Are we there yet?

I'm fine that no one at my hostel speaks the local language that well, as I prefer to be left to my own devices until I adjust to a new location. Not that I have much time for adjusting, given I only have three days in Perth. Judging by the tourist pamphlet I leafed through on arrival, there isn't a great deal to do here anyway. And thanks to Melbourne's weather following me again, I didn't really feel like doing much that didn't involve a bed. That was until I was roomed up with someone who's one shot at fame would have been in a snoring Olympics. On the upside, I found out how far into my ear canal earplugs would go before they hurt.

I lost two hours on the flight over, then another hour when I went to bed on the last night of daylight savings. Finally succumbing to the all night alarm call in the bed above me, I woke up three hours younger than I actually was. I made the fifteen minute trek into Perth central to find the town had  been painted in whatever colour 'laid back' was as shops were supposed to open at 10am. Fair enough for a Sunday, but my trip to Fremantle the following day showed that sleep-ins were the norm over here and shops just open whenever the hell they feel like. Might have something to do with the time difference to the East coast.

Window shopping was about all I could afford, so I'll count that as a blessing anyway. I wandered over to Kings Park and soaked up some vistas that deserved better lighting than what the cloud covered sun was offering. I marvelled at the blandness of all the naked local wild flowers there, thinking what a difference the time of year can make. The same could be said for the day I guess as my pining for a warmer climate continued to gather momentum.

The shops were open on my return, but CBD's usually cater to a clientele with an income whose 'weekly' matches my 'yearly'. Same with Fremantle. The grey clouds and expensive shops told me I wasn't in the place I wanted to be. With only one busker playing a guitar like he expected it to do all the work for him, the suburb wasn't living up to a funky, alternative reputation that had preceded me. I had a tasty and relatively cheap chai latte, as the prices of everything else had me thinking I was visiting Tas-money-a's more expensive relative. Especially at the airport, where the food would need to be coated with gold to justify the asking price.

I stopped off in Subiaco's shopping district knowing nothing as 'alternative' as Fremantle was being offered there. Unless blatant rip-offs were an alternative the locals were in to. The walking around was good exercise I guess, but I usually prefer exercise to involve a bed as well. So I headed back into Perth central to play culturally refined rather than consumer defined. The clouds cleared to reveal a beautiful Autumn day just as I headed inside the Art Gallery for the rest of the afternoon. Sufficient compensation was provided by the presence of Rodin's 'Adam' sculpture, a pleasant surprise matched only by the admission price; free. If only I had of been free to take some photos of me admiring it's craftsmanship to counter every other photo recently showing me off my face.

As an ice cold swan draught rapidly gets lighter beside me, I find it hard to convince anyone, even myself, that visiting an art gallery wasn't just an anomaly that interrupted my stoner lifestyle largely because it was free. And only three posts after 'A stoner's creed' was written, I'm off the weed. By putting it out there for everyone to mock, I'm hoping to be sufficiently inspired to prove everyone wrong. I'm not about to put money on my chances, but I've always respected the difference between use and abuse, and that line has become too blurred for my liking of late. Unsurprisingly, it's awfully clear now I'm straight and I need to stay that way to make some big choices that don't relate to snack selection.