The four days following our Karijini adventure were spent in Karratha and we packed a lot into that time. A hike into a gorge strewn with Aboriginal art-covered rocks (but I won’t mention the panic-stricken argument The Mother and I had with The Father and Brother when the light started to fade and we were still wandering on an unknown path – somehow we were perfectly capable of looking after ourselves in the wilds of Karijini but at the edge of the biggest town in the Pilbara we managed to get ourselves into trouble!), a visit to an abandoned ex-pearling town, fish & chips by the sea, walks along the sand dunes, sunbathing on several different beaches, yet more snorkelling, a boat trip on a twelve-metre ketch around the islands of the Dampier Archipelago, not to mention barbies and bubbly!
All too soon the time came to say goodbye to The Brother as he flew off to see the family in Adelaide. The Parents and I followed a few hours later, Perth-bound. I would not see The Husband for three weeks. He, of course, was grief-stricken, tears flowing freely down his face. Ok, so that’s not quite how it went. He came back in his lunch hour to take us to the airport in the work ute (the hard hat resting between the front two seats, stained upholstry and a general manly odour pervading the interior apparently made The Father feel like a Man – it just made me feel dirty) and dropped us off at the entrance with a meer peck on the cheek. I’m sure he was crying inside.
Pulling around Karratha’s car park, I was suddenly glad that a) I didn’t have to find a space in which to park the car, and b) I didn’t have a ute to find. The car-park was absolutely chocka – not a spare space in sight. In fact people had parked on the curbs, up against trees, anywhere they could find space, official or not. And 90% of the vehicles parked were identical white utes. Just like The Husband’s in fact. It would be nigh-on impossible to find your ute here. Someone once told me that they had even been informed where their ute had been parked and it still took them 45 minutes to find it. This truly is ute country.
Karratha airport is tiny - it’s only a country airport, after all. However, they still apparently deem it necessary to have a VIP lounge. And what a VIP lounge it is. Essentially, it seemed to be a broom cupboard in the corner containing a couple of chairs and some newspapers. That’s VIP Karratha-style.
When we disembarked at Perth Arrivals, we were surprised to find The Brother waiting there for us. His flight from Karratha apparently didn’t exist so he was put on the next available one, which meant he missed his connecting flight to Adelaide. How he was originally booked onto a ghost flight no-one knows but it meant him having to wait around a couple of airports for hours on end, which isn’t anybody’s idea of fun. After a lengthy hug for support, we left him to wait further as we hopped into a taxi to take us to the centre of Perth to our serviced apartments.
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