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Trust me, I’m your driver
We’ve met another proper Aussie joker, this one called Barry, and he drives the bus for Swan Valley Tours. Barry picked us up off the Captain Cook cruiser which took us up the Swan River from Perth Harbour to Guildford and he was just the sort of bloke to do the job on a wine tasting tour. “I know nothing at all about wine,” he said, “but ask me about beer and I can tell you the answer.” He continued with a dialogue about its unique qualities “Beer’s the only thing that can cool you down when you’re hot, warm you when you’re cold, make you well when you’re sick and make you sick when you’re well” And Barry assured us he could definitely confirm from experience the last of those.
There was a certain irony in the fact that we, Seath, Nicole, Kaelene and Marty, had gotten up early and taken the train to town, walked from the station to the harbour and then cruised for an hour and a half up the Swan River, only to land and be picked up by Barry some ten minutes by car from home. But the river cruise was all part of the day out and one intriguing thing is that for the hour and a half’s journey we were within the city limits but, once we had passed the WACA cricket ground, the Casino, the Ascot Racecourse and a few other cultural icons, we could have been in the middle of nowhere. The river was edged by bush and populated only by pelicans or the occasional person fishing the muddy water. The scenery was incidental, however, no sooner had the long arm struck ten o’clock than the wine (and New Zealand cheese) came out for the first of the day’s tastings. With four wines sampled and analysed within the first thirty minutes it was destined to be a long day, our $5 guide book, The Scenic Swan River, Perth to the Swan Valley, there for reference if tested on the skipper’s commentary as we ventured upstream.
Swan Valley Tour’s driver Barry was the consummate guide, laconic, a seventh generation Okker, his great-something grandmother was transported on the first few ships from the United Kingdom to Australia for stealing a dress, and if that wasn’t a convincing enough credential, she served her time in a prison built for the worst behaved. En route, Barry regaled us with stories about the Wagyl, a snakelike dreamtime creature (probably a similar sort of indigenous being our own Taniwha) said to have created and now protects the Swan River and other western Australian waterways. Then Lilac Hill Park where the first ever one-day international cricket match was played; described as a premier festival ground, tradition has it that drinking and eating are more important than cricket, the club’s most successful day ever being one year when it rained and not a ball was bowled. Not that day, but another, current Australian cricket captain Ricky Ponting made his international debut and was apparently reported as showing some promise.
Down a particularly corrugated track called Benara Road, off West Swan Road is Pinelli Wines, a family run outfit where their varietals can be brought by the 2 litre flagon. “Of course you’ll be too young to remember flagons”, said the ever-flattering Barry who claimed to be in his eight decade on earth. The flagons we recalled were half gallon, but that was no problem, Barry claimed to be fluent in two languages, imperial and metric. Nick, the grandson of Dominec and Iolanda Pinelli who together started the vineyard in 1980, took us through the tastings, enthusiastically reciprocating our approval of his verdelhos, sauvignon-semillons, roses and reds by pulling out the desert and fortified wines, and then a very special gold medal port. The approximately six wines we were due to taste turned into eleven, dangerous perhaps given this was only the first stop of four or five. Notwithstanding, this young man’s generosity was amply rewarded with the purchase of several cases of the best by Seath and Nicole and couple of bottles of aged port for us (mind, Marty of Scot heritage was tempted by the house port at $13 a flagon).
Away from Pinelli up the Reid Highway, Barry drew attention to a very exclusive Swan Valley address, a sexist one he pondered, as only women and very special ones at that are allowed to reside there. Unfortunately for the occupants, however, the view of the river and surrounding vineyards are obscured by high mesh fences and barbed wire, they inhabit the Bandyup Women’s Prison.
Just around the corner we headed up the Great Northern Highway, part of the roading system that circumnavigates Australia, and those who head off and just keep going for approximately 24,000 kilometres end up exactly where they started. For us the journey was shorter, to the Houghton, Jarrah Ridge and Edgecombe Brothers wineries, and perhaps we were jaundiced by such a good start at Pinelli, but these three wineries seemed a little formulaic, the staff’s patter prescribed and their products nice but unremarkable, except perhaps the excellent lunch at Houghton’s, one of the regions big players. Again to dash stereotypes, us burly men were served a sort of ploughman’s lunch centred on a slab of vegetarian quiche; whoever heard of that?
That was nearly that, past the (Trevor?) Mallard Duck Café and on to the Mash Brewery for a beer tasting and finally the Margaret River Chocolate Company where the irrepressible Barry went behind the counter to give us each a truffle of choice and encouragement to get stuck into the free samples. And we did.
Rather than go all the way back to town, Barry dropped us and our half-truckload of purchased wine off at Guildford with a promise a taxi would be there within minutes to transport us home. “You can trust me,” he said. “I’m the driver.”
There was an amusing postscript. Next day Marty and Kaelene drove back to Jarrah Ridge to pick up a price-driven case of mixed red ($70 a dozen), and who should be there with his next tour group but Barry. There was no escape; he loudly announced to everyone present that, clearly not satisfied with buying out one entire winery the day before, we were back for a second go. “Look at this,” he said,” they can’t stay away. Bloody amazing!”