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Ian has a coffee by the barren sea
Indian ocean in the background there. Rach From the Hertz offices in Perth we picked up a new Toyota Carolla, which would provide our means of travel down to The Margaret River region. Margaret River is where Carol and Paul had their first days on honeymoon; it’s where Perth people go on hols; it’s where the Indian Ocean laps the west coast of Oz, where surfer dudes go for their rip curls; where vines bring forth their merlots, cabernets, and semillons, and it’s currently our base for the next twelve days.
So far, only two nights have passed since we left Cousin Carol and Paul in Perth. A couple of hours drive took us south along the freeway to the busy holiday town of Busselton. In the advertising material, the jetty at Busselton (the largest wooden structure in the southern hemisphere, no less) juts into an aquamarine sea, and a vibrant sun bleaches the already bleached sand even whiter. But our arrival in the region was marred by miserable weather. The chilly, grey day made Busselton seem quite ordinary, so after a stop for a sandwich and a cake for lunch, we pressed on further south into the Margaret River region, looking for a
place to stay which would be remote - but not too remote - and with a natural beauty, plus a dash of holiday charm…
Did we find it? Well, not really. Towns and resorts which had looked splendid in the promotional material were found wanting in real life. The first places we visited were all a stone’s throw from the busy freeway, and could never deliver the ‘back to nature experience’ that we were hoping for. Further south, as freeway turned to B-Road, things urban were increasingly replaced by things rural. This, at least, was promising. However, all the accommodation which we inspected, and which lay in our price range, was grey and generic. As the afternoon drew on we were reduced to simply seeking a bed for the night.
We found ourselves in Prevelly, a coastal town, or hamlet rather, which is the nearest beach-side settlement to the important town of Margaret River a few kilometres inland. When I woke up on our first morning there, I went for a jog along the beach. Oh God, it was bleak. I mean, really bleak. Bleak like the start of Saving Private Ryan. The sky was overcast, charged with
Rachy in the Xanadu Winery restaurant
The food was probably the best of the trip so far here in Oz! rain cloud, and was a thoroughly miserable battleship grey in colour. The beach was white and the sea was crystal clear as promised, but the grey brushwood along the shoreline with its monotonous dense foliage had something desolate about it. The land is flat, and every thorny bush manages to grow to eye level and no higher, producing quite a menacing effect. Some people (Ian) find an austere beauty in this sort of thing, I know. But even the dogs being exercised on the beach looked depressed to me. I cut my jog short and headed back to our generic and depressing apartment, where Ian was just starting breakfast.
Ian is not his vibrant self currently. For some days now he has been wobbly (literally) and a bit nauseous. His balance isn’t up to much, and it all makes me wonder if our scuba diving in Fiji hasn’t done it in for his ear drums once and for all this time! Oh heck. Anyway, Carol’s GP in Perth has given Ian the once over, delved into his lug holes, and was even thorough enough to order a CT scan on his head, which revealed no gross abnormalities. (So bang goes my theory that Ian’s domestic-tidiness cortex is impaired.) They say he has somehow picked up a dose of “benign positional vertigo”, poor baby, and his drinking has been severely curtailed - which is the cruellest thing of all.
After a total of two nights in Prevelly, we relocated to the Riverglen Chalets nearer the town of Margaret River. This will be our base for the next ten days. Although we hate to blow our own trumpets, we negotiated an unbelievably good rate for our accommodation, which is a fair sized wooden house with a real fire place, spa pool and a double veranda. It nestles in mature woodland by a picturesque stream, and a ten minute walk through the bush gets us into town. We have human neighbours, but not within earshot, and the other locals are all colourful green parrots. I am glad to be staying here in one place for a while. I have jogging routes and walking tracks from the door, many wineries lie nearby, and civilisation in the form of supermarkets, internet cafes and even a pub or two, are within shooting distance. We will dedicate ourselves to personal betterment, contemplation of nature and healthy living for duration of our stay here. I’ll get back to you on how this plan falls apart in the next blog from the Margaret River.
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kathandray
non-member comment
benign what?
'Benign positional vertigo' - is that long hand for p****d? Just stay off the booze for a day! - says Dr Ray.