One problem with writing about anything the past is that it is pretty much impossible to tell the complete truth. Some details must be eliminated, while other ones are highlighted to turn what happened into a story. Then there is the problem of memory. When I write a post about our travels, for example, I do my best to accurately portray what has happened, but I can't fully trust my memory. Sometimes I wonder if I can trust it at all.
The issue of retelling is compounded when others are involved, each with their own memories of what happened. Siblings can have wildly different accounts of childhood. My brothers and I each feel very differently about which child was the favored one in our family. We still get pleasure out of rehashing this disagreement when we get together.
It is therefore not surprising that after I put up a couple of posts about our trip to Perth, my friend and fellow traveller Gillian felt I had left out some important details. Her protests were done in good humor, of course, but eventually I felt that I must write a follow up post that included her input.
First of all, the Perth Botanic Gardens ... I wrote positively about them as this is mostly a 'feel good' blog about Australia. Plus I really liked them. The sun was shining, the breeze kept sending over invigorating citrus smells from the gum trees, and I was happy to be walking after the long plane ride from the night before.
Gillian was disappointed with them. "If this is the best thing about Perth," she says, "Why bother?" It is true that the park was poorly signposted. Gillian was required to put her orienteering skills to work--no one bothers to ask for my help with navigating. We wandered around for more than two hours before we found the central attraction, the glass walkway along the edge of the park that overlooks the Swan River.
As for the celebrated boab tree, Gillian is of the opinion that it was not worth the effort of transporting it across the outback. As we stood around and looked at it, we did wonder if it was going to survive the journey. It didn't look at all healthy to us.
Then there was the DNA tower in the middle of the park. What exactly it is doing there we are not sure, but someone had the idea to build a tower modelled after a DNA double helix structure. The girls were so eager to get there that I was dragged away, quite unwillingly, from the wildflower display. They dashed up to the top, and then proceeded to drop coins, something Gillian put a stop to in a hurry. She was worried that the terminal velocity of the coins could cause injury or perhaps even death. I don't remember the coin dropping incident at all. It's a good thing someone was paying attention.
The DNA tower climb was followed by morning tea, something I did write about. Hot chocolates, iced coffees, turkish delight, scones, pastries ... lots of yumminess. Afterward, Gillian and I lingered at the table while the girls decided to explore the playground. By the time we ventured out to find them, they had disappeared. This caused a small amount of alarm as none of them had a working phone with them, but we did eventually find them. It turns out that Harriet had been involved in a playground altercation with some younger girls. She collided with them as they climbed up the slide. 'The little kids were hogging the slide,' she explained. They no doubt felt that they had more right to it than our older girls, all of whom should have been in school.
We decided to beat a hasty retreat from the playground and continue our search for the glass walkway. After a few false starts, we eventually made it back to the DNA tower. I suggested that they climb back to the top and look for it from there. No one was interested. 'When is lunch?" they wanted to know. 'We just had morning tea!' was my response.
We did find the celebrated walkway, but it failed to impress Gillian. I think it was a case of too little too late.
After a rest at our hotel came lunch and the boat trip to Fremantle. What I remember about Fremantle was the impressive architecture. Gillian remembers that the shopping was very expensive, not exciting in the least. The coffee on the boat ride over was appalling, and furthermore, on our way to visit the Fremantle Prison, we had to walk by the marketplace. The 'pong,' as Gillian calls it, was offensive.I had forgotten about it completely but it is true that the fishy smell was bad enough that even I didn't stop to take a photo.
Photo Credit, left: www.experienceperth.com
On our way to the Fremantle train station, we did find one good shop. I ducked outside while everyone else browsed and took this photo:
The next day was our big trip to the Pinnacles. What Gillian remembers, and that I neglected to include in my post about it, was Katie's dedication to her homework during that bus trip. She was worried about a big test she had to take the day after we returned. She had her maths textbook, her notes and her calculator spread out across her lap and mine. Not even the thrilling ride over the dunes put a stop to her trying to figure out the equations that were causing her grief. I admired her study habits, but wished I could eliminate some of her stress. I tried to help her, but you can probably guess how well that went. It's been several years (I won't say how many exactly) since I covered that material. Katie did finally give up after her maths textbook slid to the front of the bus on one of our terrifying descents. (She ended up doing well on the test).
One other thing I failed to mention was the constant questioning we endured from our daughters--primarily mine I think. "How long will we be here?" "What's next?" "When are we going to eat?" "Can we go swimming?" "What about biking?" We fel t that they could have perhaps done a better job enjoying the moment. On the other hand, they did respond with enthusiasm to almost everything we did, even the long bus rides.
One final episode that Gillian has helped dredge up from my memory was of Harriet breaking the door to their hotel room on the last morning. The handle came off in her hands as she was closing it from the inside, and she had no way to get back out in the hallway. This caused her to panic until one of us came along with a key and unlocked it from the outside.
When I sat down to officially compare notes with Gillian so that I could write this follow-up post, I teased her that she could always write it herself. I do welcome guest contributions. "I'm not a writer." she responded. "I'm a talker." That is very true, and that is one of the many things that I like about her. If she was disappointed in certain aspects of our Perth trip, she will tell you that the fun part was sharing the experiences together, laughing over the mishaps and agreeing that we are glad that we live in Melbourne.
Throughout our weekend, we were receiving periodic updates from the men and boys who had gone to New Zealand ... that will be the subject of the next post.
This is a trip that you won't soon forget! I always love hearing more details .. and next..I hope Ross took pictures in New Zealand!
Posted by: Aunt Marion | 11/21/2013 at 01:05 AM
He took a few photos--I will post those as well.
Posted by: Christie | 11/21/2013 at 06:42 AM
Christie. I'm all for the feel good blog but is fun to read the the other side too. I like this post.
I think a double helix staircase sounds great. Leonardo daVinci designed one at Chambord.... Perth really does have everything...
Posted by: David Brown | 11/21/2013 at 11:48 AM
Perhaps Perth does have everything, unless you are Gillian that is! The fact that she had to switch sandals with Harriet after the staircase didn't help matters---Harriet's feet were sore, but the sandals she was wearing didn't match Gillian's outfit. Gillian switched anyway, as most mothers would do, and things deteriorated from that point.
Posted by: Christie | 11/21/2013 at 01:13 PM