I was just wondering... who are the people in Russia reading this blog? There are 30 page views from there. Could you please identify yourselves?

It appears I have gone from one extreme to another. I do not know what else to say except I am enjoying my brother Don's hospitality in Western Australia which is a world apart from life in Hephzibah.

Travelling is such a luxury and privilege I have resolved never to do it again unless, like the Blues Brothers, I am on a mission from God.

Anything else is just self-indulgence.

 

I arrived in Perth about lunchtime but not being particularly hungry decided my first priority was to check my luggage in for the flight to Kalgoorlie where my brother is.
So I lugged my pack out to the bus stop to catch the bus to the domestic terminal. It took about 15 minutes to arrive at the domestic terminal which was on the opposite side of the runway to the international.
Once off the bus I looked for a trolley and found a few of them but I could not get one free. I went to the front of the line and pulled on another one but still no success. Just as a kind Aussie bloke called out to me "You have to pay for those," I noticed the sign saying the same thing.

I was feeling a bit tired and not really thinking straight so I had a cup of coffee which sort of helped. There were automatic check in machines but I was not sure if I could check in using those but managed to figure it out. After it printed the baggage label the task of attaching the label seemed a bit daunting  and I  asked a couple of young women for help. One laughed and said her friend had to help  her with hers as well. The same friend  trustingly gave me her baby to hold so her hands were free and she put the label on my back pack. Then she helped me deposit it in the luggage swallowing department.

I had another chat to a lady going to Brisbane to  visit her son who is married to a Chinese lady. She looked suspiciously like Mavis from Gore but it turned out it was not her. Her daughter spent ten years in Africa and came home with four children and no husband which may have been a little careless of her considering she now relies on her mother to help babysit.

It is amazing who you get chatting to in airports.

By this time I was ready for a second cup  of coffee and a little something. The muffin I bought  was indisputably the best blueberry muffin I have ever eaten. It had nothing to do with the fact I had had little sleep for the last 24 hours, I was experiencing culture shock in Perth airport, needed a shower and I was not sure whether I am with it or not.

That  muffin far surpassed in greatness all the muffins I ate in the UK last year and in NZ the rest of my life. I think it was the tenderness of the cake and the lovely blueberry centre that set it apart.


 

I weighed up whether I could be bothered having one last crack at catching that elusive tram on my last day when my flight left at 11.50pm.  I decided I could. So I left a little earlier and stood right on the tram track in the middle of the road. I was not game to cross to the side of the road and have my access to the tram blocked by cars and buses. I felt like the sheriff waiting to have a show down with Billy the kid. The tram rumbled its way towards me and as it grew close I stepped on to the road so it did not run me over. Three men got off the tram and one blocked my progress to get on as the tram started moving so I had to quickly leap or be left behind.

It was very satisfying finally sitting in the tram but I was in the front compartment so I thought I would jump off at the next stop and get into the back carriage. The view is better in the back.The conductor was not impressed with me disembarking. I think he asked me if I wanted to go to the police.  Fortunately he understood when I explained. Next stop I scrambled out and jumped on board the second compartment. I wondered to myself where the tram would end up. In the old days it used to go to town.

Low and behold it went to a large shopping area did a loop and then came back the way it came. When I came to my stop I got off and cycle rickshawed  home. The expedition had taken about three quarters of an hour. Sandy 1, tram 3.

 

 

 

I did not know what to do with myself. It was only 10.30am by this time. There was no-one about. Eventually Lochumlo came home and she had forgotten to buy a gift for someone in NZ so I suggested we go out and find a restaurant that sold naan bread and buy the gift.

 

We not only found a gift but also a restaurant that sold spectacular naan bread and chicken kebabs. There was no-one else eating there which could have been a bad sign but in hindsight was not. We were looked after by a very diligent waiter who filled up my plate with food every time it emptied.  It was a very fine way to end my stay with Lochumlo.

 

 

 

I had another attempt at catching a tram to town  again today. As per the other two days the tram trundled off down the road just as I appeared at the end of the lane. No worries I thought. Another tram will appear in 15 or 30 minutes. Every so often I though I could see one coming but after a while I concluded I had my tram tinted glasses on because none materialised. An hour later I was still standing there. I did get a little concerned when one did not come the other way.

There were lot of interesting things to see while I waited. One man flagged down about eight buses before he found one he wanted. That was fairly entertaining. A didi went past on her bike and I hoped her sari did not get caught in the chain. One does not see many women either on bikes or motorbikes. I wished at the time I had a pen and paper on me because exactly what I knew would happen has happened- I have forgotten all the other amusing sights on display.

I went into town and visited the Oxford Bookshop for old times sake. Harper Lees new book which follows on from To Kill a Mockingbird, my favouritist  book of all time after the Bible, was there for about $20. I resisted the temptation to buy it because I am fast running out of room in my pack. Someone keeps buying  bargains. I wandered upstairs and smelt coffee. I followed my nose to the end of the room and there was a café. There didn't appear to be a nice toilet accompanying  it but I had a coffee anyway. It did smell good. There was a blueberry muffin there. I asked the man if it would be as good as a NZ one and he said no.  He suggested I buy the English tea cake instead. I asked him if it was a s good as the cake in England and he seemed to think it was. However, it did not look as good as my fruitcake at home so I successfully fought off temptation again.

Naan bread was off the menu at The New Regent hotel. It was also off the menu at the next place I tried. That was a little disappointing so I went and had a coffee at my café. And behold a piece of brownie waved at me so I had that for lunch.

I went to the place where I knew the trams stopped but I was not game to take the one I rode on the other day which only went part way. I kept waiting for the one I hoped would take me to the end of my lane but I couldn't figure it out. Another hour of tram spotting passed  and in the end I caught the metro home again.

Today I had lunch with Victoria. I lived with Victoria and her family in 1995 in Hephzibah for about three months. At the time Joanna who also joined us for lunch was three years-old.
Much water, some of it dirty, has passed under the bridge of our lives since then but it was great to catch up. Victoria and I used to have some good chats while I was living there and she was probably the main reason I stayed sane. This is the first time I have seen her since then.

We ate in a restaurant that served meat that moos because my two companions are rather fond of that variety of meat. Joanna also confessed to liking another type of meat which was not on the menu in this particular restaurant for religious reasons. Luckily she did not say it too loud. There are so many opportunities to cause offence in this city.

After we parted  company I pottered around for a while and had a coffee at my favourite café with the clean toilet. I bought some guava to cook for breakfast and then  bravely decided to get back on the metro horse and come home. Lochumlo and I had worked out why I got lost yesterday so with instructions to go right instead of left I dismounted the metro. Miracles of miracles when I reached the fresh air I knew exactly where I was.

Guava
 

I cut open the papaya when I reached home. It was very moreish. However, I was  a little cautious about eating too much  because I do not think my malaria pills which also function as an antibiotic and have kept my stomach calm for the past weeks, are designed to counteract excess amounts of fruit as well.