Au revoir five star hotel, hello backpacker dorm

After experiencing mild dismay at the standard of the first two hostels I visted I found a tranqil haven in Freemantle, half an hour outside of perth by train, an hour if you indulge in the ferry. With the air quality as it currently is inside I abondened my customary love of sea travel for the smoke free luxury of a commuter carriage.

Perth and the surrounding areas are caked in fire induced smog. The sun is hidden until the sea can garner enough windpower in the afternoons to clear the air for her light to shimmer. The fires are thirty km's from the city but as they have torn through the hills the valleys below are suffering too. Residents are complaining of respiratory problems for miles around. The fires have been contained though not extinguished. The already searing temperature (by UK standards) are set to soar towards the weekend and undo the tremendous efforts of the fire fighters. Smoke is a constant reminder of the suffering taking place elsewhere.

Freemantle is a fairy tale town. Chrismas cake colonial buildings jostle with Tuscan inspired houses featuring primary coloured window frames and shutters. Cobbled streets idylically backdrop the modern Aboriogional art galleries. Backpackers, artists and locals joyfully jostle for space in the plethora of pavement cafes . Fisherman ferry fresh booty to feed the hungry hoardes waiting for a table with a water view.

My lodgings nestle in a peaceful and picturesque back street. They are freshly painted with crisp newly laundered linen and bathrooms that scream "yuppy condo". Chuck in a sundrenched courtyard where Aborigional murals jostle for space with pot plants and hammocks, and a gentle lavender flowered tree offers kindly shade to the fairer skinned tourists. Pile on an internet cafe, fabulous management and a noticeboard to satify every whim however obscure, and this gypsy feels fabulously at home.

I am sharing a dorm with Tanya, an Aussie princess who calls Bali home and is heading back following a year of rehabilitation from an accident I have resisted probing. She is planning to set up a safe house for Balinese child prostitutes and has a bosom I am sure many of them would love to curl up in. She has infused my last twenty four hours with slices of humour and the kind of chat that helps put things clearly in perspective. For once I have been so enthralled listening, that you could almost think me quiet. There are also a couple of vivacious curvaceous adventure loving European women on a working holiday visa. Suddenly the lure of posh cookies and spa baths recedes as quickly as a geko who hears you coming.

I am here for a week, have swimming with dolphins and finding a yoga class as my sole itinerary items, and am indulging the rest of my time precisely as the mood takes me. So far that has entailed giggling under my duvet with a witty and tangential Tim (or Tom?) Robbins book, the title features frog pyjamas and is rapidly making it's way onto my must read list.

All in all, between you lot and some greater power, I feel thoroughly cherished by the universe and am gliding through the post relationship waters powered by positivity and a feeling that I really am the luckiest girl alive.

Julie