If you ever find youself in Perth, and it's a bright, crystal clear day, head for Kings Park and Botanic Gardens. I realised my final marathonier lived close by, so I picked up my rental car and drove up there early. It's an extrardinary place, high up above the city with a spectacular view across the high-rise skyline, Swan River and Darling Range. It almost feels artificial, it's so perfect. Memorials to Perth's war heroes glow against the blue sky, and even though Perth is slipping into autumn, the beautiful colours and exotic shapes of the specimen plants and trees are glorious. Too late for Kangeroo's Paw, but was fascinated by the giant Boab tree, it's huge, fat trunk pocked with scars from when it was transported almost 2000 miles to its new resting place in July 2008.
Understandably, given it's location and vistas, the immediately adjacent residential area is very 'high end', the spill-over of the parkland teeming with joggers and European cars (very expensive here as import duties are high, thus a status symbol). It was to here, and a 'condominium'-style highrise that I journeyed to meet my final matharonier. Max. Shorter than I, smart in expensive 'casual' shirt and jeans, trim and fit, hard to spot his 85 years. Up to his 6th floor apartment, one of those large, airy and spacious places, full of gorgeous furniture and momentoes of his life. Sitting on his balcony, again the city and river stretching out before us, we sped though his pre-Marathon life, how he came to be a rally driver, and his path to the 1968 event. Theirs was a frustrating but record-breaking 10,000 miles, with more than one theory about their car's mechanical failure in Eastern Europe, but their role in sealing the Women's prize for the Volvo 145 crew is crucial and gripping in equal measure! Jokes about 'poms' and offers of assistance with tracking down one of the Dutch competitors follow, and then I took my leave to ensure I'm not ticketed in the restricted parking space I found. One more fascinating marthonier, generous with his time and hospitality. An honour to meet him.
Spent more time idling in the Kings Park sun, watching people in the foreground, tiny white yachts and miniature motorway traffic in the distance, before deciding to drive on to find one of Perth's beaches. Max made various recommendations for excursions, as did a coffee-shop waiter earlier in the day. Parked the car and sat on Cottesloe Beach, watching a tall ship glide by, swimmers and paddlers and sun-worshippers, and the low sun descend slowly towards the water, the light beyond description.
After the horrors of my B&B, I'm glad I've been able to make a connection with this city, and will continue my explorations over the net two days - a trip to Fremantle today (or 'Freo' as it's called locally) and then beyond. Must try and find a beach towel from somewhere. Max told me to take the shark attack issue seriously, so I may just paddle! Tomorrow I may drive north along the coast and again see what I can find. It's a nice way to end the trip, nothing required of me, no-one to see. I think one of my favourite parts of each day recently has been to find coffee and a comfortable spot, turn on my little white laptop and write - the text continues to be an unstructured, unruly flow for now, but that's fine. It's all raw material, and fun to compose - 'hang on, didn't I use that word a few lines ago?', or 'hang on, how many check-points were there in total?'.
All of this means I can minimise the amount of time I need to spend in this slum of a so-called hostelry. Have been furtively trying to take pictures, as I fear no-one will believe how awful it is - I tried but just couldn't find any suitable alternatives at such short notice.
Ah well, it's all part of my journey on The Marathon Trail...
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