As I am writing this, dear reader, I am sitting on the balcony of an eleventh* storey hotel room in Scarborough, on the far western side of Perth, Western Australia. The asterisk after "eleventh" is designed to note that it is only allegedly the eleventh floor. Upon inspection, the labels on the lift buttons read:

• Lobby
• Mezzanine Level
• Restaurants and Entertainment
• 11th floor

I also noted that the 12 th, 14 th, and all numbers from 1 through 10 were conveniently missing. Whilst I can recognise that I am not at ground level, I suspect that a fall from this height may render me bruised and a little annoyed, however nonetheless very alive.

Regardless of the inscrutable claims of a building I've just in my own mind personified, I have just enjoyed a sunset over the Indian Ocean. I sit now almost 2000kms further west than I have ever dared travel.

When I was informed that I was being sent to Perth, I acquiesced with an apprehension that I expect Tenzing Norgay might have felt when Edmond Hillary asked him to carry his bags up Mount Everest for him. A mixture of excitement to go somewhere I'd always said I wanted to go and fear that the whole experience would end in my being dead, or worse yet, unimpressed.

I had the misfortune of an aisle seat for my flight from Sydney to Perth. Upon touching down I got the distinct feeling that a Banjo solo was imminent. One only gets this feeling when they are in an isolated spot and fear the locals are not doing their already poor genes any favours by inter-family breeding.

The airport terminal was worryingly small, and the threat the voiceover made of sniffer dogs never eventuated. I firmly believe that a dog in Perth is either in a cage, or lost.

My taxi driver was, on the whole, too enthusiastic about the fact that I had never visited before. To this end he appointed himself tour guide extraordinaire of an expedition he thought Malcolm Douglas would be awed by. I think he had decided there were things I must see, as I told him I was only staying one night. I am suspicious that our route was not as direct from airport to hotel as the average patrons journey is. Nevertheless a whimsical jaunt around a new place is often entertaining and at the very least, a tax deduction.

As we moved off, my first thought was that the whole place is flat. The taxi driver (lets assume his name was Douglas) mentioned that their highest mountain is only 2,000 feet high. I'm no expert on mountain heights or feet for that matter, but the tone in Douglas' voice indicated that a climb of this nature would barely result in a wheeze from the world's most severely afflicted asthmatic.

The layout of the place reminded me of Canberra; it had a planned feel about it and a surgical cleanliness. I imagine that the homeless people are swept into the storm water drains by day and emerge at night unbeknownst to the tourists. I guess tourism is a cutthroat business and the local council does what it can.

In the taxicab I twisted my neck to try and see a building above 2 storeys. It was some time before I found one and I am of the opinion that no more than 30 exist in Perth. The CBD, as pointed out by Douglass, was much more a central tumbleweed district, than a central business district.

A 30 minute journey to the "other side of the city" produced more trees than people and more open space grass fields than infrastructure. The highlight was seeing the major hotels set back over 200 meters from the Swan river with only cycle ways and parks in their way. The fact that waterfront land is sitting untouched is a testament to the fact that Perth is as much a bustling metropolis as Peter Garret is a wood chip advocate.

Upon arriving at my hotel, I was approached by a young attractive slim framed woman asking if she could help carry my bags. I paused looking at her for so long that she would be justified in pulling out her "crazy guy, worried he will assault me" self defence whistle. I declined her invitation and left puzzled by the exchange. I am a medium build healthy looking under 30 year old man. I wondered if it was on her part, an accusation of weakness or a genuine question that flew in the face of 20,000 years of pre-defined gender roles and social mores.

I guess now that by declining her invitation I had acted upon a stereotype she, or at least her employer, was trying to deconstruct.

In finding my room on the aforementioned alleged 11 th floor, I scanned my new domicile as one does. I immediately noticed that there were two double beds in the room. It has been a while since I'd been in a hotel, and I've never been well versed in the etiquette of middle class manners. To be honest, I abhor this kind of unnecessary expenditure when only a comfy bed and bedside lamp is needed. I wondered if one was an AM bed and the other a PM bed. Would someone knock on my door to tell me what time to switch?

In protest to this confusion, I planned to sleep in one of the beds and mess up the other to a synchronised standard.

The room offered more confusion when the subject of lighting became an issue. It seems that lamps have become so modern that if you can find the "on" switch in less than an hour, it just can't be fashionable enough. It turns out that I was in the company of the most fashionable of lamps, as I could not find the switch at all.

Sadly almost 95% of my trip to Perth was spent in either hotel rooms or transportation devices, to this end there are only a few helpful statements I can offer for prospective Perth bound travellers.

Statement 1: Do not drink the water.

The water tasted exactly like natural spring water, but natural spring water that was transported in Lance Armstrong's bike shorts for the entire length of the Tour De France.

Statement 2: Perth is a Mecca for promiscuous women

I have concluded that the small area that I was staying in was significant enough of a litmus test for the whole of Perth. A simple 100m walk to the bottle shop resulted in more inebriated temporary penile storage facilities than any man could hope for. As to whether these fluid hosts would amount to any conversation over and above the vocabulary of a Missy Elliot song, I can't be certain. However the outlook appears grim.

The only purposeful thing I actually did in Perth was to attend a conference at a swanky hotel. I could tell it was swanky because the man at the front desk exchanged my provincial "G'day" for an imperial "How do you do."

The aforementioned hotel played host to a sanitary amenity that boasted classical music. It's not often that one has the chance to pass solid or liquid matter in an environment that is trimmed by the artistry of a Bach concerto. It's surprising how classical music unconsciously encourages you not to micturate on the toilet seat. No matter how hard I tried, Bach seemed to guide my ill intentioned piss into the bowl.

When I boarded the plane, I rejoiced in the fact that I didn't have a stranger sitting next to me because the seat was empty. Of course my row 22 associate was the kind of moron that was too busy drinking cheap mind-rotter at the airport bar to realise his flight was departing. He sat down beside me with a kind of content ignorant grin you'd expect on the face of someone that was oblivious to the fact that they disgusted humanity. About 2 hours into the flight he started to excrete an odour that glade air fresheners would have a disclaimer about. It was a cross between 6-week-old pizza salami and a 98-year-old nursing home resident that had run out of adult diapers.

To add to this nightmare, he had decided to start snoring. It was as though his sinus had engaged in a pitched battle against his respiratory system, and it was clear that both of them were losing. Rather than tell how the flight ended, I should conclude about my time in Perth.

Perth is place were everyone wants to have been but nobody wants to go. It must be one of those things that you must have done, to know anything about Australia but you'll be dammed if you'll enjoy anything about it whilst you're there. It was on the whole dull, dim witted and oblivious to the fact that a capital city was not just a shop front for state politics.

My advice to you is find a way to visit Perth that won't cost you anything, otherwise you'd get about the same excitement as Steven Hawking would at a high school science fair.

 

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