Preface Perth Stuart Highway Uluru Port Douglas Sydney Sturt Highway Kangaroo Island Indian Pacific Perth  

Kings Park, Perth—A final hurrah

On our way out to Rottnest island on our first day, we had sailed past, and heard commentary on, King's Park "larger than New York's Central Park". Even from the boat we could see the Botanical Gardens, complete with an aerial walkway, and in an instant it became clear that this should be our objective for our last day. Walking distance from our hotel, what better way to spend the last day before 25 hours of air travel, than walking our asses off?

But first breakfast. As we were talking to our buddy Adam, the concierge, his manager came over to check up on us. Claudia asked for a nice breakfast place, preferably between here and the park. "I know just the place" she says, and marked it on the map. It was a perfect route to the park, complete with a pedestrian bridge across the highway that provided the major barrier between the park and the rest of the city, then a shaded avenue crammed with high rise condos and (very) high end homes led directly up the steep hill to the park. On the way we passed a guy wearing a t-shirt bearing the slogan "Tattooed and Employed". We could visibly attest to the former, so have to presume the latter was also true.

Above: Grilled asparatus, house smoked salmon, poached eggs, almond sauce and pecorino on rye bread.
Right: In the bar, a meastra at work. (See Claudia's cappuuchino below.) 		A beetroot, pumpkin, thyme, and feta muffin. See what I mean? It looked as spectacular as it tasted.

The little "breakfast bar" that formed the terrace in front of Riverview on Mount Street a discrete boutique hotel at the bottom end of the street was not just the best breakfast suggestion we'd ever been given but was quite possible the best suggestion restaurant of any kind ever. A world-class hidden gem. A Michelin-trained and experienced chef creating things one would never have imagined, and which tasted unimaginably good. I simply had a muffin. A beetroot, pumpkin, thyme, and feta muffin. Claudia was suspicious of the almond sauce in the grilled asparatus, house smoked salmon, poached eggs, almond sauce and pecorino on rye bread she was interested in, which is how we found out about the chef, with the waiter explaining "so just trust him. It works, you'll love it, I guarantee it". Right on all counts.

Onwards and upwards. Literally. The park sat on top of a hill that had been used and admired by the captains of the first (Dutch and French) ships to sail into the harbor, and by everyone since. We entered through an avenue of lemon-scented gum trees each planted by a member of the committee dedicated to creating the park in 1924. I couldn't help but notice the plaque recording the fact that this particular tree had been planted by one A Thomson.

In jewelry case: gumtree nuts and flowers.

We stopped at the Visitor Center to pick up some better maps. Next door was an "Art Gallery" and still on the hunt for my platypus or, at this late stage, anything else indigenous and made of wood I needed to peak in. What a surprise. Without question the largest collection of hand-made and local objects we'd seen during the whole trip. Absolutely exquisite glass, jewellery, clothing, artwork and even books. Book in gift shop: Hazardous Animals of NW Australia. We could quite happily have spend five figures. Thank goodness we contented ourselves with Hat #5 (a record I sincerely hope we never need break). Sadly my titfer additions merely meant that I could return home with the same number that I had started out with, but Claudia's all increased the size of her collection.

Western Australia Botanical Garden

It took several minutes to get a people-free shot of the garden entrance. Everyone needed a selfie. Queensland Bottle Tree

All shopped out, we set off through the grand arch marking the actual Botanical Garden section of the park.

Someone couldn't resist leaving their mark in the wet concrete.

The maps were not as helpful as they might have been, with the large scale one being oriented 180 degrees out from the smaller-scale one of the Botanical Garden itself, which was clipped so that it did not show the critical paths at its bottom edge where we were trying to re-orient outselves back onto the larger map. But no worries, it was a beautiful day and we just kept walking.

We wandered all the way through the Botanical Garden, especially savoring the (glass) aerial walkway which had grabbed my attention as we'd passed by on the Rottnest Island ferry all the way back at the start of the trip. I paused to get some final shots of my old friend and firm favorite, the kookoobora, here to bid his fond farewell and as always so obliging in his choice of open perch site, and patient stillness while one snapped as many shots as one wanted.

Anywhere there was grass it was okay to walk on it, and indeed it was such a popular location that anywhere there was grass there were people on it. Which isn't to say that folks were cheek by jowl, you might have half an acre, but if there was half an acre, a couple, or entire family was on it, mostly with picnics. And when Aussies picnic, they picnic in style. Tables, china, wine glasses. One group was having a little girl's birthday party, everyone in their best frocks. The table was a wooden trestle only about four inches tall, so the girls and mums were sat cross-legged, but it too had a table cloth, and flower displays at each end as well as the obligatory bunches of balloons. On our way out at the end of the afternoon, the municipal BBQs were all in full swing (propane-driven hot plates just like we'd used on KI). More bizarrely, another frocked group all turned out to be full grown women each dressed, it seemed to me, as Alice in Wonderland. I would love to have stopped to discover what the hell it was really about, but Claudia had scurried past and was already fifty yards in front.

We walked all the way to the far end of the park, a good mile away, enjoyed the vista across the Swan, not so much the skidoos, providing so much pleasure for half a dozen folks, and so much noise pollution for half a dozen thousand others. We climbed the DNA tower (a double helix stair case to nowhere) curiously not quite tall enough to clear the trees obstructing what would otherwise have provided a spectacular view across the river and the city. Just because it was a double helix, an otherwise irelevant and out of place display at the bottom of the tower celebrated Crick, Watson, and Rosalind Franklin.

Probably Prickly Conostylis Conostylis aculeata. A Western Australian plant from the Swan coastal plain (ie right where were standing).
Banksia (Mungitch locally). The indigenous people used the naariny (burning) mungitch cone as a candle when moving from camp to camp. Swirling the nectar-rich flowers in water made mungitch cordial, while the tips of the new shoots produced a tasty chewing gum.

This boab (left), is an approximately 750 year old Gija Jumulu tree transported 3200km from Telegraph Creek, near Warmun, northern Western Australia, ending its journey here in the Perth Botanical Garden on 20 July 2008, after it was evicted to make way for a new bridge on the Great Northern Highway. The Gija people of East Kimberley gifted the Jumulu to the people of Western Australia.

Nyoongar is a generic term for the indigenous people of the south-west of Western Australia (which I guess is about as south west as you can get and stay in Australia). Like the peoples we'd learned about earlier, for the Nyoongar the landscape was formed by deities who brought order to the land and provided food, shelter and the laws for the people. I strongly suspect that this is a common thread to all tribes and groups throughout history and geography. As soon as they could string sentences together to make a cohesive paragraph people started to tell stories. From there was born not only religion, but also the instinct to read to our children (and the calming response it illicits). I even read a theory the other day that our ability to be mesmorized by the gentle crackle and ever changing shapes and colors of an open fire is why we so readily huddle around our TV sets and stare into them all evening. Maybe.

The Seasons

Six seasons.

The Last Supper

By then it was mid-afternoon. Claudia vowed to be in bed by 7p in a vain attempt to prep for our 4:45a departure, so it was time to wander back in search of The Last Supper: fish and chips of course. Or so I thought. Half an hour later Adam the concierge was on hand to again recommend that we'd need to leave Perth to find what we wanted at the quality we requested. Not having the energy, or the time for that matter, to make it all the way back out to Fremantle, we'd need to take a cab to Leaderville, where there was a small outlet of Fremantle's best: Sweetlips Fish and Chips or here's a menu to Kailis Bros, "a nicer place". In the cab, Claudia read from the menu. Okay we were going to Kailis Bros instead.

Another knock-your-socks-off meal. I just had two starters, either or both of which I could happily have eaten every week for the rest of my life. The Marinated Fremantle sardines on their charred ciabatta base were fresh and tart, and the Grilled octopus ala grec, arriving in a sizzling pan where it was still sautéing in a bed of leaks, olives, and currants(!) was once again simply unforgettable.

The train station was right behind the restaurant, and a train pulled in and departed for Perth while we waited for our cab, but I wasn't going to spoil this perfect closing act by pointing that out. Back to the hotel. CMT in bed by 7p. Another once-in-a-lifetime adventure done and dusted. Over and out.