From the desert to the sea

Margaret River is the centre of WA’s South West – well the South West as defined to tourists anyway. The area is the most popular weekend away for people from Perth or visitors with some spare time because its only 3 hours from Perth, cooler and stays green year-round.

Metaphors such as “Perth’s holiday home”, “WA’s backyard” or “the garden of the state” are used liberally on tourism websites as it's an area full of farms, wineries and providors for the gourment traveller, artists and artisans for the collectors, or beaches and some of the best waves on the planet for the bums and surfers. But it’s full to bursting on weekends and school holidays, overpriced accommodation, meals and fuel, plus overdeveloped in some areas.
Since I've always stayed with friends down south away from the tourists I've come to view Margs and its surrounds through "local" eyes and look at the tourists with disdain. It’s lost some of its original attraction as a relaxed escape from the rat-race or a hangout for hippies and surfers chasing a back-to-nature lifestyle where work came second when the swell was up. Now people would rather import builders from Perth to build their houses on time rather than embrace the “down south” attitude.

Despite having a love-hate relationship with the area its still beautiful especially when you can get there without the crowds and enjoy it at the pace its meant to be taken at, and those hosting you have the time to talk about their lifestyle with you. So as a winter getaway it was perfect - too cold for swimming, true, but plenty of wine tasting, touring through misty forests and relaxing in front of a log fire.
I always love tasting new wineries and thinking I've been one of the first there. I've tasted most of those around Dunsborough on previous trips so since we were staying south of Margs this trip we made a point of keeping to the area SE of the town. Wine tasting notes are compulsory:

• the Cab Savs and Merlots at Brown Hill were very tasty and full-flavoured (always a good sign when the bloke pouring your tasting looks like hes had a bottle for lunch)
• excellent Pinot Noir at Cavalier Crest, very hard grape to grow so good to see a small winery was producing some. Their other reds were pretty good too
• Swallows Welcome is the epitome of "down south". Greeted by a Jack Russell it has (among other projects) a winery (Cab Merlot Franc), a hand-built rammed earth chapel and an art studio. When they aren't heading off to the bank or to play tennis that is - but they were still happy to show us around all these and explain the winemaking process.
• Cape Grace to the west is more expensive but again the Chenin Blanc, Merlot and Cab Sav were spectacular, also nice that they didn't get snobby with Bry and I being young or not so fashionably dressed. Too many wineries down here were barely polite when we turned up and in return I'll do them the favour of not spending my money there or naming them to you.
• Happs, Watershed, Vasse Felix and Capel Vale are all household names in WA so I'll just point out that they're still good. You have to check these things ;)

The shadow of the headframe

Kalgoorlie is the centre of the Western Australian mining industry (if not Australia’s). There are hundreds of mines surrounding the town; at a quiet moment the sounds of drills and diggers working the largest of them (the Super Pit) are carried on the desert wind from the edge of town. Gold runs through the veins here both those under your feet and through the blood of the people, miners with a nugget in their pocket and a story to tell (although the pub owners usually have the nuggets).

The town centre is a 1900s Federation statement of goldrush wealth, demanding attention and respect in the manner of the nouveau riche, the souped-up V8s passing by providing the modern analogue, worth more than their 20 year old drivers should be able to afford. One concession to reality is the 4 lane streets, no show of power but dictated by the turning circle of a camel train.

Not every story is one of romance and success. As the skimpy battled to match the faded chalk written wine list with the bottles in front of her (fine dining is possible in a mining town) the guy at the bar asked me how the conference was going. “I’m new in town, I’m working at a gravel quarry at the moment but I came here to try and get onto the mines. I want to drive dump trucks if I can.” I never found out where he’d come from, who he’d left behind or was hoping to bring with him, instead I left him as alone as I found him, his dream not melting as fast as the ice in his bourbon and coke as every story here still has a grain of hope.

Not simply a typical Aussie backyard - the hill behind is formed by waste from the Super Pit.

I was there for Diggers, the mining industry’s trade show where every mining magnate, wanna-be magnate or just geos there for a beer hoping for an idea or deal to let them make an impact is clamouring for the attention of Australia’s money men, bankers and stockbrokers dropped into the middle of the desert and given the hard sell. The hard sell is especially effective if you keep them at the pub til late, although when they go its time for catching up with old mates, spreading rumours and telling tall stories about how big your projects going to be. This is the other end of the spectrum to the geology conference I went to, here everything is about resources and money, every person meeting you is making a contact, trying to see if they can help you or you can help them. No-one contacted me after the conference in Portugal, already I’ve had half a dozen emails/calls since Kal and I’m not going to tell you how many job offers (if any geos need a job get in touch and I’ll give you some contacts).

Flickr

I take a lot of photos as anyone who's met up with me after/during a trip and been subjected to a viewing will attest. I tend to observe while I travel, not neccessarily research information to write with. One of the hardest things about this blog is only posting 5 or so from each place, also selecting/sizing them so you can see whats in them without them killing your computer (LJ has a cut, why not blogger?!).

So I now have my own Flickr page (link also on sidebar). Most of the photos are from when I first arrived as I've already hit my limit of 200 free photos and am toying with my options. I have issues with paying people to host my photos when I'm pretty sure I could make that happen for free, but I don't like being restricted in the number of photos or people missing out on photos/slideshows when they're replaced by newer ones.

Over to you. My decision will largely rest on how much people look at them, what feedback I get (here, there, email) and people's preferences about seeing hundreds in person versus viewing of dozens in your own time.

People pictures will remain friends-only so if you want to see them you'll need a Flickr/Yahoo ID. By the way I have Skype now too so anyone who wants to chat can email me their username.

Cocktails and cameras

"Capirinha com ananas?" the barman checks back with me. Casually he turns and picks half a pineapple out of the ice bucket before shearing thick slices into the blender. Adding a measure of cachaca he pauses and throws another half in there for good measure. The noise is swallowed by the pulsating Brazilian rhythms pumping out (or are they African? Cuban?). I've been here on a Friday night when both blenders in the long scarlet bar are running every second, but on a Monday night the blenders pulse intermittently. Not that the bar is empty, almost full just seems spacious when compared with full to bursting.

That's the way Bairro Alto is. The maze of restaraunts, bars and clubs is crowded even on a Monday but there is more space between each group allowing the differences between them to emerge - some tribal/hippy dreadlocked warriors, glammed up hipsters, tourists looking lost and people just cruising. There's also those that live there, walking their dogs, hanging out washing, coming home from the shops. All these people against the dark background of the dilapidated old town.

Depending who I'm with I get a bit nervous walking around as when I first got here I was warned that some streets were safer than others. While it's no more dangerous than Northbridge or London the unfamiliarity makes it seem more sinister. It's paranoia, honestly, the fact it goes away after dinner or after the first couple of drinks proves that. If you were watching it would probably be funny, watching me get halfway down a street and remember this is one of the bad streets, or discreetly trying to sneak a look up a street before turning into it.

Those paranoias get shattered occasionally - last night when after a steady swag of 3euro cocktails full of fresh strawberries and mango (half a tree of mint in the case of the mojito) Ali, Karen and I went wandering to hang out with the outside crowd. When we were drawn back to the cocktail bar (can't think why) the bar guy called me over "You guys left a camera". We hadn't even noticed it was missing yet. But he goes back to his casual, no hurry bar service, occasionally wandering the bar to pick a few empties and check on the customers.

For future reference - cinnamon-flavoured schnapps with gold flakes is a bad idea. But pretty.