The bells!

Our last day in Perth and it started with a ringing in the ears: at the Bell Tower, down on the waterfront, there are 16 bells, twelve of them from St Martin's in the Fields in London, which are not only regularly rung by a company of enthusiastic ringers, but also by much less accomplished tourists under the stern (not to say bossy) instruction of Laura. She's an older English lady of the type who brooks no nonsense: when this Brazilian woman said that actually, she spoke Portuguese, not Spanish, it was clear Laura thought she was being wilfully perverse.

She was rather scathing too about our efforts as we found that it's much harder than you would think: who knew that you could pull on the rope and make the bell swing round, yet not make a sound? It's all in the check, we discovered, when we got on to the 370kg one. That's when you let the rope with its fuzzy striped handle (the 'sally' - but I got no points for knowing that already) go almost all the way up, and then hold tight. It's awfully good for the stomach muscles: Laura was a slight little thing, probably from bossing the biggest bell, the 1480kg tenor.

Then we drove to the airport via a circuit around the Swan Valley, stopping off at the Margaret River Chocolate Company to undo whatever good work we may have done on the ropes with a chocolate macadamia nut cluster.

A shower but no rain

The shower head in tonight's hotel was set far too high. I wondered if it was John Cleese who used it last. Possibly Michael Parkinson - not Sting, not Cliff Richard, not Bob Dylan, definitely not little Beyonce or Dawn French. In the lounge here at The Richardson, there's a gallery of photos of the manager with, if not a galaxy, then possibly one of the smaller constellations of stars. More than the Pleiades, fewer than Scorpio. Maybe the Plough? Anyway, lots of famous people have stayed here, in Perth, near Kings Park (the Aussies don't do apostrophes for place names, by the way, just in case you were thinking I'd abandoned my life's mission to wipe out apostrophe abuse wherever I see it. When something as big as Ayers Rock has foregone its punctuation, the cause is lost.)

It's a lovely hotel, and we're in a suite serendipidously called Sandalwood (we're experts on sandalwood now, thanks to Mt Romance, which has scented my suitcase with their gifts. Experts on sandalwood and the woylies that go with it - yet another addition to the great Aussie inventory of small and quaintly-named marsupials: bettong, bilby, quoll, numbat, dunnart, tammar, bandicoot... every time I come, I discover a new one.) It's all very tasteful, and they have Bulgari in the bathroom and free internet in the office.

We ate at Opus, the fancy restaurant downstairs, and it was a fabulous meal, beautifully served. I've noticed that Australians do find it difficult to get the attitude right when serving (the Qantas steward who threw a packet of peanuts at me was the bottom of the scale) and Renata tonight was perhaps a smidge on the obsequious side: "Thank you very much, madame" each time she took my plate away. But she was excellent at her job, with recommendations ("Just a little extra indulgence?") and exactly the right amount of friendliness; and (though the bubbly young waitress was fun) I enjoyed being served by a mature person. Very European. 

You can tell from all the parentheses that it's been a quiet day: we've driven 300-odd kms back up to Perth from Stonebarn near Pemberton, and there wasn't much to see apart from some sweet little towns of the sort that feel the need to set up, for example, a small army of scattered scarecrows in order to persuade people to stop; and lots of trees, and a handful of emus. It was hot and sunny again, which means 100% sunshine on this trip - great for us, but the locals are hanging out for rain. Pft! Wait till we've gone: there's only tomorrow left.

Ugly is only skin deep*

Who knew? WA has perfect conditions for growing truffles, and both here at Stonebarn and at the Wine & Truffle Co near Manjimup they're enjoying early success in growing these odd, mysterious lumps on the roots of oak and hazelnut trees. The whole business is very secretive, but Megan scrabbled around in the dirt to show us the fungus forming just under the surface of the soil. Immature yet, but when they're ready, Sunny the Super-Sniffer will put her paw on the spot and the harvesters following behind her on their knees will ease them out of the soil to be sent all over the world. (They use dogs here to sniff them out, having noticed that the pig-handlers in France were usually missing several fingers from wrestling the truffles away from the eager porkers. Fair enough.)

We ate a selection of yummy truffle-scented goodies and then drove to Pemberton where Wendy took us on a discovery tour through the woods to look at towering karri trees and then to see a surprising system of sand dunes in the bush, moving inland in slow-motion. It was Lawrence of Arabia country up there, especially in more 30-degree heat, so it was pleasant to get down onto the beach where the Southern Ocean was roaring in onto the sand, un-civilised by the prissy Leeuwin Current that warms the sea elsewhere along the coast. It misses this bit, so if you were foolish enough to step into this roiling water, you'd know straight away that it was all that separated you from Antarctica. (Also, there are sharks.)

It was exciting coming back, as Wendy thrashed the trusty Landcruiser through the soft sand, lurching dramatically as we squeezed through a narrow pass at the top of a dune. Some city boys ahead of us weren't so expert, and got stuck. They were willing to accept advice, though, and once they had let some air out of their tyres under Wendy's supervision, managed to grind up the slope and away. It gave us something to talk about over our bbq dinner in the woods as the light faded. Driving in Australia: it's a challenge, whether it's traversing the endless Nullarbor as the other guests just had, or simply turning a corner on the driveway to the lodge, and finding a couple of roos sitting there looking aggrieved.

*T-shirt slogan in the Wine & Truffle Co shop.

"Little Walpole!"

What a hoot: kookaburras laughing away in the gum trees on the hills all around the fancy but comfortable stone barn where we're staying tonight - impossible not to laugh along with that absurd sound, especially after a couple of glasses of Stonebarn bubbles. "Like monkeys in the forest," says Katrin from Estonia (not, as it happens, a nation known for its jungles) as she lays the table for our dinner on the terrace overlooking the dam with the fading afterglow of the sunset beyond.

This morning we went out with Gary Muir on a wilderness cruise that would have been a bit meh if it hadn't been for Gazza himself, who put on an extraordinary performance that mixed science, history, botany and literature with drama and stand-up comedy. It was a tour-de-force, totally entertaining as we cruised across the inlet to a jetty where we walked over the hill to a pristine beach, getting excited en route by tiny indentations in the sand that may have been made by a thought-extinct hopping mouse. Not exciting to you? Only because you weren't there - shame! It was a fabulous morning out, and Gazza managed to link Walpole (pop. 512) with Tolstoy, Kipling, GB Shaw, the Dreyfuss Affair, Gallipoli, the sinking of the Mandalay and what felt like most of Australian history along with some of NZ's, each time finishing up with an incredulous "Little Walpole!" Totally recommended.

Then we rejigged our itinerary so that we could fit in some ambience-time today, and drove back along the South-Western Highway to Peaceful Bay which was, guess? Totally peaceful as well as pristine, unspoiled and private. Sea temperature 24 degrees, clear as, calm and perfect, basically. All that plus Smiths original thinly cut crisps and a (totally biodegradable) pouch of Bannister Downs mango smoothie for our lunch. What more could you want? More time to enjoy it all, probably.

Next stop was Pemberton to visit the Gloucester Tree: a 70m karri tree (gum tree) formerly used as a forest fire spotting station. How um, refreshing, these days to find a tree where you can climb up 58m on iron pegs rammed into the trunk with a token mesh on the outside, the only warning on the sign at the bottom: 'Slippery when wet!' To be boringly honest, I didn't make it to the top - only about 1/3 of the way up. There wasn't enough time - really, I wanted to do it, but we had to get on, to Stonebarn.

It was a shame - but then again, we've had a lovely evening on the terrace looking over the dam to the sunset, eating a delicious meal and talking about tourism and technology with Walter and Dion. And now I'm going to go out into the pitch dark to look at the Milky Way before bed - and not soon enough, if you only knew how much back-spacing this post has required. I'm blaming Stonebarn's own sparkling wine, and sauvignon blanc, and shiraz.

A natural high

Hooray, a more leisurely day today! Though not that leisurely – lots of walking and climbing. We met David of Out of Sight Tours, who showed us some of the gems along the coast near Denmark. Of course it helped that it was another perfect WA day today, which made the blues of the sea that much more breath-taking, but “it’s always worth the view,” said David. Even he was impressed by the colours today though, and whipped out his camera several times. He was very knowledgeable about botany, geology, history and all the other –oys, as you would expect from a former university lecturer.

We did a bit of the Bibbulmun Track, which runs almost 1000kms between Albany and Perth, and peeped into some more fabulous little bays where the waves were rolling in to foam white on the sand, having come all the way from Antarctica. There were kangaroos and wild flowers (even in autumn – though spring is the time to come for the real spectacle).

Then we drove on to Walpole where we teetered along 40m off the ground on a walkway through the tops of the red tingle trees that grow only in this particular part of WA – they’re also peculiar in that they hollow out at the base but still keep growing. And now we’re at the Walpole Wilderness Resort, gearing up for Rhonda’s fabulous feast of home-made goodies, with fresh marron and steak and gorgeous individual pavlovas. “I used to cook for shearers,” she said. I can believe it.

Life and death

Anyone who thinks travel writers are on permanent holiday should have come along today. We had breakfast at 7.30am (yet another happy variation on the Bircher muesli theme) and then it was away from the vice-regal splendour of The Rocks to the busy Farmers’ Market down the road, where serious shoppers with baskets and carrier bags (green, naturally – no plastic dares show its face here) were checking their lists and loading up with heirloom tomatoes, artesan bread, free-range chicken, organic this and gluten-free that.

Next we went out to the airport for a scenic flight in a helicopter that turned out to be a little Cessna in which we zipped up and around, over brilliant blue sea, white surf, green hills and smooth granite headlands – and eavesdropped on an air-sea search and rescue for someone swept into the water by a rogue wave. I hope he was found.*

Then we went up to The Forts for a bit of ANZAC history: the Expeditionary Force set off from Albany harbour in November 1914 for Egypt – 20,000 Australians and 10,000 Kiwis, all excited and fearful, looking back at the beautiful harbour which was their last view of Downunder on a bright sunny morning much like today’s. Only about one in ten returned: many of them fell of course at Gallipoli just five months later. The museum was very good, and the memorial on top of the hill has a fabulous view.

Next we drove around Frenchman’s Bay to Whale World: the last whaling station in the southern hemisphere, that closed in 1978 having killed and butchered 15,000 sperm and hump-backed whales. It’s very clean and tidy today, but must have looked (and smelled) like hell back then: the little bay next to it, a lovely curve of creamy sand edged by granite boulders, the sea clear and blue, is called Misery Bay because it was permanently red with blood and guts and the bodies of shot marauding white pointer sharks.

Not finished yet, we headed off for Denmark, two hours late by now and lunchless, for a quick look round (not that you’d need a long one) before finally seeking out Karma Chalets where Beverley welcomed us and was full of suggested improvements to our itinerary for tomorrow. It was a relief to relax finally in our cosy little pole house and enjoy the view to the sea, over woods and farmland where roos were grazing. Busy day.

*Sadly, not.

All sorts of old

It was a long drive today along the Albany Highway through country so dry we even saw a camel. We stopped at Mt Barker (yet another laughable stump) for far more lunch than we intended at the Windrush vineyard - it was just too tempting to refuse, especially the puddings, and it was so peaceful sitting on the veranda looking over the flowers to the vines and hills beyond, with half a dozen guinea fowl busy in the grass.

We had too little time to explore the Porongorups, the world's oldest mountain range (apparently - certainly very weathered and worn) where bald granite domes rose out of the trees, and we didn't get to see the balancing rock or do any of the walking that's so popular there. We had to press on to a meeting at Mt Romance where we were shown over a sandalwood processing factory and showroom. It was really interesting - and smelt lovely, natch - and we learned all about how sandalwood grows and is made into oil that's the base for so many famous perfumes. I'm getting pretty knowledgeable about distilleries now - lavender in Tasmania, rum in Queensland and on Mauritius, ylang ylang on Reunion... all I need is a bit of bent piping, a drum and a fire. Piece of weasel.

There was an aromatherapy-plus room there where you lie on the ground for an HOUR under a huge cone, breathing deeply of sandalwood while someone gently taps huge gongs that reverberate musically and send vibrations through you, till you stagger out at the end totally zoned out. Cruelly, we had a couple of minutes' demonstration: I could have stayed there for the duration.

And tonight we're at a beautiful old stone colonial house in Albany, The Rocks, that was once the Governor's summer residence, and a girls' boarding school, and the Mayor's house and more: high ceilings, creaky floors, four-posters, baths with feet and loos with chains, stained glass and chandeliers, baby grand and full-sized billiards table... not just heaps of history and character, but friendly and welcoming too. Such a shame we have to dash off in the morning.