Out and about.

Well, time has passed and it has been almost a fortnight since my last post! Things in the hostel tend to be of a bit more vulgar nature so I was hesitant to relay the happenings to my family and actually a bit embarrassed to even convey some of the things to my friends, but not for any outrageous reason. My family and friends have seen most facets of me, and then their own share of things that would make my small adventure seem very tame but the relation of an episode from easy-flexible conversation to steadfast mode of print can sometimes unnerve a person with intimacy. With that in mind and being mindful not to delve into my discoveries and explanation of situations with anything more than that of the explication of events let me continue to share my experiences.

Hostel day one. Well, my first day at the hostel I spent writing my first blog entry! I unpacked some of my things into the six-bed female dorm room and introduced myself to the ladies whom were around. The question, ”How long have you been in Fremantle?” Or, “How long have you been at this hostel?” Were met with answers that really took me by surprise: “five months,” “three months,” “a month and a half,” and “a year.” I had booked myself into a working hostel. I was a bit excited. I thought, how wonderful people literally call this place their home. Everyone was friendly enough and some even invited me to have a drink with them downstairs in the evening. I was very thrilled. Out on my own, meeting new people, doing the hostel thing! Evening rolled around and I was eager to meet up with the girls to go down to the backyard for a drink. Discovering they had already gone down another girl and I headed down to join them. The table was a bit chillier than I had expected. There was courtesy extended: “would you like us to deal you into our hand”—and there was an indifference that I was unaccustomed to hearing laced into casual conversation. I must admit though after a year of living in the same transient setting the whole “I’m on this adventure alone” story may have been worn a bit thin. The group had known each other for a long time and I was happy enough to be included – I was sure time in the hostel would be the glue I needed for some new friends. The drinking games seemed a bit of an initiation and some I was familiar with, but there was one foreign game that had purely diabolical intent. I don’t know it by name but the premise is to whisper a question—this is the surely evil part—which must reveal something terrible (true or untrue) about a person at the table. To explain how it goes: about eight of us, maybe ten are sitting in a circle and then one person, whispers to the next, a secret question. The second person must say aloud the name of someone sitting at the table. The person announced is supposedly whom they think best fits the answer to the question. The person who is called has a few options now: they can take one drink then the game moves along, or they can take three drinks and find out what sort of defamatory quality they seemed the best candidate to befit—usually people choose the latter. I went to bed earlier than everyone it was my first night and I had enough of my wits to know when to call it a night.

The following days I visited the Shipwreck Galleries, the Western Australia Maritime Museum, and the Fremantle Prison (on the World Heritage List)—all of this while diligently handing out resumes. I stumbled into the Shipwreck Galleries with fervor for some sort of intellectual stimuli. I was craving history! I walked into the building and enthusiastically questioned the attendant at the front. He was very informative and asked if I would like a tour of the gallery, an informative guide to some of the highlights at their gallery. I thought, “What luck!” A free private tour! After I had accepted the generous offer and he began showing me to some of the displays I found his company a little uncomfortable. He seemed to be having some sort of nervous social problem and it became apparent that this was perhaps his first tour. I should have spared both of us and politely declined to continue but I was a bit perplexed with how to bow out without being abrupt and so the awkward tour continued. It was half way through the gallery that he conveyed the source of his nervous nature. He abruptly ceased talking about Dutch explorer Dirk Hartog’s expedition to Western Australia and asked whether or not after the tour if we, him and I, could remain friends and he could possibly visit me in Canada sometime! I paused and—I am not sure where I found the strength—thanked him for the tour but said I would like to finish browsing the rest of the gallery on my own. Then I speedily looked at a couple other displays and headed out the door.

The next day I headed to the Western Australian Maritime Museum and was happy to find they had the actual body of a mega-mouth shark on display inside of some sort of liquid preservative. I had never heard of a mega-mouth shark but according to the information provided it is very rare. My enjoyment of the maritime museum was cut short because my tour guide from the Shipwreck gallery was also working the museum floor and took it upon himself to do a little light stalking while I perused the various rooms. I think this was the day I wrote various postcards so if I seemed a little homesick this was why, nothing like being run out of a museum to make you feel the need for familiarity and comfort.

I am very happy though and was even then! There was still so much to see and experience. The Fremantle Prison (closed since 1991) offers a variety of tours for the public and I was quite pleased to attend one entitled ‘Torch Light Tour’. I was immediately dissatisfied when at the beginning of the tour I was handed a flashlight, but then I felt like an idiot. What kind of loon would imagine that a tour would actually be conducted with an open flame and a jumbled motley bunch of tourists? However, dissatisfaction aside the tour turned out to be a real treat! I laughed so many times. The guide was extremely comedic and played up the role of a rough and tough Australian. He lightly demeaned us as inadequate to be attending the tour as he could not see any one brave enough to stand up to the ghosts we were bound to encounter. After a few anecdotes the tour brought us to the bottom level of the prison and had us stand in the middle of an open area so we could look up to see the cells at the top. There was netting above our heads that he informed us it was to prevent suicides within the prison. He then started telling us a ghostly encounter experienced by some of the current staff when a shriek rang out and a body hit the net! I screamed and grabbed an unfortunate man to my left! I apologized but I was irrevocably embarrassed. The tour continued on to the solitary confinement part of the prison where the guide emphasized the disturbing psychological affects of being contained there. Halfway through the guide’s explanation a forgotten inmate emerged from one of the rooms and nagged us for making too much noise and that he would like a bit of peace and quiet but here we were disturbing his solace. The tour was very exciting and I enjoyed it thoroughly. I still had a smile as I headed back to the hostel.

On Friday night I attended, with lovely welsh girl, the opening of a photography festival called FotoFreo. We did not stay for long just enough time to enjoy some of the photos, not enjoy some of the photos and enjoy our free drink—to be honest I think the free drink was the highlight of that event. One of the photo exhibits featured was a project of a man whose life ambition was to take photos with famous people and that is what the exhibit was: him and hundreds of famous celebrities and of course he was there to answer any questions.

After a hot tip from one of the girls at the hostel I delivered my resume to a Ferris wheel looking for help, stay tuned for my little adventures.