Shacking up at the Caves Hotel
We left Ken and Andrea’s at 9am for Margaret River. Ken told us it’ll only take two-and-a-half hours to get there. It took us four hours. We didn’t have a map either. Every petrol station we stopped at didn’t have a map so we depended on instructions from the cashier. After what seemed like miles and miles of shrubs, road and suburbs, we still couldn’t see any signs that said ‘Margaret River’.
Finally, we found a petrol station that sold maps of the area and tada – we were definitely on the right track. With mint choc Arnott biccies in hand, we zoomed along the highway to Mr. D’s thumpy, funky electronica.
The wedding reception was going to be held at Seashells Caves Hotel so it seemed convenient to book a room there and roll back upstairs after the party. It was such a lovely room with a spacious queen-sized bed and a large toilet. We kept marveling, “Our apartment in Tokyo is as big as this loo!”
With delish fish ‘n’ chips in our tums and a speedy 10-minute change of clothes, we were back on the road to find St. Thomas More Catholic Church where the ceremony was held. Josh, Mr. D’s ex-colleague, was getting married to Mandy, a lovely blond girl from Perth. They both live in Sydney but her family lives in Western Australia so they decided it made sense to have their nuptials here. It was short and sweet with a touch of Aussie quirkiness. Check out their car.
By 4pm, the ceremony wrapped up and the hot summerish temperature cooled into crisp spring air. We headed back to our room and snoozed. I was still battling a bout of heartburn but I suppose some rest fixed that and I couldn’t get enough of the smooth, sweet lager that was served on a terrace just outside the dining room.
While Mr. D pow-wowed with a few industry peeps, I breathed in the pretty greenery and admired the colourful frocks the women had on. Most were in tube or halter-neck dresses showing off cleavage. Aussies dress in a pretty flamboyant way, which I like. I was a little jarred because in Tokyo, although the women do wear colour and have funky ensembles, they don’t show much flesh. Megumi told me the Japanese think that baring the back of the neck is the most provocative display of sexuality, so it’s rare to see women ‘undressed’ in this manner. But maybe it’s the weather. With a shiver, I’d like to report it went down to 10 degrees last night. Brr.
I do enjoy the occasional low cut top on myself but I’ve refrained from wearing them because it just didn’t look right. It’s a bit silly to exercise this bit of self-censorship but I guess when in Rome…is always a safe bet.
Dinner was a juicy Sirloin steak. I was craving for one even before I stepped on the plane. Perhaps it’s all very psychological because I don’t think I ate a lot of steak in Singapore. Or beef for that matter. Beef is an extremely expensive commodity in Japan. A scroungy piece of sirloin is SGD20 from the supermarket. I guess that’s affordable by itself but it feels like such a waste when I used to pay SGD7 for a healthy hunk of meat.
Anyway, it was heaven for at least 30 minutes of savoury goodness. Topped with herb-flavoured butter and a fresh salad on the side, my sirloin totally rocked. Man, I can be such a pig.
The night wore on with hilarious speeches, classic Aussie rock, champagne and dancing. It’s been a while since we had a boogie and Mr. D sure can shake his tush. A lady from Melbourne who was sitting at our table, asked me, “Does Mr D dance?” I said, “Yeah, he even took part in an amateur ballroom dancing competition before.” She gave me a secret smile, “He’s a keeper.” There wasn’t any salsa music but we still set the dancefloor on fire.
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