Get Outta Town
On the back end of a slew of diagnostic tests, we were faced with a decision: what to do with the week between the liver biopsy and the oncology appointment where we would discuss results? How could we best spend our time? Seven days of tense and anxious waiting seemed like a bad idea, after all. Instead, we made plans to pack our bags and drive down south, to visit the picturesque towns that hug the Western Australian coastline. My mum allowed us the use of her car, and we looked forward to our little pocket of freedom.
Our first stop was to Margaret River: a small town renowned for its beautiful wineries, nestled in the sweet spot between coastal living and sprawling forest. The Airbnb we had booked was nothing special — little more than a simple motel room — but it was all we needed. Plain as it was, our little room sat in the very heart of Margaret River, just off to the side of the set of boutique shops and cafes that lined the main street, and only a short stroll to the nearest forest trails. After the long drive and a final push to unpack, we locked the door behind us and enjoyed an evening walk amongst the trees. It is strange, the way that travel — which often involves long periods of sitting and inactivity — stirs up the appetite, but we were ravenous when we finally sat down at the local watering hole. It was a good thing, too, because the steak sandwich I ordered was among the best I’ve ever had; long slices of toast with juicy steak, drizzled with buttery mushrooms that melted in the mouth. I was in steak sandwich heaven.
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The subsequent days all began with a morning walk and a takeaway coffee from the nearest cafe. In Margaret River, we walked the various trails that split away from the main road, enjoying the shade and the dappled light that trickled through the trees. For our first full day, we followed up the morning stroll with a 26km trek through a section of the ‘Cape to Cape’ trail, descending long switchbacks through dense bushland that slowly thinned and opened out onto an endless stretch of beach, not soul in sight.
About halfway there
The trail meandered across deep valleys, following the empty riverbed as it wound its way towards the ocean, and we were never quite sure we’d reach the sea until the dirt track spilled out onto white sand. Wind whipped at our faces, cooling the sweat from the heat of the sun as we made our way to the water’s edge, digging out loveheart-shaped holes just shy of the surf and cooling off before beginning the long march back. We spied a tiger snake baking on the dunes, which slithered away with surprising speed as we approached the trail once more. We were far more cautious of where we were putting our feet after that.
After a full day of walking, we were knackered. Too tired even to go out for dinner at the day’s end, we picked up some tasty Thai food and snuggled up to watch a movie back in the motel room.
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Wednesday was Valentine’s Day, and began with a beautiful card from Alessandra with a heartfelt message inside. We were both looking forward to the day ahead — we’d booked a six-course degustation at one of the local wineries for the late afternoon, and planned to spend the morning wandering the cow-themed town of Cowaramup.
As it turned out, there was little more to the town than the main road and the large, plastic cow statues that flanked the footpaths. We halfheartedly entered a few shops and walked through the local park, but it was already shaping up to be a disappointment. After half an hour, we’d seen the sights and jumped back in the car, determined to find a way to make the most of our morning together. We drove to a local beach and went looking for crabs in the rock pools that dotted the shore, but we didn’t find a single one. From there, we drove to a nearby coastal lookout, and I’ll bet you can’t guess what we did there. That’s right — we looked out. Out of options at last, we made our way home to change and get ready for our Valentine’s feast, before heading out once more with the winery in our sights.
Looking out
When we arrived, we were seated at a table with a view of the grape vines and outer courtyard. We ordered the degustation menu and added the wine pairing option, with the view that, if you are going to go fancy, you might as well go all out. We were glad we did. Each dish was exquisitely prepared, and the melody of flavours mingled with the sweetness or dryness or sharpness of its paired wine, making for three full hours of culinary perfection. There were oysters baked with chorizo and manchego; barbeque octopus; pumpkin arancini balls and rock lobster choux puffs — to name just a few of the endless stream of dishes. By the end, we were stuffed to the limit — and I was a little unsteady on my feet, having had most of the wine. With as much dignity as we could muster, we tottered back merrily to the car, where a largely sober Alessandra got us home safe and sound. It is difficult to recall much of the rest of the evening, after the food coma hit, but I do know that it involved an uncomfortable trail walk, designed to help us digest some of our efforts.
Tasty morsels
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The following morning, we were all packed up and driving to Hamelin Bay for a day trip. Hamelin Bay is a beautiful white stretch of coast, its azure water playing host to a group of stingrays that patrol the shallows in the summer, swimming up to the tourists and visitors that congregate near the remains of the old jetty. Three or four of the smaller rays — about two feet wide — rippled their way up and down for some time before heading back out to deeper waters, and two five-foot behemoths slid serenely by in their wake. We stood in the cold water, letting them approach us and feeling the slippery slickness of their skin as they passed by.
The welcome committee
We spent the whole morning and much of the afternoon at Hamelin Bay, exploring the beach and ducking through the weathered rocks that formed abstract passages leading to hidden beaches. The sun blazed down mercilessly as we lay on our towels, reading our books until we couldn’t take the heat any longer and rushed into the icy water to cool off. Eventually, it was time to begin the hour-long drive to Dunsborough, so we showered off and hopped in the car, stopping only once, along a section of road that wove through a towering forest. We stretched our legs on a narrow trail that twisted away from the road, spotting an emu foraging in the soil amongst the foliage.
Alessandra doing the sand dance of her people
The day had been packed full, and it was a welcome relief when we finally walked through the door of our Dunsborough Airbnb. We were the first customers to stay there, and the place was tastefully designed in shades of white and green, with brass accents and lush plants. It was everything we could have hoped for.
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We continued our morning walks in Dunsborough, favoring a coastal walkway just a few minutes from our Airbnb. On our first full day, we trekked from a lighthouse, following a section of the Cape to Cape trail through the scrub to Sugarloaf Rock — a huge, slanted rock formation, jutting out of the sea. There, we made our way down to the water, watching the little fish that darted in and out of their protective pools as we dangled our feet between the rocks.
The water was glowing that day
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There was no plan for Saturday, but I found a zipline adventure park in the forest that sounded like fun, so we decided to start with that. The harnesses looped up over our hips and squashed my shorts and their contents into unflattering shapes as we were prepared for the experience by a park employee. After the compulsory trial run on the beginner’s course, we made straight for the ziplines. Each course was built up in the treetops, with wooden ladders and towering rock-climbing walls to help participants reach them. We began by clipping our carabiners onto cables that followed alongside each course, and were then required to zipline; navigate obstacles; leap from a swing-rope onto vertical netting, balance across swinging planks; and, in one memorable experience, ride across a rickety bridge suspended at least thirty feet in the air on a child’s pushbike. By the end, our fingers were hurting and our clothes were drenched with sweat, so we discarded our harnesses and helmets and drove to the beach for a swim in the cool, clear water.
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We had thought that Sunday would be a long day of travel, for it was time to make our way home, but we had no idea just how long a day it would end up being. It all began innocently enough: we packed our things and tidied up, stopping at a fuel station to fill up before the drive. The oil light was flashing on the dash, so I bought a five-litre bottle and popped open the bonnet, listening to the satisfying glug of the oil as it poured into the engine. Then we were off…or so we thought. Quickly, it became apparent that mum’s car wasn’t doing so well. It chugged and sputtered as Alessandra accelerated, and the engine light flickered into life as it lurched forward uncertainly. We quickly pulled up to the side of the road, where I checked under the hood. Nothing; no obvious issue at all. It was a Google search that gave us the bad news — turns out, there is such a thing as giving your car too much oil…and five full litres was a touch overboard. The recommendation for the poor fools who had made the error? Drain the excess oil and hope it hadn’t done any damage.
We began by calling the RAC, but they needed my mum’s authorisation to proceed and she wasn’t picking up her phone, so there was no choice but to set about trying to drain the oil ourselves. There was a house just down the road with a sign advertising sheep manure for sale, and I rang the bell, seeking some kind of pan to put under the car for the oil to flow into. Farmer types — I figured they’d have something. Well, a grouchy old man shuffled out and told us to push the car into the driveway as he searched, and his wife soon joined him — a slight woman who bustled about, seeking any way to make us comfortable while we waited. Before long, a small community of people from the surrounding houses encircled the car. Each new person asked what was going on, at which point we told our story. Each new person offered their view that putting five litres of oil in the tank was a very silly thing to do indeed — some said it, others raised an eyebrow or laughed at the sheer ignorance required for such a thing to occur. Then, a few began to help, supporting us in rolling the car up onto bricks so that the undercarriage could be accessed and the oil drained away. The man who actually got under the car told all who approached about my ridiculous decision, which rather blunted the appreciation I had felt for the assistance. After I finally managed to get through to mum, I had repeated several times that the RAC were on their way, but the neighborhood insisted on continuing to try and resolve the issue themselves.
Just after the oil had been successfully drained, as if on cue, the RAC Roadside Assistance mechanic arrived. He hobbled out of his car, took a look, revved the engine, and advised against driving back to Perth. It would need to be taken to a workshop and looked over, he said — though no-one was open on a Sunday. With nothing left for it, we made some calls and arranged a tow truck through RAC, which would at least get us back to Perth. The crowd dispersed, and we were left to sit in the sweltering heat, awaiting our salvation. The elderly woman came out to check on us a few times, offering water and seeking to help where she could, but there wasn’t much that she could do. When the tow truck came at last, we hopped in the back of the cab as our poor car was loaded, and endured the three and a half sweaty hours back home, happy simply to be back on the road once more.
By the time we arrived, it was late afternoon. Our water supply had run out in the first third of the drive, and we were light-headed with the heat and the long journey. The tow truck driver was friendly and cheerful, helping us to push the unloaded car into position before starting off for Dunsborough once more. When it was all over, we gratefully accepted a few bottles of cold water from mum, walked into the air conditioned coolness of our room, and collapsed onto the bed.
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This was a busy week of travel and adventure for us, after it had seemed like there would be nought ahead but tests and local distractions. We had a blast, filling every day with energy and purpose. There is a lot to learn from our week-long staycation:
Do not waste time waiting around — make stuff happen.
A morning walk is a great way to set up the day; there is something to be said for starting slow and getting outside early.
Long walks, good food and sunshine can do a world of good when things get hard.
Fill up your oil a little at a time. Too much of a good thing can be harmful, don’t you know.
