The best "job" in the world

Travel writers don’t get a lot of sympathy. People think all we do is swan around from one exotic location to another, pausing every so often to meet some fascinating local figure or other or possibly, just occasionally, bang away at a laptop for a while. Of course this isn’t really the case and so, in the interests of ever finding a kind ear to moan into again about the downsides, I am almost regretting writing this post before I even start.

Because I’ve just had the most amazing day and I know that if I tell the world about it my chances of ever making anyone understand that travel writing is not an easy profession may well be scuppered.

It started in Kalbarri, a dreamy little coastal town where nobody seemed to wear proper shoes and everybody appeared to be permanently in a good mood. My “hotel” was actually an apartment big enough to move into, the sun had popped back up again after its dazzling closing show the night before and I had an appointment to get to – with a pelican.

Every morning for the past 40 years the Kalbarri community has fed a bucket of fish to the local pelicans. Far bigger than any pelicans I’d seen before, these huge birds were much more graceful than you would imagine as they came gliding in to land on the grass. I got picked out to grasp a greasy fish by its tail and fling it into the pack of excitedly waiting birds, and the whole experience had a real theatre about it – the pelicans fighting over the fish with a bunch of seagulls who cheekily tried to muscle in.

I was sorry to leave Kalbarri but called in at the inland gorges on my way out of town and was confronted with scenery straight out of an “Outback experience” promotional video. The gorges are part of a wildly scenic area of dramatic red-rock formations which stretches all the way along this coast and they were spectacular – one of those sights you find yourself staring at mouth slightly open, camera hanging obsolete around your neck because you know you’ll never capture it.

From here it was – yet another – long drive. My destination for the day was Monkey Mia, about 150km off the highway in the Shark Bay world heritage area, and a five-hour drive from Kalbarri. Fortunately there’s plenty to see along the way, including a beach made up entirely of tiny compacted shells, several bays with sand so white and sea so aqua you start drifting across the road for staring at them, and the lifeform credited with putting enough oxygen into the earth’s atmosphere for us to start evolving. The stromatolites at Hamelin Bay may look just like any other collection of rocks but looking out to sea here is like looking at the earth millions of years before we were even a twinkle in its eye and it’s hard not to be a little bit moved by that.

I arrived into Monkey Mia feeling hot and tired but it’s the kind of place that makes you instantly forget about all that. Stuck out on its own on the sheltered side of the eastern Peron peninsula it’s basically just a sweeping sandy beach with a simple resort ranged along it. My room was literally beach-towel-throwing distance from the sand, with nothing to impede my view of the turquoise, almost-waveless water and the marine life within it. Before I’d even brought my suitcase in from the car I’d seen two dolphins bobbing along the shoreline – more than enough reason to see me immediately bikini-clad and heading for the water.

After a few minutes I heard a commotion just along the beach and looked up to see people with cameras pointing at the water. Despite seeing some dolphins already, I couldn’t believe that it could be anything more exciting than a fish or a seabird but I started to float towards them nonetheless. Convinced it was nothing too exciting I took my time moving along the beach until I glimpsed a telltale flash of grey – it was a dolphin they were looking at and I couldn’t believe they weren’t all in the water themselves.
Before I knew it the dolphins were just three or four metres away from me and as I stood there in the shallows two of them broke off and swam past me, one on either side. I was literally speechless (a rare thing) and just stood there gawping as a nearby family screeched with delight. Over the next few minutes we all bobbed about in the water, watching the dolphins swimming around us and chatting like old friends over our shared experience. Then we saw a turtle, a pelican landed on the water in front of us and an emu wandered along the beach behind. It was absolutely, completely amazing. And yes, it was technically part of my job.

So go ahead, tell me travel writing is more like being on holiday than having a job. Just for today, I’ll agree with you

The never-ending journey

Sometimes luxury is simply staying in one place. These past few days I’ve gone to sleep in a different bed every evening, woken to different sounds, struggled to find a differently located toilet in the middle of the night…it’s been exhausting frankly. Every day I get up, round up all my hastily flung around belongings, shove them back in my suitcase and hit the road again, off towards yet another different mattress.

But if I sound like I’m complaining, I’m not. Moving on every day means you see something different every day – and this weekend has been an extremely varied one because of it.

I left Kalgoorlie on Friday and spent hours driving past waving golden fields which held more wheat than the entire Ashes cricket team could hope to eat in a lifetime, and through the down-at-heel and downright depressing communities that have sprung up to tend to it. The fact that one was called Grass Patch might give you some idea as to the dubious highlights that pass for being attractions in these parts, and I was relieved to reach New Norcia after seven hours horizon-chasing.

Sadly this relief was short-lived. The architecture of this somewhat random monastic community is truly stunning when you compare it to the surrounding flat fields but unfortunately, though my hotel for the night looked grand from the outside, inside it was more akin to that hostel Leo stays in in The Beach. Paint was peeling off the walls, the rowdiness of the bar downstairs could be heard through the paper-thin walls and the ceiling fan whirred annoyingly and managed to be ineffective at the same time. Having been used to air con, flatscreen TVs and, well, having my own bathroom, I became instantly sulky at having to share facilities and cope without so much as a tap to call my own. The service didn’t help – it was by far the worst I’ve had here – and I went to bed with a storm cloud over my head to match those building outside.

Fortunately the next day I was heading back to the coast and, after a look around the outside of the beautiful monastic buildings accompanied by a flock of galahs, I sped off westwards towards the coast and Cervantes. This tiny crayfishing town would be nowhere near the tourist trail were it not for one, rather magical, thing: the Pinnacles, and there is an air to the town that seems to suggest they would rather not bother, thanks all the same. They may not have to for much longer in fact, thanks to the brand-new bitumen of the Indian Ocean Drive which has cut the journey time from Perth and ended the need to get anywhere near the town unless you specifically want to, but for now it’s the only place to stay if you want to view the Pinnacles at sunset – which I did.

The Pinnacles are bizarre rock formations which poke through the sand, forming a sea of columns across a vast area of sand dune. I joined Mike Newton’s Turquoise Coast Enviro Tour for a three-hour trip out to see them in the hope that this time I would understand a bit more about the natural phenomenon that caused these geological marvels. Thanks to Mike I now do, although I wouldn’t like to try and explain it without the help of numerous diagrams and possibly the internet. Suffice to say they’re amazing, and utterly unique. I was spellbound by them again and watching the sun set between them was an unforgettable experience.

From Cervantes I was heading further north up the coast but it turned out, as it so often does here, that the road was in fact miles inland and offered only more agricultural land as a backdrop to my day. Fortunately it wasn’t far to Geraldton, a suburban-feeling town which had nothing besides fine weather to offer on a Sunday afternoon. I lapped it up of course and wasn’t the least bit upset at my enforced relaxation time due to a lack of internet and open attractions to visit.

The town’s museum was open this morning so I learned all about the dangers of boarding a boat anywhere near this coast in the Shipwreck Galleries and discovered that it is here that some of the earliest evidence of life on earth leaving the water for land can be seen. It was fascinating and left me with a greater respect for Geraldton – a great museum is a rare thing after all.

My destination today was Kalbarri and this time the drive really did take in some coastal scenery – and spectacular scenery at that. The sandstone coast along here has been gradually eroded by the water and there are gorges and striated cliffs stretching for several kilometres south of the town. I popped happily on and off the highway, diving down access roads to viewpoints and short walking trails, and snapping away to try and capture the rich red, brown and ochre colours of the rock. Hopefully I succeeded enough to help me remember it.

My day ended with roast duck on the terrace of the Grass Tree restaurant while the setting sun turned the sky blazing red and gave the water a beautiful rosy glow. I may have had to drive several thousands of kilometres to get here but every last one was worth it for that and although I’m not looking forward to packing up the car – again – tomorrow morning, I am looking forward to where it will take me next.