Well, I suppose the magical mystery tour had to come to an end sometime. And it did. Yesterday. Not the ‘tour’ bit, that’s still happening, or the mystery bit (although the Australian bush is a little less mysterious than it once was). I’m talking about the magic. That went; fizzled out like a duff firework, extinguished by the howling wind and the pouring rain that greeted our arrival in Esperance, four hundred kilometres along the south coast, east of Bremer Bay.
As we drive, we watch livestock farms turn into arable and back again, passing enormous fields of bright yellow rape and the soft green of new wheat. The fields are so large that instead of a tractor for spraying, we see a jaunty yellow crop duster flying over a field that spreads for miles. We occasionally drive through small habitations with names like Jerramungup and Kukenarup – very like, in fact: there are over fifty towns in this part of Western Australia with names that end in ‘up’, the aboriginal Noongar word for ‘place of’.
We drive in and out of rain and sunshine, into more rain and then, all at once, we’re entering Esperance, turning into a suburban street and peering through a rain-streaked windscreen for the number of our accommodation. There’s a glimpse of the sea at the end of the road and a strong – very strong, about fifty miles an hour – wind blowing off the Southern Ocean.
We pull into the drive and notice immediately that the house doesn’t have much of a view. Wind blowing in my face, I look under the front doormat for a key (as per instructions) and then Adrian, reading a message on his phone, points out that we’re staying not here but in the guest suite around the back of the house. This, it turns out, has no outlook at all except for the monstrosity of a house next door built about ten metres from where we’re standing.
But it’s too wet and windy to hang about. We find the key and let ourselves into the ‘sitting room’ which consists of a small sofa in a small charmless kitchenette. It’s freezing cold. I put my handbag down on the minute table, take a quick look at the bedroom and bathroom (the largest room in the flat) and am so disbelieving that we could have booked such a place that I insist Adrian fetches in his computer and we check.
We stare at the photos on the screen, we look at the room we’re standing in and there’s the confirmation, pictures taken with wide angle lenses, obviously, but still this flat. ‘What were we thinking?’ we ask ourselves and then I see the photo that misled us. Taken from the front terrace, where the owners live, a view of West Beach and the ocean. Our hearts sink and we suddenly feel rather weary.
‘It’s got a washing machine,’ says Adrian. ‘There’s a veggie steamer,’ I reply. Well that’s a first. We’re looking for the positives. The only heating is an old electric radiator, which Adrian plugs in and tries to get going. It makes an enormous racket. ’We need to eat,’ I say and we run wetly around the house, pull food bags from the car and leave the rest of our luggage where it is. The rain’s just too heavy.
In the afternoon, when A volunteers for the trip to the supermarket, I decide there’s only one solution: brave the rain and the wind and go for a run. Our host, who is a sweet, slightly harassed French Canadian, rushes back from work to apologise for not putting on the heating (sic) and to give us some hastily delivered information about the area. Apparently there’s a good path along the coastal cliff and this I set out on, losing my cap several times in the strong gusts, getting wet, but feeling more positive.
Esperance, it turns out, is a beautiful place with a stunning coastline, many good walks and a significant town. The next day, we explore as best we can, finding sheltered pathways and sometimes simply walking on the clifftops with several layers of clothing and hoods tied over our caps. We enjoy the day, laugh as the so called ‘lovers’ trail’ almost becomes lovers’ leap in a staggering gust of wind, and then cook delicious barramundi for supper. It’s all fine. But nothing can turn this cold, charmless little kitchen into a nice place to spend the evening. Give me a shack with a view any day.
