressed (this blogger knows – used to be one myself). After a fair amount of balancing the need to press the required combination of buttons on the self-guided tour device aligned to the signposted spots in the dim light vs. trying to get a reasonable distance away from the young family amidst very narrow steel walkways was a good challenge, made the whole caving experience one worthwhile. Getting to the far end and emerging in the daylight revealed that the heavens were still bucketing down and so we had to return all the way back through the cave instead of overland … as they had confiscated the umbrella.

They have a lot of caves along Caves Road. Not one called Nick (which is a lost opportunity). Deciding that one was enough to tick that off the list we headed back up the road to Surfers Heaven – Gnarabup Beach at the cafe’ for latte’s whilst the rain tried to clear off. It was pretty quiet and thus peaceful hanging around here for a bit, had a look at the beach which under sunny warm skies you get the feeling that this is where it all happens. Surfers surf, beachcombers wander and sunbathers bathe all whilst the ocean throws fabulous waves at the shoreline, as the sharks beneath conspire which one to select next.  

Heading inland and then back up the Nickless road we had the fabulous (?) experience of a kangaroo jumping out in front of us. Heart stopping is probably a better description. This time there was enough time to slow down and then “lo and behold” another one, and then whole mob of them decided now was the time to follow the leader. Geebers… that’s all we needed … a reminder that the beasts are out there – just waiting for white hire car to come along and ruin everyone’s day. All good this time though – slow and steady and on the watch is now the norm for us. Just up the road we went to Vasse Felix vineyard (apologies for the previous post - now corrected) which is the original vineyard in the area. History abounds and they let you know about it. They have also made and subsequently spent a lot of money around here. They even have their own art gallery, perfectly manicured lawns and guests to match. With vines in the yard dripping with rich purple fruit and a cellar door full of similarly adorned tasters we quickly ticked that off (photos to prove we were there) in preference for more salubrious surroundings. Deep Woods was our recommended next stop and that was thoroughly enjoyable. Hardly any people here, so we had the attention of a fabulous staff member who loves what she does, loves the place she lives in and is willing to while away the hours telling us all about it in lieu of actually doing any real work on her totally ignored PC. So we signed up, grabbed a couple of bottles for the next couple of nights and then popped over to Aravina Estate for a relaxing cheeseboard and vino lunch.

Didn’t need it at all but … you know … when in Rome… yadda.. yadda…(thanks Jerry). Actually afterwards we realised that it was the right thing to do – it is a very well appointed place – they can (and obviously do) host a truck load of people here (weddings, parties… anything), however this afternoon it was quiet, serene and a great picturesque location to just … be in. The whole area is simply awesome, very picturesque, full of very happy/passionate people doing interesting stuff, extremely enjoyable (assuming one can afford it) and very much worthwhile visiting. One can see why lots of people choose to make their homes here … which also makes sense as to why there was about 50 busses hanging around the local high school at pick up time. It is however time for us to move on – only so much wine can be tasted at a consistent frequency and so after selecting the incorrect vehicle to get into (they really are all white and all do look the same – even between manufactures) we headed back to the nunnery to see if we could be naughtier than the original occupants. Not so – times have changed (alas! no smoking anymore).

After the inevitable post tasting snooze we headed up to a fab eatery for dinner where the highlights were the food (seafood pumpkin gnocchi) and the question from the couple on the table next to us …”are you on holidays or recently retired?”

Never really considered until now how a stranger can be a mirror – maybe this is why we travel….(and why we don’t carry guns).

Exploring the region

The current abode is the old Margaret River guest house. It used to be a nunnery and we’re in the Mother Superior room, which is very luxurious and spacious and somehow we still manage to make it look small by strewing countless pieces of luggage around the floor. Travel light? Could be interesting on a future leg of the journey. In the meantime though the heavy drapes meant sleeping in way longer than normal and we just managed to get to the formal breakfast sitting for the house guests on time.

And what a breakfast it was, with homemade cereals, local fresh bread and cooked eggs benedict it was all we needed to charge us up for the days adventures. Somewhat bloated we jumped into the jalopy and headed off westwards in search of swimmable water before the weather turned. It was a very pleasant drive through rolling hills and significant forests with the large gum trunks seemingly glowing in the mid morning sun.

Arriving in Hamlin bay our hopes of swimming with the rays and sharks were pretty much dashed by the strong wind which was whipping up the surf into a confusing cloudy mess. No one was going in and so we just went for stroll down to the point and was suitably awe struck by the formations of the cliffs adoring the beach.

Very high, pale, fragile and obviously capable of donging people on the noggin has led to the authorities writing some interesting warning signs…”leave this area now” is not the sort of wordage normally used on public notice boards. Welcome to WA, come and see the real thing… and now get out! We didn’t, instead wandered around a bit more like everyone else and took some more pics of the surreal landscape defined by the rich blue sky above. Nice place – just a bit to windy to really appreciate it. Suspect the calm sereneness of Eagle Bay has raised expectations a bit much.

Still feeling the effects of an over indulgent breaky the drive continued southwards and ended up in Augusta. Interesting neck of the woods. Chatting to a local dog walker down at the river mouth was very insightful. From toxic Sea Hares killing dogs to the rivalry between here and Margaret River, we heard it all. Then headed to his uncle’s old haunt, the lighthouse.

Recently refurbished into a top money spinning tourist attraction it sits majestically on the most south westerly point of the mainland. So another compass point of the county’s coast gets ticked off. Two oceans join forces here in order to whip up some seriously strong winds, high seas, extremely noxious shipping hazards and some really tough isolated pioneering efforts over the 200 odd years. Now of course the modern world has turned it into a comfortable place for the hordes to visit for an hour or so, their gleaming white hire beasts filling up the freshly paved muster yard within easy reach of the gift shop.

Thinking it was time to do what is meant of us whilst we’re in the region - we headed north again to try a tasting or two (or three, or four). Passing through the inevitable up’s along the way we arrived where there was once a cattle station. Leeuwin is now a sprawling multi-million dollar estate which is so fancy pancy it’s almost another world.

Nice wines of course. Around the corner at Red Gate it was a more down to earth realistic experience. The only place you can get these wines is from the cellar door – that seemed more worth the while going there. Still, it’s fairly easy to see why the spittoon becomes a necessary item for the serious connoisseur. Day in, day out consuming the stuff would pickle anyone’s insides long term. Pretty disgusting though when you think about it. Just not putting it in there in the first place seems to be a more practical way than expelling it and then having someone cleaning out the mess in the bottom of the bucket afterwards. We didn’t reach that point and gave up after the two vineyards for the day and instead drove the short hop back to Maggot Creek (as named by those down south in Agutter) for a refresh before heading out for dinner.

The local Brewhouse is a long 13 minute walk to get there and a short 13 minute stumble back. Crossing Margaret River was creating conundrums. Thinking the name was for the town, now it’s for the river, or is this actually Margaret River River ? – if so why don’t they say so on the sign? It’s these sorts of complex logical situations one finds oneself in when one spends too much time in a local brewhouse.

 

Into the land of up

 

Given the crash situation on the evening prior, it’s understandable that the nights downtime was full of fitful visions of crushed bumpers, limping mammals and exorbitant insurance excesses. Subsequently waking up to the inevitable picturesque view of the early morning sun glinting its delicate myriad of crystalline gems off the surface of the Eagle Bay waters did little to placate the stress of sorting the whole mess out.

In actual fact it hardly even got a shoe-in to the focus of the day. Two days ago it was “Woe Be Tide if you ever get tired of this view” and now here we are – driven to the depths of unappreciatedness of nature due to the fact that the whole holiday has just doubled in cost. All because one didn’t pay the extra insurance cover.

A few emails and subsequent phone calls realised the best way forward was to drive the car back to Busselton – albeit without the FLH indicators not working and the faring cabletied up so it didn’t dislodge in the wind. “Be prepared” says the scouts (btw. this blogger wasn’t one – figured we knew enough about camping anyway... anyhoo.. we had cable ties … but not insurance cover.. suspect the scouts don’t teach about insurance – if they do… please let me know). Digression is what this blog does occasionally and so to pull us all back into the unfolding story… we limped back to Busselton with cable ties holding the beast together. On the way noting the bevvy of religious beachfront camps which hold sway over an entire swathe of extremely expensive beach front acreages. This is bordering on being weird… we counted 10 religions proudly displaying the driveways into their compounds. God knows what they do down there.

Being early, we did (as expected by the name of the town) bustle around for a bit, getting a proper coffee prior to heading off to the car rental place. Regardless of the underlying current of the situation it was a very pleasant sunny warm, calm, relaxed feel in the heart of the town. Swapping over the damaged vehicle for exactly the same one (even colour wise – not happy because we now have a theory that white attracts Kanga’s) was always going to be time consuming and inevitably expensive. First world issues… get over it and move on which is exactly what we did. In the new (can’t tell the difference) jalopy we headed off into the ‘up’ region.

Yesterday we were in Yallingup. Today we drove through Carbunup, drove along Metricup road, bypassed Wilyabrup, ignored Quinniup falls, drove through Woodtiup National park and we have the opportunity to capture yet more over the next two days… Gnarbup on the coast looks sublime, Boranup Beach (woo hoo!), Kudarup, Kaloorup, Gingilup, Peerabeelup - which are on the way to Beedelup, all look enticing .. beyond there being Yeagarup which, heading down south a bit is Callcup, Meerup and a bit northwards is Channbearup. Heaven forbid if we ever get to Milyeannup or indeed the obvious centre of the UPiverse – Nannup. Got to love a love a good vernacular – this place has their own all sown up nicely.

Stopping off at the obligatory winery on the way down to Margaret River was fabulous – had we have not lost a few hours (and a few thou!) on the car swap we would have experienced a few more. The amount of vineyards in this area is extraordinary…actually..upon reflection “ridiculous” is a better description. They literally adorn the landscape… and the road signs. If one wanted to visit them all (apart from the inevitable another one which would be wondering why one would worry) it would take a significant time out of ones life,... sure it would be fun, however over time they would all blur into a collage of fermented grape induced memories….I guess if you wrote it all down on the way…. Ahhh now I see that thus a life can be created on the back of the consumption of the grape. James H has it all sorted.

The region is yet to be fully explored – we only have 2 days whereas it looks like we need weeks (and liver transplants waiting at the end) so in the interests of keeping you the reader engaged we checked into the very interesting ex Nunn abbey of our B@B and wandered up and down the town enjoying the afternoon warmth.

Being a Tuesday in off season the first two bars we looked at were closed. So we ambled down the main street and discovered the main pub is shut due to renovations and so we ended up at the Settlers Tavern.  Possibly due to being “Rooed” in the last 24 hrs this experience was "fun" in that the recently acquired taste for sour beer was stretched to the point of breaking by a Hong Kong can and the rest of it was simply bogan, all easily surpassed when we moved onto the swinger’s bar down the road. Here we felt far more at home. Not unsurprising.

The ambiance was uplifting, the staff were welcoming, the background music was well chosen (George Harrison – the entire album!) whilst at subtle volumes. The wine tasting platters were exceptional, the rest of the fare well presented, tasty and all the guests were thoroughly into the vibe of the place.

Leaving the swingers to do what only they know is best to do in the world we headed back to our Anglican Convent abode to have a quick shower, rose’/beer before heading off to Morries for dinner.

Morrie does tapas and they do it extremely well. This place was full of vibes. The staff were vibing. The patrons were vibing. The pictures on the walls screamed vibes at the guests. The food vibed in conjunction with the drinks that then vibed the livers of the guests. Good vibes all around. Welcome to Margret River. Center of the “up” universe. 

Water Sunrise to water Sunset

 Arising in the pre-dawn twilight this blogger headed off down to the deserted beach spit in order to capture the rising sun over the sea with the intent of being able to replay the event in future times. Some call it slow TV. Others may call it boring.

Making the effort to be there and experience the world in its raw beauty with no one else around apart from a curious and thus seemingly friendly adolescent seagull makes these types of experiences all worth the effort.

Two hours later it was back to the abode and crashed out on the couch for a sleep catch up – and why not ? – this is holidays after all and there is no pressure to do anything else but catch up on lost zeds with no consequences. Relaxing to the max.

After another indulgent breaky looking at the extremely calm sea where the horizon is difficult to discern due to the sun plying heat and light over the varying distances it was off to the town of Dunsborough for another salubrious caffeine hit prior to a wander, shop and parcel post around the town before a beach hunt.

Beaches adorn the area. This is why people come here and spend a shite load of dosh in order to do so. As the town expands it’s ability to draw the funds out the visitors the governing bodies are also mindful of keeping it clean, pristine and thus consumable. We headed off to the local sand strip at the towns old boat ramp and were once again thoroughly pleased with the foreshore facilities, adorned by yet more funky sculptures highlighting the sheer natural beauty of the place.

We’ve been here two days and it was finally time to go and have a look at the serious side of the peninsula. Heading over to Yallingup was a short hop to discover a totally different aspect where the landscape overlooks and is buffeted by one of the three significant oceans on the planet. Whilst on our side the beaches are calm, the water is welcoming and the overall vibe is sereneness – here it is windblown, rugged and the surfers get to ride serious swells. Waves pound the beaches and the colour of the water is a deep blue (as compared to a turquoisey green on the other side). Needless to say, both are spectacular. It’s been many years since we’ve dipped our toes in the Indian ocean and so made the extra effort to park, walk some way and get down to do exactly that.

Yallingup is one of many locales in the area which are “up” – we have a few days to work on this particular vernacular - suspect it does not actually mean “minimal food opportunities” but you never know. We did discover they do interesting sculptures over this side as well.
We eventually found a minimalist bakery which adequately satisfied the lunchtime hunger pains and then headed back to the east side of the peninsular to have a swim at Gannet Rock. This is not a swimming beach but we did it anyway. Lolling around in shallow warm crystal clear water surrounded by picturesque rocks, with no one else around was a great choice of swim locations. We even had our own nature created spa as the gentle waves washed in and out of a sand defined pool. Didn’t realise until later showers that it was filling our undies full of sand.... definitely a first world problem.

Back to the abode saw a couple of lay down hours of more zed catching up before slowly getting into the mode of doing something for the evening. Our very generous host arrived and was extremely apologetic about some pending chainsaw noises and offered a compensatory bottle of wine. As we were staying in we accepted whilst suggesting we were briefly stepping out to catch the sunset on the ocean side anyway.

Which we did.  The chain sawing noise was totally minimalistic and after our BBQ’d locally supplied pawns we headed off to capture the sunsetting over the ocean. It always looks different when there is no land anywhere under the setting sun for many horizons away. The road to get there was so corrugated it was reminiscent of the Tunnel Creek road and as such we needed to slowly crawl down to the Windmills car park to behold the event.

Well worth it was – and so from viewing the sun rising over the water from one side of the day to seeing it disappear over the water on the other side of the day was a very unique experience. Notch that one up as a bucket list tick off (without realising it was even there in the first place).

On the way home we had the unfortunate event of a kangaroo leaping out in front of us. The collision left us both scarred yet mobile, and so suspect the next day will be dealing with the inevitable follow-ups.

The rest of the evening was BBQ at the abode and trying to come to grips that not all goes perfectly on holidays in the first world and sometimes we need to deal with what life throws at us.

A day in Eagle Bay

Waking to the sublime view of the day slowly brightening the calm waters of Eagle Bay was certainly a great way to start the day. Upon a later closer appreciation of the abodes residing on the hills in the neighbourhood it becomes apparent that this is the norm around these parts. Money has been spent over the years and continues to flow in. Significant premises with absolute beach frontage adorn the lower reaches of the locale, whilst those up the hill (like ours) have views which one should never get tiered of. Woe betide if you did. We are certainly not there yet.

Not when a gourmet breakfast is served on a calm warm morning looking at this view.

Afterwards we strolled down the hill to the beach and to finally plunge into the crystal clear waters just to see if they are as welcoming as they appear to be enticing. Yes they are. Enhanced by circling SUPers the swim was exquisite and refreshing. Uplifted (even more) we decided to stroll up the beach taking in the ambiance, friendly greeting the occasional sand-groper whilst snapping every vista within an inch of it’s life. After all …rule of thumb here – take ~50 photo’s for each one posted.

Spending a bit of time loitering around the point of sand we can see in the distance from the abode was thoroughly delightful. An eagle appropriately loitered overhead. The birds on the rocks out there appeared to be loitering as well. I guess the significant difference is that this is what they do every day, whereas we just pass by, take a snap, post it, provide some commentary and move on. Share it, so to speak. Tomorrow, and the next day and to ad infinitum, they will still be loitering on those rocks.

Generation after generation…loitering on rocks…as the planet spins on it’s axis as it twirls around the sun as the whole configuration of the solar system whorls its way as an extremely small part of the ever expanding universe. Those birds continue to loiter. Probably far wiser for it.

Not even considering the possibilities of a wider galactic purpose to the enduring life and beauty of the place we were more than happy to struggle back through soft sand, up the steep hill in sticky togs, just so to rinse off and head into town for a decent latte’. Dunsborough does almost seem to be a heavenly location…with its picture-perfect streetscapes and cafés adorned with gorgeous foreign youngsters it certainly does have a certain ambiance. Even the Harley riders are cool, hip and quickly disappear out of earshot after consuming their caffeine hit.

Stocking up at the IGA we then headed back north for a couple of km’s to have a dip in Meelup beach. Seriously starting to run out superlatives here, however with the horizon dotted by moored yachts, the water crystal clear, the sand brilliant white and the rocks defining points at the ends of the bay you may get the idea. Humans being what they are we were driven away by observing some inappropriate parenting and the need to rest up before the afternoons adventure (geebers…is it only just lunchtime?) .

After some R&R back at the abode we headed off to the Eagle Bay Brewery for a late lunch/early dinner. Stopping on the way at the vineyard across the road to see if it was worth a subsequent visit only to discover how transparent some of the locals really are. 

The brewery experience was very sandgroperish (assuming all people in WA are like this of course – limited exposure so far I guess). Full of happy people, enjoying the warm weather and the wonderful hospitality provided by the hosts. Costs don’t really seam to matter. All is good in the world. As the warm afternoon sun slowly lengthened the shadows of the trees in the brown paddock over the fence the bright green grass on this side perfectly supported the gentry as they played corn hole as their kids frolicked on the cool green carpet. The beer was pretty good as well. As was the pizza. Pity about the noise in the room. Non-Blogger moved us out and it was far more pleasant.

A short jaunt back to our room for a hangout to watch the light fade over the bay. The horizon is extensive…it looks like it could go on forever…somewhere out there MH370 resides (maybe) and a couple (or a few?) curvatures away is Monkey Mia and more beyond that...Ningaloo reef. Maybe again one day...

So a night-in ensued – as it turns out the national broadcaster broadcasts nationally so we could watch the same stuff that we could at home. At the same time of the day. Maybe Sand-gropers are the same as us?

Bustling around Busselton

 

It seems inevitable that when heading off on a new adventure one needs to arise before the sparrows start letting off and so it was with us this morning (again). With the house ready for the dog siterers it was off to the salubrious T4 for a toastie, a long wait and the inevitable long walk through the corridors of boredom to get to the plane which could not have been further away from the hub if they tried. 4 hours of more boredom in the air and we arrived in a flat, dry (somewhat parched) landscape of SW WA for the next adventure. Really do like country airport terminals – so much more efficient than those big city hubs where they get to spend bucket loads of money seemingly just to see how much they can annoy the hordes. Might try catching the train home instead.

Jumping into our jalopy for the week we headed straight into the bustling town of Busselton and whiled away the hours. For a large country town this is a trendy place, even the dogs are cool. Brunchy type morning tea (crossed some time zones, so the stomachs are slightly disorientated) in the old gaol was followed by stroll through a boot sale market (yay – nothing to see here folks!) and on to the famous pier. Originally skeptical of its famed length, it became apparent that yes, it is extensive when you see past the bend. Wandering over the endless concrete slabs the green colour of water was immediately striking and wondering why it was so became obvious when the plaques of all the deceased came into view. Ashes will do this to the water so it seems.

They have a train which ferries the tourists to the end and then back again. Runs every hour. It was full.

Someone is making a lot of money here. We walked (which still costed), and fully enjoyed the wonderful sunny, warm, slight sea breeze conditions experiencing the fabulous weather which is the norm in these parts this time of the year (so we are told).

After the stroll (!) along the pier we bustled around town a bit more, found another market (indoors and possibly struggling to maintain relevance on a warm Saturday arvo) and GLORY BE! – an Aldi !. So with the back seat fully stocked of vital supplies (aka vitals) we headed west to Eagle Bay.

The beaches are spectacular and there are a plethora of them. This place is paradise, unfortunately someone has called it such and yes (as the song goes) it’s about to be kissed goodbye. Nice time to be here though (in the juncture) so we still get to see the beauty of the locale whilst enjoying the recent additions to the area.

Like our salubrious B&B accommodation (greeted with bubbles) and the fine dining experience, which was in a “Modern Spot” (still trying to deconstruct that one). The dinner was fabulous and a great lesson in how to sell a product e.g  make sure the waiters go to great detail to explain every item that’s on the plate and the punters will appreciate it all the more. The most expensive restaurant in town and it was packed. Full of beautiful people leading their beautiful lives. Happy times... Maybe that’s what Modern Spot means.

Back home in the dark was a fun challenge on the unfamiliar roads but we got there eventually and crashed out after an extremely long day. Looking forward to the exploration of the area and trying to understand more of the local vernacular.