Fremantle is a small suburb of Perth on the coast of the country, pressed between the sprawling city and the Indian ocean, it's a harbour town, with plenty of nice restaurants, a touristy market, old buildings, and even the occasional street performer.Geoff's only real errand for the day is to make a couple of spare keys, so I'll be able to get around on my own when he's working, and then wander the area. He used to live in a flat in downtown Fremantle, so he knows it pretty well and doesn't mind showing it off to a visitor, and we walk through markets and squares and up to Fremantle prison (known to every ACDC fan as the place that Bon Scott was incarcerated briefly).
We also get to walk out to the harbour and visit the shipwreck museum, which turns out to be a very cool little place that contains all exhibits that have been reclaimed from the sea. It's full of ship's bells, old spanish silver, disected cannon, and even the deteriorated hull that comprises almost 20% of a midsized schooner that went down off the coast on its way to Australia.
In all, Fremantle is a very pretty town, and I had an eye to wander through it with my camera glued to my face, while Geoff had work around 1600, so after walking town for a while, he split having given me directions on how to take the train back to the house.
I explored for a couple of hours, taking pictures of miscelaneous buildings and sights, and eventually wind up back at the waterfront for dinner. I bought a minced lamb Pide (a sort of middle eastern Calzone) from a brilliant little Turkish restaurant, and ate it as I ambled back to the waterfront in time for a really stunning sunset.Afterwards I bought cake and coffee and watched the birds, then eventually caught the train back to the house. Geoff made it back around 10, and we spent another pleasant evening drinking boxed red wine (Yalumba--which is startlingly decent) and telling stories.
Most of these turn to martial arts training, and we related tales of derring do, dumbassery, and dexterity, all with the aplomb and amicable appreciation that comes from being ancient acquaintances.Something interesting about meeting Geoff is that it does not seem at all odd to say I've known him for ten years, it feels like a really natural thing. It's remarkable, really, how strong a bond one can generate simply through discourse in a completely textual medium over years and years.
The next day Geoff has to work from midmorning until around 1700, when there is supposed to be a free Poker tournament starting up at his pub, so I promise I'll meet him there.
I wake up around noon, make myself a delicious duck egg sandwich (they have a dozen muscovies penned in the backyard) and spend the day fussing with my computer, catching up on e-mail, updating photos and putting the polish on the next few entries in the road, and around four I knock off and head out to Goeff's pub.
I get turned around, having neglected to take a proper look at a map before I leave the house, and wander a couple of miles (and about thirty minutes) out of my way, but it's all good. I've now been lost on foot and found my way again on every continent I've visited, which is kinda cool, I guess.
So Geoff and I play a bit of Texas Hold'em poker, of all things, but get bounced around a bit (there are four tables to start and we keep getting moved to balance play) and neither of us are really that interested, and so we eliminated ourselves rather quickly (though I do feel good that I lost on a hand that someone had to chase on the river, and would have taken the hand elsewise, so at least I wasn't playing terribly). We finished up around 8 and head back to the domocile, and there I got to try Vegemite.
I wasn't particularly hungry, having had such a large lunch/breakfast so late, but I wanted something in my stomach before another night of drinking, and noticing it on the sideboad in the kitchen, I asked after it and was provided advice (spread it very thinly, more like butter than like jam) and made toast and had a taste.
I had a second slice, and I must say it's a powerful stuff. I don't think I've ever tasted a saltier substance, gram for gram (and I think I include salt in that comparison), and the pungent bite of it is certainly strong. I imagine it is the sort of thing I might have from time to time, but it wouldn't be a regular part of my diet.
We retired to the patio and had another night of storytelling and drinking, this time muchly about education, both our theories and our personal experiences, and it's good stuff, but we have to force ourselves to stop earlier since we've got to be up early the next day--we're picking up Geoff's son and his son's mother at the airport and chauffeuring them back to her house, and I'm going along to help carry bags and make acquaintances.
2 comments:
Actually, though you may not remember it, we used to have some Vegemite at the house from time to time when you were young. Since I was the only one that thought it was edible (the taste is a bit strong for most folks, though it is a good addition to soups and stews etc.), it became one of those things that is fun to have now and then, but not enough to take up space in a cabinet.
Another remarkable thing is that it seems to have a shelf life that is slightly longer than the half-life of plutonium -- sort of like Twinkies..
Soups and stews, indeed. I always save the last scrapings in the jar for just such use. Just adds that little bit of body to the flavour.
Although I didn't add any to the roo marinade, which is a chapter yet to come to light.
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