Around the West in 90-Odd Days: Days 75-76 (16-17 Sep) The Letter B Brought to you by Bunbury & Busselton

Heading into the deep south! There were quick visits to bustling Bunbury and beautiful Busselton – try saying that three times quickly.

Everything in Bunbury seemed suspiciously new and just a tad nouveau riche. Any heritage buildings have been tarted up to cover their embarrassment at being old; dare I say mutton dressed as lamb. A case in the point is the Art Gallery, an old converted Sisters of Mercy convent, now painted a very questionable shade of strawberry pink with white trim. It looks like a giant coconut ice with rust red eyeliner. I know that's a mixed metaphor, but it deserves it. Our favourite gallery moment was watching a local posing his bullmastiff for a portrait on the front steps. Bunbury is well worth a stroll around the streets to view the variety of architecture jostling for attention and the funky street art. The Marlston hill lookout tower is not to be missed for unbeatable views over the McMansions and harbour. The Bunbury tower, dubbed “the milk carton” by locals, can’t be missed, you'll see what I mean.

Busselton was a little more elegant, reveling in its history and advertising museums and pioneering stories at every corner. We weren’t there long, but did fit in a sunset visit to the famous coastal picture spot Sugarloaf Rock, where we met pig farmers from Gippsland - Noel & Adrienne. Adrienne became Dave’s new best pal when she spotted his camera; she is also a Canon aficionado. They talked shop while Noel and I commiserated on being photographer widows.

The next morning we also managed to visit Busselton’s main attraction – the Jetty. It is apparently the longest wooden piered jetty in the southern hemisphere, second in the world to one somewhere in England, which is about 200 metres longer. Busselton’s jetty extends about 1.8 kms out to sea, and ceased operations as a government port in 1973, at which time funding on its maintenance also ceased - scrooges! This was very problematic when Cyclone Alby paid a visit in 1978 and took a rather large chunk away as a souvenir. With Busselton’s favourite son now lying derelict in the gutter, not even eligible for welfare, the locals banded together to form the Busselton Jetty Environment and Conservation Association, the BJECA (more catchy acronym needed, guys). They managed to raise over $3 million by the sweat of their brow, until the WA Government eventually took pity on them and coughed up an additional $24 million for the restoration project. It is now a tourism juggernaut, offering everything from the Underwater Observatory (take a staircase 8 metres underwater in a cylindrical reverse fishbowl experience), to “Fishing Clinics” to “Mermaid Tours” (I don’t know, don’t ask).

We took the little train out to the end, did the Underwater Observatory experience, and bumped into Noel and Adrienne again. We discovered baby seagulls in nests along the jetty edge (you’ll never guess what they look like), and then bumped into Paul & Lou again – the Canberra couple we last chatted to in Monkey Mia. They are also doing the Term 3 travel thing from Canberra around the West, and are due home the same time as us. We greeted each other like old friends and discovered that while we were braving the cold in Perth, they had popped over to Bali for a week! It is a WA thing to do, as flights from Perth to Bali are about $150. Why didn’t we think of this? Sadly, we don’t have our passports on us.

Anyway, we did enjoy our time at the Busselton Jetty, but if I hear the term “Interpretive Centre” one more time, so help me…

Health wise, we’ve been afflicted with a touch of Shakespearean tragedy. Dave’s one infected toe has become three, and he now hath a Macbethian plea:

Canst thou not minister to a toe diseased,

Pluck from the skin a rooted infection,

Raze out the wretched troubles of the itch

And with some sweet effective antibiotic

Cleanse the swollen foot of that perilous staph?

Meanwhile, a month after falling down Mt Bruce, I’m performing my own rendition of Lady Macbeth:

Out, damned spike! out, I say! …

Yet who would have thought the old hand

to have had so much spinifex in it.