Back in Denham
Ah but this was my first time in Denham...however the temptation to allude to the Turbo Negro song back in denim was simply irresistible: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-D2VHWYTJQ
We left a drizzly Perth full of chatter and oomph. 800k's? No worries!
Geraldton arrived just in time for lunch and we sat in a cafe on the beachfront, sinking into beery holiday mode.
The kilometres dragged on, past the Overlander Roadhouse, and the Billabong (or was it in the other order?) as the sun tracked slowly downwards. At the turn off onto Shark Bay Road, we entered the World Heritage area and also a world of little more than endless saltscrub and sky and road. Road into road into road. And the sun sunk lower and coloured the air and I put my face out the window, breathless with how beautiful it all was. How end-of-worldly. How happy making.
And Denham? Pure paradise. One main street, and one side of that is just the sea. Our accommodation was in a kitsch hotel/ resorty type thing but with a balcony looking straight onto the water. For the first time I agreed with M that sleeping with the curtains open and the door open was okay. It was magic.
After dinner we sat in the room with a bottle of wine and had really good conversation that was somehow rich with seriousness and I wish it could occur more often.
Saturday began with letting the tyres down on arguably the world's (second) best car. The Landcruiser is the shit. At 20 psi and with it in high range 4wd we trundled down deep soft sandy tracks into the midst of what felt like a vast nothingness. The diesel engine growled and pulled us through, shrubs and tree stumps giving way to birradas...salt pans that are incredibly .... csalo ... um, not what they seem and cars can get badly bogged very easily. So we stuck to the tracks, and let the warm wind into the cabin.
The first stop was Skipjack Point and not three steps from the car I managed to step into something sharp. But it detracted nothing from the embrace of nature that greeted us at the end of the walkway. How are colours like that possible?
Looking over the edge into the pristine water we saw rays, sharks, turtles (god i love turtles!!!), giant trevally and an impressive school of emperor. M was itching to find a way onto the beach so he could fish.
We ended up at Bottle Bay for fishing after a hearty picnic of kolbasz, cheese, bread and tomato and wine. In fact the weekend was a bit of an orgy of bread and cheese. Fat and happy :)
The fishing amounted to little more than whiting (bait) and mackarel (too small) but we spent beautiful lazy hours in the sun. I started reading the Lacuna, the new one from Barbara Kingsolver and so far it's fantastic. Full of bright Mexican imagery and the colours of Rivera and Kahlo.
In bed I'm reading Hunter S and his account of the Hell's Angels.
On Saturday night we dined in a tiny restaurant called the Old Pearler, built entirely of shell bricks, and I finally lost my crayfish virginity. About time too! Delicious, but still nothing on marron. Especially fresh. Sigh...
More national parkery followed on Sunday, following a visit to Monkey Mia where I fed fish to a dolphin called Nicky and was saddened by the commercial cheapening of nature. Yeah there are good aspects but it's much more special to see them truly in the wild. The way we saw the dugong or more sharks, or those smelly bloody birds.
On the beach between skipjack point and Cape Peron I read more, and walked endlessly, looping into shallow water and feeling so lucky it made my skin prickle. Then on the climb home, and speaking of prickle, maveric maniac banana managed to step in something sharp again. Hole in foot grows larger. Nice.
M fell asleep a nanosecond after dinner on Sunday, and I stood on the windy balcony, looking at the shy shine of the moon on the water, wanting to stay. It's forever that movement of the soul. Is the grass greener?
The drive home contained so much salt and vinegar chip eating I thought my tongue would explode. We saw the old telegraph station at Hamelin Pool and the stromatolites, which really aren't much to look at, but the knowledge of what they are is quite staggering. Hefting my wonderful Minolta I squinted into the hazy light and clicked and clicked.
Waiting for me at home were discussions about Gatsby (so much love!) and darling housemates who had filled the house with even more treasures.
People must think I'm crazy, but it was good to be back at work again. No news about the job but there are no more nails to chew and my cuticles really fucking hurt, so I'll just try and not stress. Not much I can do anyway, but work hard and be prepared.
So late in the afternoon I thought of something I just had to buy from Oxford Street books, and while there, I gaspingly recognised Vince Neil's cosmeticized face gazing at me from a book cover. Of course I bloody bought it. Maybe sometimes I am still 15. Or 25. Or I should just confess to eclectic and sometimes shitty musical taste. But right now, Lhasa plays on the speakers, and I am tasting a 2000 Merlot, and gently letting myself sink into the night.
It has been a beautiful day. Again.
We left a drizzly Perth full of chatter and oomph. 800k's? No worries!
Geraldton arrived just in time for lunch and we sat in a cafe on the beachfront, sinking into beery holiday mode.
The kilometres dragged on, past the Overlander Roadhouse, and the Billabong (or was it in the other order?) as the sun tracked slowly downwards. At the turn off onto Shark Bay Road, we entered the World Heritage area and also a world of little more than endless saltscrub and sky and road. Road into road into road. And the sun sunk lower and coloured the air and I put my face out the window, breathless with how beautiful it all was. How end-of-worldly. How happy making.
And Denham? Pure paradise. One main street, and one side of that is just the sea. Our accommodation was in a kitsch hotel/ resorty type thing but with a balcony looking straight onto the water. For the first time I agreed with M that sleeping with the curtains open and the door open was okay. It was magic.
After dinner we sat in the room with a bottle of wine and had really good conversation that was somehow rich with seriousness and I wish it could occur more often.
Saturday began with letting the tyres down on arguably the world's (second) best car. The Landcruiser is the shit. At 20 psi and with it in high range 4wd we trundled down deep soft sandy tracks into the midst of what felt like a vast nothingness. The diesel engine growled and pulled us through, shrubs and tree stumps giving way to birradas...salt pans that are incredibly .... csalo ... um, not what they seem and cars can get badly bogged very easily. So we stuck to the tracks, and let the warm wind into the cabin.
The first stop was Skipjack Point and not three steps from the car I managed to step into something sharp. But it detracted nothing from the embrace of nature that greeted us at the end of the walkway. How are colours like that possible?
Looking over the edge into the pristine water we saw rays, sharks, turtles (god i love turtles!!!), giant trevally and an impressive school of emperor. M was itching to find a way onto the beach so he could fish.
We ended up at Bottle Bay for fishing after a hearty picnic of kolbasz, cheese, bread and tomato and wine. In fact the weekend was a bit of an orgy of bread and cheese. Fat and happy :)
The fishing amounted to little more than whiting (bait) and mackarel (too small) but we spent beautiful lazy hours in the sun. I started reading the Lacuna, the new one from Barbara Kingsolver and so far it's fantastic. Full of bright Mexican imagery and the colours of Rivera and Kahlo.
In bed I'm reading Hunter S and his account of the Hell's Angels.
On Saturday night we dined in a tiny restaurant called the Old Pearler, built entirely of shell bricks, and I finally lost my crayfish virginity. About time too! Delicious, but still nothing on marron. Especially fresh. Sigh...
More national parkery followed on Sunday, following a visit to Monkey Mia where I fed fish to a dolphin called Nicky and was saddened by the commercial cheapening of nature. Yeah there are good aspects but it's much more special to see them truly in the wild. The way we saw the dugong or more sharks, or those smelly bloody birds.
On the beach between skipjack point and Cape Peron I read more, and walked endlessly, looping into shallow water and feeling so lucky it made my skin prickle. Then on the climb home, and speaking of prickle, maveric maniac banana managed to step in something sharp again. Hole in foot grows larger. Nice.
M fell asleep a nanosecond after dinner on Sunday, and I stood on the windy balcony, looking at the shy shine of the moon on the water, wanting to stay. It's forever that movement of the soul. Is the grass greener?
The drive home contained so much salt and vinegar chip eating I thought my tongue would explode. We saw the old telegraph station at Hamelin Pool and the stromatolites, which really aren't much to look at, but the knowledge of what they are is quite staggering. Hefting my wonderful Minolta I squinted into the hazy light and clicked and clicked.
Waiting for me at home were discussions about Gatsby (so much love!) and darling housemates who had filled the house with even more treasures.
People must think I'm crazy, but it was good to be back at work again. No news about the job but there are no more nails to chew and my cuticles really fucking hurt, so I'll just try and not stress. Not much I can do anyway, but work hard and be prepared.
So late in the afternoon I thought of something I just had to buy from Oxford Street books, and while there, I gaspingly recognised Vince Neil's cosmeticized face gazing at me from a book cover. Of course I bloody bought it. Maybe sometimes I am still 15. Or 25. Or I should just confess to eclectic and sometimes shitty musical taste. But right now, Lhasa plays on the speakers, and I am tasting a 2000 Merlot, and gently letting myself sink into the night.
It has been a beautiful day. Again.
posted by BanAnna at 9/20/2011 05:23:00 am
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