I lie here in my alien bed in a far away land and dream of my true home.  I can smell the sheep ships loading their doomed cargoes at the docks, their odours permeating the port, infiltrating the buildings, and proclaiming that another shameful episode in Fremantle's history is taking place.  Perversely, I long to take that smell into my nostrils again.

I can hear coins dropping into the ever-hungry parking meters, detested by shopkeepers, who see parking fees driving their customers into the arms of new soulless suburban shopping centres, spreading like Patterson's Curse, offering their free parking, and their up-market coffee shops. 

Do we need these monstrosities, with their identical rows of shoe shops, boutiques, souvenir shops, food halls and opticians?  If not for their free parking and convenience, I doubt they could lure shoppers away from the historic port with its bustling population and unique atmosphere. 

I can see the heavy traffic in the streets, and taste the fumes from their exhausts.  Buses abound, amid cars frantically searching for parking spots or, if driven by young guys, restlessly circling the block, loud music erupting from the open windows, as if to say, 'Here I am, notice me!'

 Cat buses have made a welcome appearance on the streets of Fremantle.  They are a mixed blessing.  While taking tourists and locals on free trips around Fremantle, their regular ten minute runs contribute toward the congestion in the narrow streets.

But

Among Fremantle's many saving graces is the delicious aroma coming from the kerbside tables of the Cappuccino Strip, the pizzas and the freshly percolated coffee, all to the accompaniment of the ice cream cones being baked in the mall opposite.  The smell of the fish and chips down at the harbour fills not only the nostrils, but also the heart of an ex-patriot Pom. 

I can hear the squawk of seabirds as they cheekily beg for alms in any place they find people eating alfresco, and I can hear a wide variety of languages and dialects being spoken by our cosmopolitan population, representing so many European, African and Asian countries.  I can see historic buildings, giving Fremantle its own unique atmosphere.

Fremantle is a city of tastes too, the fish and chips at the Fishing Boat Harbour, the Japanese Tempura at the Up Markets, and the 30c cone from McDonalds, right on the waterfront.  There are food halls, small cafes, restaurants, fast food outlets and hotels, all conspiring to tempt the taste buds with an almost bewildering array of food and drink.  I defy anybody with money in their pockets to go hungry for long in this smorgasbord of gastronomic delights.

Other towns have their own particular sights, sounds, smells and tastes, but none combine them to such good effect as our beloved Fremantle.  I curse the fate that has brought me to these foreign shores, to die alone and lonely, grieving for my city by the sea, the historic, busy, old, new and beautiful Fremantle.