I awoke ready to ramble on Saturday and set off on a 15km walk along the Margaret River itself. The best part of the walk was the start, where the water in the river was plentiful and surrounded by the enchanting forest of giant karri trees, some of which emerged atmospherically from the water. The end point of the there-and-back route was the Ten Mile Brook Dam, which being a dam wasn't all that special, but I returned through the forest with a spring in my step as I was desperate for a swim in those scenic stretches of river I passed early on. As far as refreshing goes, it was unbeatable, the water just the right temperature to cool off in after 15km of sweat accumulation. Continuing back down the river, I found a nice spot to sit dangling my legs in the water and here I relaxed with a book and a free fish foot spa that some minnows treated me to.
That night I found a pub to watch Chelsea thrash Arsenal while letting the crowd build at the hostel. Soon after returning, the outside deck area was alive with backpackers enjoying some drinks and conversation. I found myself entrenched in a series of interesting and hilarious debates with an Australian, an American, and later on, an Irishman. Looking back, each participant's contributions to this debate were fairly typical of the nations they represented:
The Australian - brash, mocking of the American, smug about the awesome nation he lives in.
The American - loud, dynamic to the point of hopping up and down while making his points, staunchly in defense of his country.
The Englishmen (myself) - unwilling to take sides, quieter, joining in with timely, insightful, impartial comments.
The Irishman - too drunk to contribute anything useful.
As comical as the chat was, the highlight of the night was a spirited game of flip cup. Flip cup is a very fun game played between two teams lined up on either side of a long table. The first player from each team drinks a small amount from a plastic cup, rests the cup upright on the edge of the table, then attempts to flip it so that the cup lands upside down on the table. Once they are successful, the next player down the line does the same and so on, with the first team to finish being the winner. The skills at this game I spent four years at American university developing came in handy as my team romped to a 5-2 victory, prompting a rousing rendition of "We Are The Champions" from our side of the table.
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What is the strangest street name you've ever seen? In Margaret River I passed "X-Ray Road", which replaces Glastonbury's "Leg of Mutton Lane" as my number one.
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On Monday morning I travelled 40km North to a small place called Quindalup, which is basically a row of houses running parallel to the beach, plus the wonderful Dunsborough Beachouse YHA where I was staying (more on that later). When booking my bus there I made a mistake under the pressure of a rising internet café bill and booked to arrive in Yallingup and leave from there the next day, rather than Quindalup. Yallingup is only 15 minutes or so prior to Quindalup, but being accustomed to British public transport I worried after realising my error and tried unsuccessfully to phone the bus company. British public transport workers have a reputation for being a miserable, uncompromising, jobsworth lot, so I feared responses from the driver such as "sorry mate I can only take you to Yallingup" or "I'm afraid you'll have to buy a whole new ticket". But this is Western Australia not Britain, I thought to myself, and quickly stopped worrying. Rightly so, it turned out - I was dropped off in Quindalup for no extra cost. In fact, the driver was so laid back and reasonable that he let another passenger travel all the way to Perth on a ticket he had mistakenly only booked to Bunbury - a town well over two hours journey time and $30 lower in fare to reach than Perth. How refreshing to see.
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After checking in I hired a bike from the hostel, which meant that another strenuous day of physical exertion was in store. I set off for Cape Naturaliste, which given that 'e' on the end couldn't sound any more like a nudist beach, so I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable selection of fat Germans who would undoubtedly be developing full body tans there. The route to the Cape was as charming as it was challenging. I visited a succession of immigration-inducing turquoise-watered beaches, but repeatedly riding down to sea level and climbing back up again was brutal on the legs. Meanwhile, the hard saddle of the bike quickly led to a painfully sore bum (what is it with hire bikes and uncomfortable saddles?). I'll never know whether Cape Naturaliste is a popular nudist spot or not - the beach I journeyed to was deserted with the exception of two surfers in the water. After refuelling on bread and cheese (to say 'cheese sandwich' would imply other fillings, or at least the presence of butter or mayo) I continued onwards to Sugarloaf Rock. This section of the ride involved a long ascent followed by a steep descent to the sea. While gleefully whooshing down the hill I could hear a voice coming from somewhere inside my left quadricep that seemed to be saying "you do realise you'll have to cycle back up this!" It was blissfully ignored. An information board informed me that Sugarloaf Rock is "the world's most southerly nesting point for the red-tailed tropic bird", more importantly from my perspective it is the westernmost point I will reach in Australia. I sat a while looking at the large rock that jutted grandly out of the ocean and braced myself for the gruelling return journey.
Cycling up hills, especially in hot and humid weather, can do funny things to your brain. This theory was proved in the supermarket on the home stretch back to the hostel. Not only did I spend the best part of ten minutes choosing a sauce to go with my beef and rice, I then just couldn't remember what my debit card PIN was. After two failed attempts I decided I better pay with cash.
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A word about the Dunsborough Beachouse YHA, as it is a fine hostel. Its garden backs right onto the beach, there is a nice outdoor area to hang out, its clean, its kitchen spacious and showers powerful, its long term residents friendly (including a clan of Estonians), its just a great place to stay. Best of all, there were no other guests in my six person dorm, so for $30 I had a room to myself and the kind of sea views Mrs. Richardson from Fawlty Towers yearned for.
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Tuesday morning saw me waiting in the rain (rain!!!) for the bus that would take me out of Quindalup and 75km up the coast to Bunbury, but it never came (had my Yallingup cockup somehow cost me?). I tempered my frustration at the lost time and money by reminding myself how remarkably smoothly the whole trip has gone so far, and I managed to catch a couple of other buses that still got me to Bunbury before 2pm. Bunbury is Western Australia's third biggest city with a population of just over 60,000. It's a pleasant enough place with a harbour and long beach, but the weather was grey with thick cloud for the majority of my 24 hours there, so the city didn't look its best. Nonetheless, I had a good time in Bunbury - wandering around, playing pool at the hostel, and visiting the Dolphin Discovery Centre, which was enjoyable despite a no-show from the dolphins.
Today I travelled the remaining 170km back to Perth by train, thus completing this fun little adventure up the West Coast. I'll be seeing out the week in the City, staying with the same helpx hosts I was with before I left for Kojonup.
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| Margaret River |
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