UK to Oz

I finally made it to Perth airport, 22 hours after leaving the snow dusted roads of the UK, and the change in temperature almost knocked me off my feet. As I arrived at the hotel, the only thing on my mind was getting a pair of flip-flops to mark the start of my antipodean summer, then grabbing a beer. No sooner than I'd found a surf shop in the CBD and bought a pair of overpriced "thongs," I bumped into the kite boys from Bristol - Paddy, Paul and Tom - who were waiting for a bus to head back to their hostel in Cottesloe.

As there were a couple of hours to kill before Dan arrived, we set off to grab a pint down on the edge of the river that runs through Perth. Finally got the beer I was dying for, but not before we paid through the nose for it. £5 a pint! Dan showed up a couple hours later and the adventure was truly in full flow.  So after a couple of beers with the boys, Paul and Tom made their excuses and headed back to Cottesloe leaving Paddy with us to go grab a couple of drinks.  Paddy insisted on stopping by Hungry Jacks (Burger King) for what had to have been his 10^th burger in half as many days.  The boys stumbled on the $4 meal deal and were really pleased with themselves for finding so much food for so little.  I don’t think any of us anticipated WA being so expensive, so the cheeseburger will likely become the meal of the trip.  Paddy’s already talking about approaching Hungry Jacks for some sort of sponsorship deal…

As the sun came up the next day, I began what would quickly become a weeklong battle with jet lag.  I’ve never had it so bad, but it did afford the opportunity to quickly explore the Perth city-centre while Dan was still passed out in the hotel.  A couple hours later, we checked out of the hotel, lugged our gear across the city to the central train station, and barely made it out alive.  It must have been at least 35 degrees as we lugged four kites, two boards, one surfboard and enough gear to last us for two months across the city centre; the tanned, immaculately dressed businessmen and women parted on the pavement as the sweat lashed off the two pasty kids freshly arrived from the northern hemisphere.  No sooner than I threw a bag on my shoulder, the strap snapped.  Cue Dan with some quick thinking and a length of rope and we were back on our death march through the baking heat of the city centre.  We arrived at the station, drenched in sweat, stinking to hell…suffice to say, the people on the train were even less impressed than the people we were bumping in to on the street, but were more than happy to give us plenty of space.  We made it to Clarkson train station in the end, just a half hour north of Perth, where we were met by Trish and Trev and their van from the YHA.  Next stop Lancelin…