Down the track to Freo
I've remarked elsewhere on Madam's skills when it comes to finding accommodation that's convenient to our next day's plans and the rate we'd paid at the Travelodge was more than we'd be looking at normally (admittedly it was also probably a better room than we'd get for what we pay normally) so it probably comes as no surprise to learn that Thursday morning saw us, once we'd showered and packed, checking out and setting off for that night's accommodation.
The game plan, as far as I was concerned, involved relocation, a look around the CBD on at least one of the CAT services, and a wander through the far end of Hay Street, where I'd get the chance to stumble across what was, by all accounts, a CD store (78 Records). Around eleven-thirty, we could make our way to the station, catch a train to Fremantle, and then spend the afternoon wandering around the Maritime Museum and various historic buildings.
That plan lasted about fifty metres once we'd made our way through the front door of the Travelodge and were heading east along Hay Street.
I heard a cry of anguish and turned to find the sole and upper of Madam's left shoe had parted company and any attempt to raise the foot produced a duck's bill waggling under it. It was a fair step down to the Perth Comfort Hotel, where we found, wonders will never cease, our room was ready for immediate occupancy.
That made two out of two and I couldn't help suspecting that this was no coincidence. The hospitality trade in Perth was heavily dependent on the fly in fly out mining trade, and I suspect cashed up miners in transit to or from their place of employment didn't want to be messed around waiting for a 2 p.m. check-in time. I may be wrong, but I don't recall many previous 9 a.m. instances of your room is ready, and, as stated, this made two out of two.
Fortunately, when it came to the Shoe Replacement Stakes Madam was already aware of a Harbour Town towards the other end of downtown Perth, so it was a case of onto the Red Cat in search of replacement footwear. That task wasn't all that difficult, but involved a loss of time, and my visit to 78 Records had to be arranged as something other than an alleged accidental discovery.
78 Records is one of those places where Hughesy could spend hours and an awful number of ducats, but the circumstances only permitted a brief glance and I wandered out ten minutes later with the Rhino Where The Action Is 4CD box and a stubby cooler.
From there it was off to Freo.
One suburban train trip in a major city is much like another, though I can't think of too many that match the section of track that gives a spectacular view of the Indian Ocean before dog-legging through East Fremantle and crossing the river to reach its destination.
On the ground in the port city, we set off in search of fish and chips, a journey that took us through Fremantle’s West End with its late Georgian and Victorian-style architecture at the southern end of the port.
The area had presumably declined after former glories, along much the same lines that you’d expect to see in former warehouse and commercial precincts in port cities. OLver recent years there’s been the regulation inner-urban renewal, which in this case has been assisted by the establishment of the University of Notre Dame Australia, which has taken over many of the buildings in the West End.
Our progress towards the fishing harbour was interrupted by frequent time outs for heavy duty snapping of historic buildings and as Madam’s shutter finger received a solid workout, I found myself distracted by the minutiae of the area. For a start, unlike most University campuses, the academic agencies are scattered through the neighbourhood, so there’s a mix of name plates as you walk around the streets. I noticed the Portuguese Consulate cheek by jowl with private homes and various academic departments and student-related affiliates. Interesting....
Lunch took the form of a serve of fish and chips (mine) and a seafood basket (Madam), both of which were substantial feeds. The seafood basket rendered Madam incapable of finishing her Stella Artois, so once I'd downed a Fat Yak I had to drain the dregs of the Fosters-brewed faux-Belgian ale. It also ruled out dinner as far as she was concerned, a minor factor that had some interesting consequences later that evening.
We always intended to visit the Maritime Museum, and the Shipwreck Galleries annexe, so when we found ourselves outside the Shipwreck Galleries, we had to go in. We'd been advised that the Batavia display was worth a visit, and the gold coin donation was money well spent.
For anyone unfamiliar with the story, the Batavia, flagship of the Dutch East India Company, struck a reef in the Abrolhos Islands off the Western Australian coast after midnight on 4 June 1629 during its maiden voyage to Java and the mutiny and massacre among the survivors makes a chillingly bloodthirsty tale.
During the voyage, ship's captain Ariaen Jacobsz and junior merchant Jeronimus Cornelisz, a heretical bankrupt pharmacist fleeing the Netherlands, developed a plan to take the ship, using the gold and silver on board to start a new life somewhere.
After leaving Cape Town, Jacobsz steered away from the rest of the fleet, and while the plot failed to come to fruition, the shipwreck provided the plotters with a second chance.
Although forty lives were lost in the wreck, most of the passengers found their way onto barren islands with no fresh water and limited food supplies.
Expedition commander Pelsaert, after an unsuccessful search for water, left the other survivors and headed to Batavia (Jakarta), a journey which took 33 days to complete in open boats. In Batavia, Governor General, Jan Coen, gave Pelsaert command of the rescue mission, which arrived at the islands two months after leaving Batavia, to find the survivors greatly diminished by mutiny, murder and general mayhem, a strange and terrible saga that has provided material for a number of historical accounts.
Cornelisz, left in charge of the survivors, planned to hijack the rescue vessel to seek another safe haven but needed to eliminate possible opponents. He started by sending a group of soldiers to nearby islands to search for water.
With one group of rivals gone, Cornelisz and his allies set about killing anyone who threatened their ambitions, planning to reduce the population to around 45 to ensure that their supplies would last as long as possible. In the process at least 110 men, women, and children were murdered.
Pelsaert's return produced a brief struggle before the mutineers were captured, tried and executed. Of the 341 people aboard Batavia, only 68 made it to Java.
Containing material that has salvaged from the wreck, the Shipwreck Gallery is the sort of place you could comfortably lose a couple of hours exploring, but Madam wanted to catch The Roundhouse, the original jail for the Swan River Colony’s port, and Hughesy had ambitions of checking out the Maritime Museum, though that’s not quite the way things worked out.
The visit to The Roundhouse provided the odd interesting photo opportunity, and time was getting on. Doing the Museum thing takes a bit out of you, and by the time we'd reached the actual Maritime Museum, there wasn't much time left to check out the displays.
Madam wasn't over-keen, I was tired, and the $10 admission fee didn't seem to be a justifiable expenditure when there wasn’t anything among the exhibits the guy in the ticket booth rattled off that jumped out and demanded my immediate attention.
Having decided that was a non-goer, we were on our way to the nearest bus stop when the Fremantle CAT whizzed past, and were too tired to make the sprint to catch it when it pulled up about seventy metres away. There'd be another one in ten or fifteen minutes anyway. When that arrived, we did a complete circuit, disembarking downtown where Madam had spotted a couple of candidates for camera action, then we were off back to the station for the train to Perth, landing in the downtown area in the middle of the five o'clock rush.
There were two tasks to be taken care of before I turned my thoughts to dinner, and the first (locating a place where we could leave the luggage on the final day) was fairly straight forward and took no more than two minutes.
From there we needed bottled water and emergency supplies for the car leg of the trip, and this is where tiredness and muddled thinking nearly brought us unstuck. For a start I seemed to recall sighting one of those new-breed supermarkets catering to the downtown unit-dweller that you find turning up in the CBD of most major centres somewhere close to both the Travelodge and the Comfort and thought these matters could be taken care of in the morning.
Madam, on the other hand, wanted to sort things out tonight, but for some reason decided I looked tired and needed to be taken back to base, after which she'd venture downtown to do the shopping.
Some more jumbled thinking saw us walking all the way back to the Comfort, checking at Reception, discovering that the nearest supermarket was in the Hay Street Mall, and, after a brief rest we were back on the inbound Red Cat.
They were doing major road works just outside Perth Station, so once we'd bought a six-pack of bottled water, some biscuits and the odd bit of fruit we set off to find the Red Cat stop, only to find ourselves cut off from where it should have been by the construction site. A mad scramble back to the nearest place we knew boasted a Red Cat stop saw us safely on board what may well have been the final service of the night, and, shortly after seven with the emergency supplies safely in the room Madam could put her feet up and I turned my thoughts to dinner.
Two substantial lunches in two days meant that I wasn't over-keen on a big evening meal, and while the restaurant at the Comfort included a prawn and pea risotto that looked just the ticket, a glance at the other side of the menu, where the basic wine list boasting the usual corporate suspects was on display had me turning my thoughts elsewhere.
No, I thought, Caffe Italia's only a block away, they've got a much better wine list, and I can probably sneak in two glasses with an entree or maybe a small pizza.
So off I went.
While we'd been there on Monday just after five and found the place empty, this was a Thursday night around seven-fifteen. The place was packed, and there was a queue of intending diners that looked like three or four tables' worth. There were no obvious signs of a table close to finishing and, faced with a wait that could well be lengthy and every chance that a single eater who's in for an entree and a glass or two might find himself being pressured door-wards waiting for a table for one was not my preferred option.
So, with a heavy heart, it was back to the Comfort for the risotto, which admittedly went down well, and a glass of Makers Table Cabernet, which mightn't have been the perfect match for the meal, but I needed red wine and it was the best of the by-the-glass options.
All things considered I wasn't the happiest of campers as I headed upstairs to rest up for the Wildflower leg of the odyssey.