We reached Fremantle in good time. In fact, I’m glad we even reached at all with TC’s driving.
Bloody foggy and miserable weather in the hills of Perth gave way to surprising sunshine in Fremantle and that did make for some interesting walks. Fremantle wears its colonial past on its architectural sleeves quite proudly and the tourist strip has a few of these that make for fairly interesting pictures.
TC and I walked the cappuccino strip multiple times in Fremantle, went through the market, saw the Quay side, the docks and the surrounding streets and promptly (and probably narrow-mindedly) concluded that we’ve seen all of it for the typical tourist.
2 days in Fremantle, having seen the weekend market and tired of trying to decide between different kinds of pizza to eat, I decided that I wanted to go to prison. Fremantle prison sits in the West end corner on a hill overlooking the town, and built by convicts for convicts in the mid-19th century, was a maximum security prison with appalling conditions until 1991. I was fascinated with the entire tour and the stories.
TC, unfortunately, spent more time comparing its conditions with his time in the army, eventually concluding that the army was far worse.
2 Irish girls in the tour group clueless commented that the cell size “wasn’t too bad”.
Pete (I think) the tour guide who gave enough smug hints to suggest that his past is as shady as he’d like us to believe, is generous enough to tell us that feedback is appreciated – and to remember that his name is Fred if we didn’t enjoy the tour. In his own words, he had arranged for it to stop raining while we toured – just not long enough.
We walked back under a well-worn, rusty brolly in a howling downpour that left everything dripping nastily.