ROTTNEST

 One of our friends, Barry, seems to go to Rottnest every month. Another friend of his, goes over almost every week, just for a day, to snorkel. Susan and I aren’t quite that committed but I can see the endless charm of the place. Even for a couple of spring days (23-24 October) when the temperature didn’t get over 17 degrees, it was still delightful to have a swim amongst the fish in the clear blue/green water and then warm up on the sand.

We had a two bedroom bungalow at the end of South Thompson Bay and even though we were in the back row, we still had water views with a beach just five minutes walk away.

After catching the ferry over in the morning, we caught the hop on hop off bus to Little Parrakeet Bay and spent the morning and early afternoon lounging on the beach and swimming. The joy of low temperatures means that I can be out in the sun for hours without too much damage. 

We caught the bus back to what’s called the Settlement and bought some lunch at the famous Rottnest Bakery. We sat outside to eat which was clearly a mistake. There are warning signs about not feeding the quokkas and being careful around the birds but I didn’t realise exactly what the latter point meant. Because we were on holidays and because it was Rottnest, I had bought us each jam donuts (yes, I do know how bad they are for you) to take to our bungalow for afternoon tea. Each was in a closed paper bag and I just placed them on the outdoor table where we were sitting. We ate our rolls, keeping an eye out for seagulls and ravens, and shooing them away if they got too close. However, one raven was smarter than me. It swooped in and grabbed one of the donut bags. As it flew off, the bag opened ant the donut fell out. The was a Hitchcock-like scramble between hordes of animals and birds to get their treat. The next day we saw a poor young woman surrounded by flapping birds after she’d taken a croissant out of a bag and laid it on the table. She looked completely petrified. I just looked embarrassed at being outwitted by a raven. 

We had dinner on the first night at an Italian restaurant, Isola. Last time we’d eaten here, the food was reasonable but the service terrible. And this time wasn’t much better. They forgot our drinks. Then they remembered Susan’s. And finally after three reminders, they delivered mine. And in between they wanted to rush us to our main courses. Still, it was pleasant enough to have someone else do the cooking and washing up.

The next day, after a morning swim, we caught the shuttle bus to the north side of the island and had lunch with some of Barry’s friends. It was an impressive feast as Neil, the host, had bought across not only food and champagne but also tablecloths and wine glasses and decorative paper plates with a theme of Almalfi lemons. And even before lunch with its great conversations, we could see whales swimming past with a flick of their tails. 

The forecast for our final day was rain so we changed to an early ferry and got back on land just as a gale with hard rain and wild gusts hit the coast.

It’s amazing how even a few days on Rottnest feels like a holiday.