Long, long lunches under blue, blue skies
Darise Bennington falls in love with the Wait Awhile state
When your best friend calls you up from Sydney and tells you she’s getting married and she wants you to be the best woman, you get excited. Very excited. Pictures of Paddington fill your head, and memories of former trips that included visits to Dries van Noten, Jones the Grocer, the book shops at The Rocks, ballet at the Opera House, and a Colin McCahon exhibition at the Art Gallery of New South Wales have you fantasising about your first real holiday in four years.
When she tells you the wedding is going to be in Perth, you find yourself doing a wee double take. Perth? In Western Australia? The state that revels in rebelling against the commonwealth of Australia, and takes a peculiar delight in upsetting Kevin Rudd and his plans for reform. The state that apparently has more millionaires per capita than any other place in Australia. The state dripping with gold mines and other rich mineral ore deposits. The state that does not “do” daylight savings (and won’t for at least another 10 years, when the next vote on this issue can be taken). And, more importantly, the state that is a nearly eight-hour flight away from Auckland.
However, newly single, it feels very liberating to get on the plane, settle yourself into the seat, and prepare for a seven-hour, forty-five-minute flight all on your own. First of all, on Air New Zealand, you get the entertainment screen. I have to confess that I spent at least 30 minutes of the journey programming in my music play list. It was a thing of beauty and probably encompassed over 400 songs. Way, way too many to be listened to on a flight that turned out to be only six and a half hours long – thanks to a rather strong tailwind!
Perth’s airport seems rather bijou when you first arrive. The small-town illusion begins while I wait for my baggage to arrive – a voice over a loudspeaker kindly informs us that there will be a small delay with the luggage due to a “roster issue” (ie Bill forgot to turn up to work today). This is the first symptom of something I soon discover to be endemic in WA. We have now arrived in the “Wait Awhile” state; everything takes just a little bit longer (weeks, say some of my Perth-based friends), it’s as if the world has hit cruise control, and stress seems to be a thing of the past – something left behind as we crossed over a storm-tossed Melbourne.
I spent my first night at the Quality Inn in the centre of Perth too tired to do anything more than check emails and ring room service; the hotel is cheap and cheerful – a last-minute booking via Wotif.com – and the bed, the most comfortable bed I think I’ve ever slept in.
I’m a bit of a wanderer whenever I arrive in a new place. I like to get the lay of the land, move around the streets, make myself at home. My first morning in Perth, I joined the throng of commuters as they made their way uptown towards work. Meandering through the smartly dressed crowd, I found myself assailed by crazily dressed, beautiful young things hawking the most offensive – and deliciously disturbing – newspaper I’ve ever seen. Known as the Prosh, it’s the charity newspaper that has been published by the students of the University of Western Australia since 1931. You’ve got a love a paper that has as its byline: “Knock Knock, Who’s there?....... Me, wondering why you’re not naked”. As a writer and editor, I was professionally aroused.
Freo – where the love affair began
But my sojourn in Perth proper was but a brief affair. I was bound for the Viaduct’s slightly older cousin – Fremantle, the original Downunder home of the America’s Cup. Nestled beside the Indian Ocean, Fremantle has its own unique flavour. Blue, blue skies and the heady scent of the sea intertwine to bring about a sense of late summer. Freo, as it is affectionately called, entices one in with its beautiful white limestone buildings, which compel a hand to move across the silken smooth texture.
These heritage buildings are the first things you see as you drive into Fremantle. They are well preserved, and bring to mind a much earlier time; a time when convicts were sent to Australia from the motherland, and were tasked with building their own gaols, hewing the limestone from the very hills on which they were standing. The first of which was the Round House, which sits beside the sea, looking out over golden sands and azure blue water (although, you can rest assured, the prisoners did not get to look out on that view all that often). And when their numbers grew too large, the convicts built Fremantle Prison, which housed 10,000 convicts between 1850 and 1868 in the smallest cells I’ve ever seen.
The minute my taxi pulled up to the Esplanade Hotel Fremantle, I was hooked. With balconies extending as far as the eye could see on both sides, the hotel was yet another part of Freo that is redolent with history. As the doors opened, I was met by Elizabeth, a concierge with a welcoming smile and a way of making you feel as if you had just come home. Privately owned by Marylyn New, the Esplanade Hotel combines luxury, heritage, and comfort in a way that is designed to keep you relaxed. I was treated to a quick tour of the hotel – which New likes to think of as an extension of her family home: the walls are bedecked with New’s personal art works, with Australian images dominating. The pools, which the pool suite rooms look out onto – each with their own private balcony – are surrounded by greenery, providing a feeling of restful luxury, and discreet privacy.
The Esplanade Hotel also has conference facilities that would make an event manager blush with the sheer scope of possibility. The Southern Cross Gala Ballroom was so majestic, I couldn’t help envisaging the Law Awards being held there. And then there were the smaller, upstairs conference facilities – just perfect for the firm who wants a more relaxed venue for its next partnership retreat.
Lost in the moment
If you are the sort of person who does not want to spend their day curled up in luxury in the hotel reading, or relaxing poolside, then there are a variety of treats on offer. For those who like to get their history on the go, there is a tram that leaves from the hotel and takes in the sites of Freo. I have to confess that although I planned to take the trip, I missed the tram (how, I have no idea); but the day was divine, the sun was shining, and I couldn’t really bear the idea of being stuck in traffic, so instead I walked everywhere. There are also ferry trips out to Rottnest Island, which apparently has some of the world’s finest beaches and bays.
One of the stops on the tram tour is Fremantle Prison, which first opened in 1855, and finally released the last of its prisoners in 1991, when the prison was closed and the prisoners were transferred to the maximum security prison at Casuarina. There are a number of tours that can be taken of the prison – if you’re a fan of prison escape dramas, there’s the Great Escapes tour, then there are tunnel tours (I couldn’t help but wonder why there was a one kilometre labyrinth of tunnels under the prison – surely that seems counterintuitive), and the torchlight tours – which take those with a penchant for ghost tales for a wander through the hidden, haunted prison at night.
But even by daylight, there’s something eerie about the now abandoned prison – especially the execution chamber. While the others on my tour happily snapped away at the hangman’s noose and the long drop below, I found the thought of the 44 souls whose lives were ended in that small, dark, stone room weighing just a little too heavy for levity.
Inside the prison, the cells, which doubled in size in the 1960s, have room for little more than a bed and a tin bucket (for night-time requirements). These buckets are apparently the same buckets that were used throughout the years the prison was open. There was certainly nothing easy about the time that was served at Fremantle Prison.
It was a relief to return to the light, and to the blue skies that never seemed to fail.
As I wandered the streets of Freo, getting lost in the place and enjoying the warm flush of the sun, I was surprised to find malls that reminded me of Wellington’s Cuba Street. The smell of incense drew me into one mall offshoot, where I discovered the Blue Buddha. Inside I found myself kneeling on the floor and fossicking through a small wicker basket full of spells. The gentleman owner was indeed enthusiastic when I settled on purchasing a spell designed to incite lust (perfect, I thought, for the bride and groom on their wedding night); when I asked how effective it was, he proudly informed me that it had been made by a tenth-generation witch using all the right magic. I smiled encouragingly, and left with the spell, a purple candle, and a small collection of semi-precious stones designed to ensure never-ending romance.
Just down the road from the hotel is the “Cappuccino Strip”; for a small seaside town, Freo has its fair share of bars and cafes. The bride and I, during our quick pre-wedding rundown, settled for tapas at Monks Brewery, with a mojito chaser (or two) at Benny’s across the road. And if you have a passion for Mexican hot chocolate and churros, then I can thoroughly recommend Chocolateria San Churro, just off the Cappuccino Strip. Dense chocolate with added spice, it won over the bride’s heart.
Across the park from the Esplanade Hotel is the famous Fishing Boat Harbour, where a vast number of seafood restaurants boast that they offer the “best fish & chips”. Although tempted, I could not go past the Little Creatures microbrewery and its wood-fired pizzas. Meeting up with Kiwi friends who had made the move to Perth three years before, I spent my last night in Freo drinking a honey-infused pale ale, with the Indian Ocean glistening in the moonlight beside me.
When the sun goes down in Margaret River
While I could quite happily have spent the whole of my week in Freo, the wedding itself was to be held in Margaret River – three hours south of Perth, although thanks to the newly opened Kwinana Freeway Southern Extension and the Forest Highway, the trip is now but a mere two hours. Unlike New Zealand, the trip is anything but scenic. Although, I did see my first kangaroo – sadly, it was roadkill.
There is nothing bad about Margaret River – nestled amidst the gum and eucalypts are miles and miles of vines, from which some of the most beautiful wine is produced. I know, because I spent a good five days tasting it. If WA is the Wait Awhile state, then Margaret River is the land of long, long lunches. I thought I had relaxed in Freo; by the end of Anzac Weekend, I was feeling relaxed, refreshed, and rejuvenated.
Having made the decision to hire a house – originally built some 20 years before by one of the members of the Italian America’s Cup syndicate – we spent the weekend relaxing in the sun, drinking wine, while kookaburras watched in their favourite tree, cockatoos dumped ‘honky nuts’ (ie gumnuts) onto the roof, and large red kangaroos hopped past. It’s a tough job, but somebody had to do it. Thank God, it was me!
I should point out that WA is a footy-mad state, like any other Australian state. But the state game is AFL – yes, ladies, that game with the short shorts and sleeveless shirts. But, well, when in Rome…
I spent seven days in WA, and it was seven days of pure bliss. The country may be hours behind the rest of Australia (and some would say decades behind in some instances), but it is the place to go if you need to heal some slightly tender wounds. I’m currently working on convincing the married couple to move permanently from Sydney to Perth. It will be good for them, I encourage (and yes, I admit somewhat selfishly, it will give me an excuse to visit on a yearly basis).
NZLawyer, issue 136, 14 May 2010