Friday (27/09/13):
The day began as, I am sure you are aware, all good days should really consider beginning. In fact, there are two different variations which constitute towards perfect preparation for daily doings. This was just one of these: a big, rotund, unhealthy, sloth-like, helping of unnecessarily decadent sleep - a lie in (the other involves the sultry combination of fried salted meat, eggs and beans etc). By the time we had reunited with consciousness and the living world, there were shreds of evidence that suggested our hosts' day had been chugging along for a fair few hours before surfacing from slumber was even subconsciously proposed as part of our brains' immediate agenda. But I digress. Wonderfully rested and brimming with restored gregariousness, the pair of us roared through breakfast with all the cumulative vigor of 124 extremely famished hippos (as my imagination informs me). We were then treated with a tour of the local area and a trip to the next town along the coast, the super-pleasant Fremantle (Freeeeeo); blissfully unaware of the sheer importance that the next day held for the entire state of Western Australia. So much so, the town of Freo had been temporarily transformed from what is usually a hive of old (by Australia's standards) buildings and bustling shopping streets....
...to a purple obsessed can of condensed anticipation. Everything and everyone (including babies, dogs, grannies, the main road, shop fronts, pubs, lamp posts, you get the gist) was clad in purple and bore the feeling of immense excitement and expectation. The festival-like atmosphere was thick, like all-engrossing, addictive custard (in a world in which everyone ADORES custard). All was due to the fact that the next day harbored the Aussie rules football grand final, and the local Fremantle dockers (representing Australia's West) were in it, pitted against the Victoria Hawthorn/Hawks (From Australia's East). All normal life, it seemed, had been put on hold until this event invaded the country's airwaves.
There was one notable absence from our voyage thus far, one which inhabits the upper echelons of importance and priority, real beer. Singapore had plied us with expensive, yet highly necessary, foreign lager, but we yearned for something brewed with love- flavoursome and hoppy - something I pessimistically assumed they didn't have this side of the world. Fremantle is home to more than 3 (proper) pubs that cater to those who enjoy a pint of real beer (each with dozens to choose from). We stopped in Little Creatures (above). This was a beerhead's paradise. The pub itself was slap bang in the middle of the brewery it touted, all finished with a pseudo-industrial metal/woodloving art theme. Magical. Real beer is fizzy and cold here, which dare I say it, given the climate and whatnot, is delightful. One of the finest pints to ever pass my lips...
Despite many futile attempts, the sun managed some moments of beautiful golden light, which graced the beaches on our trek homewards as it wound up for the day- giving way to his lunar accomplice.
Our evening was to be spent in a local pub then a BYO (bring your own booze) Italian restaurant. When we arrived at the pub, BYO drink satchel clinking away conspicuously, we were greeted by a haunting sight, the boozer was closed for renovation. The next bar down the road, 'Raffles', was brimming with a pretentious wave of bleach blond hair and fake tan (a la Essex), which to my relief, we couldn't get into anyway (without passports). We found a comfy bench overlooking the beautiful dimly lit river and watched the local marsupials and Pelicans go about their business as we illegally sipped our grog, before heading on to dinner.
The local wildlife is a constant source of fascination, even with beer in hand. Especially with beer in hand. Screeching Parakeets (little green parrot-like birds), black Swans (insert Eddie Murphy impersonation), murderous butcher birds (who look as if they are wearing tuxedos), diving Cormorants, GIGANTIC Pelicans, big non-venomous huntsman spiders, motor Frogs (sound like motorbikes) and the highly vocal Australian crows(which sound like a disturbing combination of baby crying and sheep bleating) are all common sights around these parts.
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