You can't help feeling that if Australia's big cities had followed the British method of town planning, they'd be a lot easier to get around. Surely they'd be able to fit a lot more scummy housing and ugly factories in if they didn't insist on putting great big green spaces in prime real estate areas? Sydney has Hyde Park, The Domain and The Botanical Gardens, and Melbourne's CBD is surrounded by little parks. What about the smokestacks, fellas? These places look almost pleasant to live in.
Perth's equivalent is the magnificent King's Park. It's a mile's walk from the city centre, and it's perched in the most stunning position possible. Surrounded by soulless freeways, there is this great hulking beast of what seems like completely lost bushland.
From the bottom, it's a bit of a climb, and to make things a bit more educational, the walking track up to the top has been transformed into a tribute to the Australian Soldiers who fought in Papua New Guinea during the Second World War. A series of signs tells the tale of the Kokoda Track, which snakes across the daunting Stanley Range, and the resistance there saved Australia from an invasion in 1942.
As you lumbering breathlessly up the steps, the story of 1500 Australian troops holding out against a massive Japanese invasion force makes you feel like moaning about the climb is a tiny bit wussy. Many of these men were from WA, which explains why I'm reading about it in Kings Park, and only 143 of that 1,500 survived. For what basically amounts to a series of signposts, it's pretty moving stuff.
At the top, you emerge from the bushland onto something that seems a little incongruous - perfectly manicured lawns, and a stunning view of the city and Swan River. This is your bird's eye view of Perth, and the fact that you get it from a public park is astonishing. If they decided to develop Kings Park, these views would sell for millions. There's plenty going on up here to. There's the Western Australia war memorial, the Botanic Gardens, an Aboriginal art exhibition, tram tours and a cafe.
On a weekday, there's a bizarre mix of coffin dodgers pottering around whilst they try and find something better to do with their lives, and unemployable backpackers lying on the grass, turning their faces a lovely shade of diseased purple. At the weekend, everyone who can't be arsed to go out on a day trip is up there, and you can't really blame them. It's a passport to the countryside, and it's slap bang amongst the skyscrapers.