Tag Archives: Tourism

A Brief Excursion to Exmouth

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Wednesday 7 August 2024 – The next segment of our trip was a short, sharp trip some 500km north in order to spend just one day in Exmouth, which is almost, but not quite, exactly the westernmost point of Western Australia.  Look, we were supposed to stop in at Exmouth for two days en route to our next destination (which you will be able to read about, but all in good time); but airline schedules were against us, so we had to do a quick scramble up to Exmouth for two nights/one day and then back to Perth for one night before moving on again. Jane doesn’t think this is hectic, but then she’s not the one writing this guff.

To get to Exmouth, we were due to catch a flight to Learmonth and thence a 30-minute shuttle to our accommodation, the exotically-named Mantarays resort at the very Australian-sounding Sunrise Beach on Ningaloo Reef. To catch the flight, we had to get to Terminal 4 at Perth Airport, which is rather like Terminal 4 or 5 at London Heathrow – bloody miles from anywhere. For those considering public transport, Perth has an Airport Central station, which leaves the traveller with a short stroll to Terminals 1 or 2. To get thence to Terminals 3 or 4 takes a 15-minute shuttle bus ride. An alternative would be to get off a stop early at Redcliffe. And then have a 15-minute walk to Terminal 3 or 4.

So we elected to catch a cab.

The hotel staff were sure that there would be a taxi available on the rank just outside the doors, and, as I looked out of the window at checkout time, there seemed to be a few taxis there. As we walked out of the hotel, there were two; someone took the front taxi, which left just the one on the rank for us. It was, however, devoid of a driver, and continued to be so for several minutes. Eventually, just at the point where I had gone back to ask the hotel staff to be more specific in whistling up a conveyance with an actual driver, a chap appeared clutching a large coffee cup and professing to be prepared to take us to the airport in the otherwise deserted car.

Once there, since we had checked in online, the process was admirably well-organised and swift – print baggage label, attach to bag, wave bag goodbye at the drop-off point, go through security, get coffee. The security system didn’t require us to get electronics out of the bags, which is a blessing; and the coffee was pretty good.

With half an hour to go before our flight, and the screens showing “Boarding soon”, we headed to the gate and the first slight hiccup in the otherwise smooth progress of the day, as no boarding action happened until the actual scheduled departure time.  However, at that point, some smartly-dressed people and a couple of chaps wearing big hats turned up, so we were reassured that at least we had a driver and a conductor.  We boarded reasonably soon after they turned up – not a formal process by group number or any such modern thing; the staff just said “come on, then”, and, since we were sitting close by, we were among the first to get on the aircraft, which was one of them Fokkers.

The rest of the journey proceeded uneventfully, with a views of Perth as we ascended showing how rectilinear its suburbs are.

Clouds obscured the view for the rest of the journey until we were very close to our destination, at which point it became apparent how much the terrain had changed.

At Learmonth, which is a combined military (RAAF) and civil aviation facility, we had the usual, slightly fretful, wait until our bags appeared, during which time Jane established that we did actually have a booking on the Exmouth shuttle bus; and once everyone had loaded their bags on the bus luggage trailer we were off.  Our accommodation

was the second stop, and, reassuringly had a bar by the reception desk.

Even more reassuring was the supply of tea in our room.

It’s not Twinings Finest, but it’ll do.

There was some confusion about the opening hours of the restaurant, which means we missed lunch, but the place redeemed itself by offering a complimentary guest laundry, of whose services I availed myself quite swiftly. These things are important, you know.

Mantarays is a small but decent resort, with, as well as the laundry, all the mod cons one might expect – swimming pool, gym, restaurant and bar.  There are some engaging sculptures about the place.

Having settled in, it was just a case of getting to the bar for pre-dinner drinks and then, well, dinner, before retiring for the night, with an early start planned for the activities on the one day we had here before returning to Perth.

Thursday 8 August 2024 – Early meant an 0530 alarm call so we could take a swift bite of breakfast as the restaurant opened at 0630 and still be ready to be collected at 0700. On the way to breakfast, we could confirm that the “Sunrise Beach” moniker is not a misnomer.

Prompt at 0700, a bus turned up, but it wasn’t for us; it was for the other three who were in the hotel reception at the time. But a few seconds after they’d left, another bus came along and this was ours. The objective of the day was to go snorkelling (part 1) and, if possible, to swim with whale sharks (part 2), something that Jane has been very eager to do for quite some time, now.  Me? Well, I’m in favour of the principle, but since the practice involves messing around with wetsuits, snorkel tubes, masks and flippers, I have strong reservations about my ability not to make an utter klutz of myself. For that reason, I had been conflicted about this activity pretty much from the start; and I could easily have stayed in bed and had a lazy day of it.  I went along, though, because I knew I’d curse myself if I didn’t; and I packed as if I might have a go at the snorkelling part of the day, even though the whale sharking bit was fully-booked.

Our bus, which was staffed and driven by friendly, enthusiastic and very fit-looking girls, stopped off and picked up several more people, each of whom seemed younger, fitter and more ready to go snorkelling than I felt. Our end point was on the west coast of the headland, exactly opposite where we started, on the east coast of it, but to get there, we had to drive right round the top of the cape. One of the girls used the time to explain that we were circumnavigating a US military facility, to brief us on the day and also to get us to sign waiver forms.

I was surprised to hear her optimism about seeing whale sharks. My understanding had been that we were way out of season for these magnificent beasts, and that we might have to make do with seeing manta rays and such.  

We stopped at a jetty at the south end of the Jurabi Coastal Park and were transferred to our dive boat, Blue Strike,

in two shifts

whereupon all sorts of wetsuit and snorkelling gear came out and I consequently made up my mind that I would not venture into the water.  Everybody else kitted up,

Geoff, the skipper, gave us a safety briefing,

and Ricardo gave a “how to get off and on the boat” briefing,

including a practice assembly

before everybody got their marching snorkelling orders

The first snorkelling session was close to the shore, in the lagoon behind the reef, and it gave people and staff a chance to suss out what it would be like and, for the staff, who might need help.  And then we went out past the rather magnificent surf that crashed on the reef

into the deeper waters where whale sharks might be found.  Locating them is not quite a random affair; a spotter plane buzzes about to look for them and direct the boats (for there are several in this game) towards the sharks, which spend some time near the surface and so, because they are so big, can be seen from passing aircraft.

Before anyone is allowed into the water alongside whale sharks, rules need to be set out, and everyone had a briefing on how to behave during a whale shark encounter,

which means forming a line alongside the shark and letting it swim by, swimming only on the surface, staying at least three metres away at the side and four at the rear, and never swimming under or over a shark.

The sharks never actually surface, so I never saw one, but in all our snorkellers left the boat four times to see whale sharks, and each time there was a shark for them to appreciate. Jane participated in three of the sessions and was able to get a good view of a shark on each occasion, which she found very pleasing. There was a professional photographer, Heather Doran, with each group that left the boat, and here are some of the photos she captured, along with some commentary from Jane, who was actually there.

The photographer was also the in-water spotter, so first in to the water at each sighting, to locate the fish for the groups of swimmers and also to catch some good pictures, for identification purposes as well as recording the event for the guests.

Each group had a dive guide in hi-vis pink, and we followed their instructions as to where and how to swim; on my first two swims we were each time above a shark which was gradually diving deeper into invisibility; 

for the third swim we were alongside one cruising near the surface, and I swam with the guide around behind it – past the huge tail which produced quite a significant current as it swam – to the other side, to keep pace with it for a short while.

It was a fantastic experience but I have to say I found it hard work! I haven’t done much open ocean swimming, and the swell and the choppy water made it very tiring just manoeuvring around the other swimmers and the sharks, while simultaneously watching the shark in the water, watching the dive leader on the surface, and trying not to breathe or swallow too much seawater! Not to mention getting off and on the boat every time*. So after three goes at seeing these magnificent creatures I sat out the last go, feeling thoroughly pleased with my day.

I guess I regret not seeing/photographing one of these magnificent creatures for myself, but equally I’m sure that I would have been struggling to cope, and a massive holdup for the rest of the group – even Jane, who is much more skilled at snorkelling than I (admittedly a low bar to clear, but still), found it difficult on occasions to deal with the conditions; the dive crew were very helpful, setting her up with different bits of gear to make things better for her.

Me? I just tried to get photos of the humpback whales that were occasionally to be seen in the area.

The first one we saw was quite a way away;

yes, there it is.

But others came closer

and one was good enough to do the tail fluke thing really quite close to us.

We saw a Manta Ray, sadly only swimming, not leaping; and there were a couple of occasions when a whale breached, but I was never in the right place at the right time to capture that impressive sight (unlike the marvellous sights we saw off Cape Cod last year). However, Heather, the pro photographer was; here are her shots.

Manta Ray

All the time this was going on, we were not too far from land, and quite close to the edge of the reef, which gave the chance for some quite splendid photos of surf.

Although I didn’t personally see a whale shark, I enjoyed observing the process, and Jane was really delighted with her encounters with the sharks.

So, the one day we had in the Ningaloo area was a success, and now we just had an overnight at the hotel and a flight back to Perth in order to continue our northward journey.

Friday 9 August 2024 – Before we headed to the airport, we had to go into Exmouth proper to pick up the professional’s photos, which gave us a chance to see the town.

It took us a while to find the Exmouth Dive shop where we could pick up the photos, and we actually walked right by it a few times before we spotted it (last photo above).

The flight back to Perth and the overnight there is the start of the next, and major, segment of our Australia trip, which we’re both looking forward to immensely. So keep an eye on these pages to find out what we got up to next, eh?

 

* This is why I don’t get on with snorkelling

Our last day in Perth

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Tuesday 6 August 2024 – The day started with us missing out on things.  We had no formal items on the schedule, so had a bit of a lie-in, to such an extent that when we went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, they’d stopped serving.  “Ah, well” we thought, “at least there’s the lobby café.”  We went back to the room, and I got distracted by writing this ‘ere blog, to such an extent that when we went down to get a coffee and pastry, it had closed for the day. “Ah, well” we thought, “we’re bound to be able to find coffee and pastry out somewhere.”  So we went for a walk. Obviously.

Our first stop was the Bell Tower, which is so named because it has bells in it.

One could be forgiven for wondering what the hell could be interesting about bells, but it was an interesting diversion, covering the making of bells, the ringing of bells and the displaying of bells.  Having paid the entrance fee, one is faced with six flights of stairs or a lift, so we opted for the latter for the way up and the former for the way down.

As one exits the lift, there is a carillon. If you put a coin in, you can get it to play a tune, selected from a bewildering variety of possibilities; or, for those interested in the deep mathematics and patterns of bell ringing, you could get it to “ring the changes”.  Here is a video of a set of changes happening, which is very, very dull, unless you’re heavily into campanology.

Inside the building at the top is the Anzac Bell, the largest swinging bell in Australia, cast from copper, tin and gold, and weighing in at 6½ tons.

Ceremonially rung daily at midday, it is a lasting memorial to Australian and New Zealand servicemen and women involved in wars, conflicts and peacekeeping operations around the world.

One level down, and just visible in the photo above, is a set of 18 bells, a dozen of which are the historically significant bells (made in 1725) from the Saint Martin in the Fields Church in London, which had to be removed from that church because their shaking was destroying the church tower.

To this day, these bells are actually rung regularly by a team of bell ringers, who ring the changes twice a week; one can book a ticket to watch them, and also book a “Bell Ringing Experience” which gives a chance for punters to have a go on the ropes. This makes the Bell Tower, custom built to house these bells, one of the largest musical instruments in the world.

Forgive the reflections, by the way; the bells are behind two layers of glass, presumably so that punters who are watching don’t get deafened.

Outside the Bell Tower is something that demonstrates one aspect of modern life in which Perth lags the zeitgeist.

Love padlocks. In France and Italy they are a curse, destroying bridges with their weight and being a general menace. In the Bell Tower, they’ll sell you a heart-shaped padlock for AUs$5.

Going to the Bell Tower put us near Elizabeth Quay, and so we went there in search of that coffee and pastry that we’d missed out on earlier.  We found the coffee at The Island Brewhouse, but they only did proper meals, and not pastry.  We weren’t yet ready for proper food, so satisfied ourselves with just the coffee before continuing our peregrination.

This led us across the very ritzy Elizabeth Quay Bridge

and past a bizarre statue.

It’s called “First Contact” and is a representation, created by indigenous artist Laurel Nannup, of what the original Noongar people must have thought on seeing the sails of an arriving European ship, looking like a big white bird, and crewed by white people whom they thought were the souls of their ancestors returning from the sea.

Our eventual destination was Kings Park, a cultural heritage site and home to the Western Australia Botanic Garden. We allowed Google Maps to tell us the best way to walk there and followed its directions. These led us along beside the river, where we saw an Australasian Darter.

We also saw, high on a hilltop, an obelisk, which seemed to be in the general direction we were headed. At one point, we had to scamper across a four-lane highway, with traffic lights only controlling two of them, but we made it OK. Then we had to scramble up a bank to a path which led us along and back down to the main road we’d just crossed, at the foot of the Kokoda Track; this would lead us up into the Park. The space at the bottom of the Track looked a bit unkempt and scruffy, and furthermore didn’t seem to have a formal way of access from the major highway running past this start point; but, hey, what the hell, we thought, and started up it.

Up was the operative word, here.

The track passed several plaques, such as these.

I wasn’t quite sure of the significance of these, because I hadn’t yet found out what the Kokoda Track was about.  It carried on up and up

for some 161 steps. Only at the top did a couple of things become apparent. The first was an information board explaining that the Kokoda Track Memorial Walk is a tribute to the bravery of Australian troops who fought in Papua New Guinea in WWII. The fighting on The Kokoda Track was one of the vital elements of the Australian efforts in World War II. The Papua New Guinea campaign, including The Kokoda Track, Milne Bay, Buna, Gona and Sanananda resulted in a total of 8,546 Australian and United States casualties. Australian soldiers fought through atrocious conditions and against vastly superior numbers in this campaign between July 1942 and January 1943.

This was the second.

We had walked up this closed path; this went some way towards explaining its unkempt state! Anyway, having ascended some 70 metres vertical, the view was pretty good.

There were various paths available, and we pottered on in search of our first main objective within the park,

the Giant Baobab (or Boab as they call it here), Gija Jumulu. Estimated at 750 years old, the tree is a special gift to all Western Australians from the northern Indigenous people, the Gija, who are the traditional land owners. They performed a farewell ceremony to the tree on Monday, 14 July 2008 and it then travelled over 3200 km by long haul truck from Warmun down to Perth.  It’s the longest known land journey of a living tree this size: 37 tonnes and 18 metres tall.

But “giant”? Hah! We saw baobabs far larger (and older) than this one when we were in Madagascar.

Jane had visited the Botanic Garden when she was last in Perth, longer ago than it would be delicate to expound, and was interested to see the wild flowers; there was a wild flower pavilion signposted and so we hied ourselves thither. To be honest, it was a bit of a let down,

so we pottered on along various paths taking in the general ambience, which was delightful.

We left the garden by its very stylish main entrance

past the War memorial, which was the obelisk we’d seen earlier,

and headed back towards the city, past sights both large

and small.

Australian Magpie (not related to the UK version, and not, surprisingly, a corvid)

A Magpie-Lark

We had the option of going down the Jacob’s Ladder stairs

but decided against that and walked down a more gentle gradient to St. Georges Terrace in the city, where there was a further selection of fine colonial-style buildings crouched between huge modern steel-and-glass carbuncles.

We ended up back at the Island Brewhouse, since we were by now ready for a proper meal. We sat outside to eat our meal, because it was still reasonably warm, and it actually came on to rain, which surprised us somewhat. Having eaten, we waited for a gap between showers and hastily made our way back to the hotel (via restocking the Twinings at Woollies) to prepare for the next segment of this trip.

We’ve had a lovely time in Perth and its environs, but tomorrow, Qantas being willing, we must leave. We fly North! to Alas… Learmonth and travel thence to Exmouth; for what purpose, you’ll have to keep an eye on these pages to discover.

A Day in Fremantle

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Sunday 4 August 2024 – Stephen, the driver who ferried us from airport to hotel, had waxed lyrical about many things, among which was Fremantle when the market is on, meaning Friday, Saturday or Sunday.  He had suggested taking a ferry down the river for the views over the various suburbs, and then catching the train back, which thus became our plan A.

Plan B, involving travelling both ways by train, was drafted and adopted very soon after discovering that the ferry was fully booked. The train station, a handsome building,

is very close to the hotel, and so we could very quickly be discovered staring at the screen of a ticket machine, trying to work out which of the various fare options we should take, given that “return ticket to Fremantle” didn’t seem to figure among the candidates.  We each opted for a Day Rider ticket, costing about Aus$10.  The machine disgorged a small slip of paper, which seemed to be very different from what everyone else was using – they were beeping in and out through barriers, using cards or phones. However, it was quite possible to simply wander past the barriers, so we just walked through and fervently hoped that was a legit tactic. It didn’t seem to be policed in any obvious way at all. The Fremantle train came, bang on time, and left, bang on time, to start the 17-stop journey through the suburbs to Fremantle – “Freo”, as the natives call it. We noticed, as we went along, that they don’t give you much time at any stop to get through the doors before they are closed; at least one couple very nearly got separated by the alacrity of the process.

We also noticed that Transperth have their own version of the UK’s much beloved “See it, Say it, Sorted” campaign.

Mercifully, it’s just posters in the train rather than the inane broadcast slogan we have to endure in the UK.

After 45 minutes we arrived at Fremantle and started following the crowds from the train towards the centre of town.  Driver Stephen had mentioned that Fremantle was much less high rise than Perth, with many of the older buildings still extant.  And this makes it a very attractive centre to walk around.

We decided to reward our fortitude for taking on the public transport system in a far-distant land by having a coffee.  There was a bewildering choice of establishments, so we chose one at random and were able to sit out on the pavement and watch the world go by, the while admiring the planters that demarcated the road’s central reservation.

It seemed that going by in some kind of ostentatious, classic and typically American car was A Thing;

the red one came by at least twice whilst we were taking coffee.  Maybe he was showing off, or maybe he couldn’t find a parking spot large enough for his Chevvy; but his licence plate, CRUZN 57, tips the odds in favour of the former, I think.

We were in Market Street, which we guessed might lead us to the fabled Fremantle market; and so it proved as we walked a few more steps along the road.

(The extra crowds outside the market hall had been attracted by a street performer, who was in the middle of a very polished and amusing act involving bullwhips and other tricks.)

It might have been crowded outside but that had nothing on the press inside.

All sorts of enterprises were in action, offering all kinds of things.  There were, of course, many stalls selling foodstuffs

but there were all sorts of other emporia as well.

I was quite taken with this chap, who was examining with great intensity the selection of pins at a stall specialising in pins and fridge magnets.

He looked very much like a connoisseur of such things, seeking Just The Right Thing to add to his clearly very well-established collection. Either that or someone that the stallholder needed to keep a sharp eye on.

The other Fremantle attraction that driver Stephen had waxed lyrical about was

The Prison, which is Western Australia’s only World Heritage Listed building. So we headed that way, past a striking installation on the wall leading to it.

Entry is free, and takes one into a courtyard off which there are entrances to a variety of exhibition rooms,

but the best value of a visit comes from a (paid) guided tour.  There are various different tours on offer; the one that interested us was the chance to see inside the place, the “Behind Bars” tour.  We had about 45 minutes to wait, so looked around the various free exhibits, which had a lot of information about the history and significance of the place, as well as displays of various aspects, such as prison clothing.

Normal prison garb
“Punishment” garb

We had a coffee at the “No Escape Café” whilst we waited, and took the chance to experience a slice of typical Australian gastronomic culture.

Our tour was led by a very knowledgeable and friendly lady called Debbie, who gave us a brief overview of the history of the place, before taking us into the inner part of the prison.

The prison was built by convicts, who had been transported from the UK, between 1852 and 1859, using limestone quarried from the site.  Western Australia at the time was in a bad way – a small colony which had few resources, skilled or unskilled, to expand the economy.  Between 1845 and 1847, York Agricultural Society, supported by several merchants, lobbied the colony’s Legislative Council to petition the British Government to send convicts. They saw this as the best option to help supplement the lack of skilled and unskilled labour. The petition was successful and the first convicts arrived in 1850, with building the prison itself being their first task. At first called The Establishment, it was renamed Fremantle Prison in 1867. Transportation ceased the following year when the Hougoumont carried the last convicts to Fremantle. Nearly 10,000 convicts passed through the ‘establishment’ between 1850 and 1868, and the prison remained in use until 1991.

Debbie, of course, gave our group vast amounts of information about the prison as she led us around, and I, of course, have forgotten most of it. She described the induction process, which was a pretty undignified matter for incomers, then led us through the kitchens (much expanded from their original size)

to the exercise yard

which must have been a hellish place – as many as 700 male convicts left to their own devices from 8.30am to 4.15pm, overseen only by a guard (in a separated cage for his own protection), and with nothing to do to occupy their time. What could possibly go wrong?

Amazingly, in the mid-20th century, some turned to art, and there are the remnants of so-called Carrolup Art on the walls.

Time, and the nature of the limestone wall beneath, has faded the paintings, but there is an illustration of what it would have looked like in its time.

There were further examples in some of the cells.

Ah yes, the cells.  Debbie then led us to the actual cell blocks for the men’s part of the prison.

We got a chance to see what the original cells looked like, and how they developed over the years that the prison was in operation. The original cells were torturously tiny, and were gradually expanded over time.

Typical cell, 1852 – 1860
1860 – 1870
1920 – 1960
1960 – 1980

Some of the cells were extravagantly and exquisitely decorated with art.

Some were more simply decorated

1980 – 1991

There were two other areas that Debbie showed us as part of this hugely interesting tour: the gibbet room, which was in use until as late as 1964,

and the women’s prison (now a youth hostel!)

Although women were incarcerated for anything from the slightest to the most serious of offences – drinking, through stealing to prostitution – it could be supposed that their prison life was less arduous than the men’s.  There were some 70 women prisoners, as opposed to the 700 men, and their time was at least occupied, with washing and mending (and even eventually cooking), which must have been preferable to day after day of boredom and lack of privacy for those men not on labour gangs or working in the kitchens.

After this engaging couple of hours, we wandered on a little way from the prison, past the Fremantle Oval

where, of course, the game is Australian Rules Football, not cricket. Outside the Oval is a statue

dedicated to

(Look it up; I can’t be doing with explaining it here.)

We pottered on for a bit, past some artworks of different vintages

and I got my first wildlife photo of this trip, a Western Corella (a sort of cockatoo),

which was among a whole bunch of them cackling and squawking in the trees.

Our wandering had taken us back to Fremantle train station, and so we used the train to get to North Fremantle for a cocktail followed by an early dinner at Bib & Tucker, which was very pleasant and an opportunity to watch the sun go down. Then we caught the train back to Perth, so the Day Rider tickets came in very handy, thank you very much; a good decision, accidentally made.

The morrow has us participating in the only actually scheduled activity during our time in the Perth area, a visit to Rottnest Island, where the main objective must be to get a photo of its characteristic wildlife. How that went, and whether I was successful in catching a good photo of it, will have to wait for the next, thrilling, installment.