Songs in the Quay of Sea: A Tourist in My Own Town

Plans for a holiday to Bali went pear-shaped, due to nothing more than an internet banking glitch. As winter truly sets in, the sudden whisking away of the prospect of some restorative 'time out' in the tropical sun, free of mundane responsibilities, weighs heavily. But sometimes, and in small ways, things can be done to achieve the sense of being on holiday, softening the disappointment.

So it was today, when I availed myself of an opportunity to head for the hills to go orange-picking with my beloved boy. The plan was to collect the fruit from the orchard of a friend of someone at school, and to make an array of delectables such as marmalade and cordials, back home at Pinakarri, to sell at our school fete later in the year.

Winter in the hills of Perth can mean cold nights with crisp sunny blue sky days, and that is exactly the weather that blessed us today. It was a day of marvellous, small synchronicities as well: the supermarket en route there had exactly what we needed- sushi and fancy pants freshly-squeezed juice, on special for a dollar apiece, which allayed my anxiety about how, when, where and what to eat for lunch, simply and inexpensively.

With a carload of fruit boxes bulging with fresh-from-the-tree oranges and mandarins, I decided it would be fun to explore the sights near Bedfordale. So Pixie Munchkins and I drove from Bedfordale through the bush to Churchman Brook reservoir, where Bryn and I examined the contents of the dam, then he spent a happy half hour swinging from the monkey bars and playing peek-a-boo in a tunnel. We spent time photographing the gorgeous golden wattles (acacia), which bloom in profusion in the winter in Perth.

We continued on an ice cream quest through the winding narrow roads to Roleystone, where I serendipitously ran into an old friend outside the antique shop. She recommended a divine little vegetarian café close by called Genesis- all scrumptious home-baked cakes and cosy sofas on higgledy wooden verandahs, with paintings adorning the walls and a decidedly spiritual and new age energy about it, set among the verdant bush landscape. A talented local artist holding his exhibition opening there, whose ocean-inspired work I coveted, offered me a champagne and a pre-opening viewing, and we bought a book about Vikings for B's imminent seventh birthday. I plan to return there to work on my novel, imagining myself, laptop at the ready, on the two seater sofa at the end of the verandah with the stunning bush outlook !

As the sun dipped, we meandered back down the hill and, on account of the chill and my disinclination to cook, settled on a pub dinner next to a roaring fire, where Bryn immersed himself in some kids games and puzzles after tucking into the hearty, warming, generously-proportioned good value meal, easily enough for two.

And so, I felt like a tourist in my own town, fortuitously and gently shaken out of my coastal comfort zone and offered fresh, altitudinous perspectives. As I drove home with the tiredness that comes of physical labour and time spent outdoors, in the company of a pint-sized energy ball, I couldn't help reflecting on the parallels between Bali and Perth: Despite the climatic differences, Rottnest Island is to Perth what Nusa Lembongan is to Bali, and a trip from Oceanside Fremantle to our lusher hills inland is a little like the journey from the southern Kuta coast to cooler, greener Ubud, only more tranquil and less polluted, with a conspicuous absence of gnat-impersonating scooters. For now, I will feed the fantasy, finding small, doable ways to be 'on holiday' in my heart and in my head. It's soul-nourishing to embark on manageable explorations of new, strange and greener pastures, yet in my own beautiful, pristine Perth, returning to my own, comfortable bed at night.