Perth to Broome – Australia

Here we go, Australia, where it all began one day in October 2007. There is no doubt I landed as a boy fresh out of university and left slightly more of a man while having some of the best times of my life. For this reason, whether I like it or not, Australia has a special place in my heart and as Perth was the first city I landed in with Western Australia (WA) becoming ‘home’ for three months, it remains my favourite city in Australia, indeed one of my favourites on the planet. I wanted to share this love with an ever-sceptical Rut. Sceptical because according to her research, Instagram suggests that Sydney is the very best place to visit, or Melbourne at a push. What codswallop. That said, despite my love for Perth, the city didn’t want to repay the favour and we landed in cold torrential rain with the excuse that it was the middle of winter interfering in my pursuit for approval. But before getting anywhere near the city we of course had to navigate Australian customs. My longstanding issue with Australia is that every Australian thinks their country is epic, that they are better than everyone else alive, and it’s the ultimate privilege to be allowed a peek inside; an issue because the country is actually pretty damn awesome thus warranting some of the self-adulation. Still, before we even got to customs for the rubber glove treatment immigration wanted to assert their authority by sending us to the naughty desk in the corner to make checks on Rut’s Argentine passport which predictably sent her into a hissy fit of worry. The immigration office spent 60 seconds looking at the passport and sent us on our way. What had to be checked which couldn’t be checked at the first desk is beyond me and I can only assume it was a show of who supposedly had the biggest dick. Next up customs. We obviously had hiking boots after our climb in Borneo but I had anally pursued Rut to make sure her boots were beyond clean in order for an easier passage through customs where we would have to declare them. This we duly did, and once again were made to go and sit in the corner and wait for our bags to be searched. After 30 minutes of waiting the officer called us up, glanced at the declaration card, and started ripping into our bags, albeit it in an extremely friendly manner. After a while, as he was looking for nothing in particular and I was expecting him to examine our boots I asked him what he was looking for. He replied that we had made some declarations and that he was a customs and excise officer and so looking for lots of cash and drugs. When I asked about our boots, he simply said that was the responsibility of a biosecurity officer, not him. After a good 20 minutes of rummaging through our luggage and making a hash of repacking it for us he declared us free to go. Our boots could have been steaming with Foot and Mouth Disease infected cow crap and no official would have known.

So let’s deal with the hypocrisy bit. Perth is a beautiful little city of two million people that boasts a shiny CBD, great beaches, beautiful suburbs, plenty of places to eat and drink, usually incredible weather, and never overwhelmingly busy and loud. Perth knows it’s ok to switch off overnight which I think is largely a good thing. The city is obviously flush with cash, a prime example being the newly built Ritz-Carlton sat on top of what I’m sure was a nice bit of riverside parkland when I first visited 15 years ago. The cash flows in largely from mining followed by natural gas and wheat. Now thankfully, unlike the east coast, the mining in WA centres around iron ore and not coal so we can breathe easy a little that I’m not enjoying my surroundings brought to me by coal and oil. Yes yes mining, a problem, but one not as big as fossil fuels right now. I therefore free of guilt strolled on up to the stunning Kings Park which graced us with a break in the weather and the usual great views of the city. This is one of my favourite spots in the world, possibly my favourite because of the sentimental value also attached to it. Still, Rut was only mildly impressed although she did acknowledge my love for the place and organised a nice little picnic there a few days later. We had limited time in Perth and so it was imperative we made use of it by booking onto a day wine tour out in the Swan Valley. I always find wine tours quite frustrating because they never quite turn into a great day drinking session, nor do I ever learn anything about the wines. A little like my Spanish, I keep trying but nothing sinks in. On this occasion we rocked up at a winery that I had visited on a previous visit to WA almost 10 years previous. It dawned on me that when one begins visiting wineries for a second time thousands of miles from home is probably a red flag that one should settle down. Our day around the Swan Valley was excellent, full of wines, beers, chocolates, and all that fancy stuff costing more than it should yet I knew would make awesome wedding and birthday gifts. However, transporting wine on planes isn’t very practical, I forecasted the chocolate would melt when we headed north, and besides, there is never enough room in the bag. 

We shall return to Perth but it was time to catch a flight up to Broome for the next leg of our journey which unfortunately meant a reunion with our old friend Qantas. Being a domestic flight early in the morning we assumed the process would be effortless although as always we gave ourselves time and lucky we did for we were met with chaos. This may have been as much the fault of Perth airport as Qantas but one of the check-in luggage belts wasn’t working, none of the Qantas self-baggage drops were working, and the airline only put on two staff to check in everyone’s luggage. Queue a big queue of increasingly impatient miners, and one Argentine who was happy to declare all too loudly to me that everyone around us had sold their soul to the devil by working in the mines. After a one hour wait we headed to security where the fancy pants new scanners that don’t require liquids to be removed had decided to push aside almost every tray to be manually inspected. Eventually we made it through with enough time to purchase a latte before boarding our 7.30am flight. Two hours later we touched down in Broome after flying over some of the most spectacular coastline anyone is likely to see. Broome, in the northwest of Australia is one of only three towns with a population greater than 3,000 people in the Kimberly region, an area over three times the size of England. Most of the region is cut off during the summer monsoons leaving a six-month window during the winter months to go out and explore as we were about to do. But don’t be fooled by the term ‘winter’. After the plane parked up alongside the diminutive airport terminal we disembarked to be met by glorious warm sunshine and clear blue skies, the very opposite of what Perth had treated us to on arrival.

It had taken me quite a while to work out how we were going to get from the airport to our accommodation in town. There were no buses or trains and so a taxi was looking like the only option. That was until I discovered the airport was a 10-minute walk from the centre of town and by default our hostel; never has there been an easier airport transfer. On arrival to the hostel, I was filled with a foreboding feeling of unease that was justified later in the day, but as it was mid-morning we weren’t allowed to check in and so dumped our bags and went into town to explore and head to the beach. Cable beach was surprisingly far away. On the map it’s simply at the opposite end of the airport’s runway to where the town sits but as it turns out, runways can be quite long and we spent an hour walking to the beach because of my aversion to using public buses in places where I don’t understand how they work. Never mind, it was worth the trek as we finally navigated through some sand dunes to be met with an incredible expanse of sandy beach and no one else around. We put up shop and enjoyed the sun for an hour as I fretted about going into the sea because I was unsure of rips, sharks, jelly fish, etc., and ultimately didn’t want to get told off by any passing Australian. Fun fact alert. The Kimberly coastline has the second largest tide in the world, 12 metres apparently. As the afternoon loitered on we headed up the beach to where the whole town were apparently enjoying themselves in the waves under the supervision of lifeguards and so we duly joined them. This was followed by some refreshing beers in a sports bar nearby where we planned to watch Australia play New Zealand in the Rugby Championship only to discover that Australians don’t really care for rugby, especially when a major weekend of Aussie rules is on the go. Not having the patience at that moment in time to learn such a sacred sport we caught a taxi back to the hostel and checked into our private double room. I hate hostels, I always have, and I always will. It was all there, the cliqueness, the hostel hero who demands everyone’s attention, the weirdness as everyone bumps into each other in the kitchen, and the angry old person (not me!) in amongst it all. After downing a couple of cans of beer sat in the mist of this and assuring Rut that no one in this hostel was going to be on our tour the following day, we headed to bed for a good night sleep forgetting that this was unlikely to happen in such a place.