At the end of February, we moved to Fremantle, a port city about 30 min outside of Perth. It’s a little crunchier and more diverse, a little more patchouli in the air and a few more drum circles on the streets and beaches. We like it. It reminds us a little bit of Oakland and Berkeley.
The view from the Roundhouse, a former jail and the oldest public building in Western Australia. To the left, Bather’s beach, and beyond that the fishing boat harbour about a 10 minute walk from our house– I sometimes wake up early enough to catch some of them going out in the morning.
A gentleman who struck up a conversation with me before going on a morning swim out to a lighthouse, about a kilometer away in what I consider to be freezing cold water. Good on him, as they say here. And a little dog owned by some people who were sleeping rough near the beach that day. This was one of the few moments when he was not barking at me.
How do you tell if a starfish is dead? We couldn’t tell, so we threw this one back.
Simultaneously one of my most favorite and least favorite features of Australian swimming beaches, the pontoon. Sean dislocated his shoulder jumping off one of these in rough water earlier this year, but jumping off the pontoon is still fun.
Most happening venue on a Saturday night– fishing pier not to far from where we live. Note the danger sign at the beginning of the pier, barring anyone from going past that point. One of the funniest things about Australia are all the signs forbidding you to do things, usually right next to someone doing that very thing.
Our first party in our back patio, a Cinco de Mayo party with a pinata named Silvio (so named by a number of Italians present). Silvio was done in nicely by an Italian.
Blindfolded and being spun around. Our neighbor kids, who like to climb around our walls, were also watching on.
One of our first nights in our backyard.
