Back to the future

So what do you do when you arrive in Perth after so long? Be treated to some wonderful, friendly familiar faces and share a homely dinner with them, sleep in a proper bed, revel in a good coffee by the beach the next morning, feast on piles of calamari for lunch right beside the Indian Ocean, and then...fly back to Canberra. And back to a winter where late autumn clings on to the trees hoping, like the people, that the chill will not set in quite yet.

After a significant period of self-elected retirement on a budget, I made the most of a work opportunity to earn some pennies, make a contribution to society, remember how to do research things and stuff, and revisit Canberra and surrounding regional NSW hot spots. Being back in Canberra was terrific, like some kind of homecoming holiday with a side distraction of employment. Even the first day there was charming, when it remained foggy and cold until two in the afternoon, the highlight a deliberate trudge through the fallen leaves of Forrest for a warming Manuka coffee in a coffee shop where they still remembered my name.

Other time in Canberra involved reacquaintances with people, places and food, often combining the three. Brodburger was as delicious as ever and the company a bright spot on a rainy day. Mee’s Sushi provided reliably fine sushi rolls while Jewel of India offered a satisfying late lunch. A trip to Lonsdale Street Roasters, for a coffee and an hour to kill was quite probably my favourite, the coffee and moment hitting the mark in the way that only it can. This warmth and fuzziness extended to a stroll in beautiful Glebe Park, a sea of yellow leaves and dark brown trunks, before yet more very fine food and company in Koko Black. It was a busy and nutritious few days.

Another item on the menu that didn’t incorporate food was to once more take in the sights of the national institutions on a good circular Sunday morning walk. First I headed through leafy streets and parklands and on to Old Parliament House, where an annual display of political cartoons provided bonus merriment and a reminder of how cartoonists can get it so spot on in one drawing; I struggle with thousands of words. From here to the National Portrait Gallery and onwards to the Sculpture Gardens, always so artistically aesthetic, dominated with native wattles and acacias and perfectly rambling gum trees. And then, with a final flourish, I came out onto an ambler’s paradise, a long burst of autumnal red fringing the lake.

It was here that I was wondering if Canberra is perhaps one of the world’s finest parkland cities. Small as it is, there is much grace and refinement, and the four clear seasons dictate the streetscape, more so than I’ve ever seen in England, which also has four clear seasons (though predominantly an autumnal winter with a touch of spring). Beyond the much manicured it is unmistakeably Australian, the bush capital with bush reserves and bushland hills and bushland panoramas. Like on Red Hill, on which my feet travelled once more and enjoyed as much if not more than ever.

While it is hard to believe, the trip east was more than a Canberra love-fest. There was work to be done, and this took me to the two regional NSW towns of Albury and Wagga Wagga, much researched and previously visited, though happily not on my trip across Australia. So at least it felt kind of new as I headed through Gundagai and down to Albury, trying to remember in the four hour drive how to moderate a group discussion. Happily it turns out that most people in Albury are happy to talk.

While there was much work to be done, my masterful productivity and efficiency meant I created opportunity for a short afternoon drive into Victoria and the lovely old gold town of Beechworth. Its very name suggests a leafy, gracious quaintness, and Beechworth doesn’t disappoint. A throwback to two months ago and meanders through country Victoria, reminiscence was complete with a visit to the local bakery. Only once green leaves now turned to gold and amber and bronze and scarlet. Victoria really does do country towns with aplomb.

 

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And so with that minor interruption I was on a flight back to Perth, covering in four hours what had taken many weeks. Give me a Perth winter any day of the week, for the next seven days were mostly clear and pleasant around the 20 degree mark, perfectly suitable for alfresco coffee and fine food. Like fish and chips in Fremantle, or the best breakfast this side of the Great Divide in Leederville, or lovely bread and pastries in Mount Hawthorn, or, well, I could go on. Stocking up on city culture while it’s there.

I don’t think I was quite expecting to enjoy Perth as much as I did, fearing a parochial self-satisfied city masquerading as a country town built on the excessive plunder of minerals which have the good fortune to lay in Western Australia. I’m sure there is a touch of that (evidenced by sprawling McMansion suburbs), but the city has everything you want to enjoy about a city like trains and cafes and museums and traffic lights and shops and buskers and newspapers and botanic gardens. Kings Park of course provides much more than just botanic gardens and remains a protected green jewel overlooking the ever-changing cityscape. Well, at least until some iron ore is found underneath its verdant lawns and wild bushland.

 

Perth was gratefully aided and abetted by staying again in comfort with home-cooked dinners and hot showers and friendly friends and an entertaining toddler whose Mum is the best. Just a short drive from this homely base the Perth beaches stretch almost unbroken along the Indian Ocean and I simply cannot think of a much better Friday morning just chilling and chatting with a coffee at City Beach, followed by lunch at Cottesloe. Afternoon ice cream and Friday night pizza capped off a very good day.

 

Apparently a city is more than a collection of eating places, and I feel like a few hours experiencing some culture on Saturday was just about right to offer a counterbalance. The art gallery was suitably arty although quite eclectic, the museum a hotchpotch of history and geology and nature, from sparkling minerals to stuffed quokkas to shameful histories. And of course the Perth Institute of Contemporary Art was contemporarily quirky, with many a display looking as though it was completed by a three year old, which is generally the way to successfully ‘do’ contemporary art. Enough of this nonsense and on to Northbridge for a beer and Chinese!

All of this eating is of questionable sustainability so things had to give. Time was right to move on and head out of Perth northwards, following the winter sun and warming temperatures eventually into the tropics. Coffee quality would drift off with each kilometre north and eating opportunities would become sparse. Culture would likely disappear altogether. But the landscape would transition and sights would emerge and the topaz waters of the Indian Ocean would lap at white sands and pound at red rocks and it would be fabulous to be on the road again, a long way from the past.