By Simon Hollway 

‘the piercing blue sky punctured by the razor-sharp, jagged and stratifi ed rocks in the shape of crazed totem poles, has an identity like no other’

As this is our Green issue, I felt it was a perfect rainbow-coloured opportunity to visit one of the numerous environmentally friendly, recycling-savvy, frangipani cocooned, ‘wellness centres’ littered around Australia, most of which hug, in a non-threatening and ecologically reassuring manner, the Eastern coast.

Then I thought again. Been there; bought the hessian T-shirt; listened to the whale music. A review of any of these worthy joints would read something along the lines of, ‘…recyclable paper used for the menus, whisper quiet dream grottos, lentil and lettuce hors d’oevres wrapped in seagrass with organic wholegrain poppy seed pasta strained through a dreamcatcher. A wholesome range of activities include afternoon visits to the local hippy shacks, guided tours of bead-weaving and henna tattoo stalls. Everything is muted; all is still.’ Yada yada yada.

I am a true-blue Pom and, therefore, want my planet saving to be loud, proud and dangerous enough for the neighbours to notice. Ironically, this approach also applies to my environmental abuses where I defiantly water the flower beds on a non-watering day, refusing to have my, or my Dutch irises’, civil liberties repressed by a green fascist state. If I am forced to go on an eco holiday, forsaking flagons of beer, kebab wrappers and artificial preservatives, I want something robust. Tinkling bells, wafts of witch hazel and ant antenna extract are out. A drop of cactus sweat served in a boiling cup of rain water collected in reclaimed terracotta ampoules does not a cup of tea make. I don’t want to turn a gladed corner and ‘happen upon’ a contrived bower billed as a ‘thinking space’ and, most of all, I don’t want statues of bloody Buddha scattered everywhere I turn.

Bali, Thailand, Malaysia, India and certain ‘off-the-beaten-track’ (but mass-marketed) enclaves in the South of France and Hampshire all cater for the ‘wellness’ aficionados. Dinner parties in Darlinghurst and St Kilda are equally qualified in regurgitating every eco cure and half-baked theory currently en vogue; simply bristling with so many holistic ideas and ways in which you can be at peace with your inner child/lunatic/sexual deviant, that you leave the soiree feeling an errant failure.

I want my eco awareness to be Australian. I want it harsh, I want it dramatic and I want it authentic and homegrown. So I packed my bags – hand luggage only to reduce my carbon footprint – and headed for the Top End of Oz. The pointy bit near the Kimberleys. I landed in Broome and, after an hour’s drive south, arrived at Eco Beach Retreat.

Eco Beach Retreat is not a retreat – it is a confrontation. A bold confrontation with the blockbusting and desolate geography of North West Australia. Billed as a remote, isolated hide-away in harmony with the natural environment, it is in fact, a collection of high spec tents and simple villas demurely huddled in the bush that backs onto the stunning Kimberley coastline.

Most eco resorts vouch for their lack of impact upon the surrounding land. Eco Beach is no different but the land it perches upon is so impassive, so vital, so epic, so vast and so, well, so in your face, it would take nothing short of a thermo-nuclear explosion to make any dent upon it whatsoever.

The resort is reached via an hour’s bus transfer from Broome, the more un-ecological helicopter transfer or, by prior arrangement, a serene catamaran ride across the glistening Roebuck Bay. As you sweep into reception, most five star compliant Brits would be a little disappointed. The oceanfront bar and terrace, accompanied by a somewhat under-sized infinity pool, are ‘pleasant’ but nothing out of the ordinary. Yes, the views out to the ocean are spectacular but somehow generic.

The vista is just as ‘exquisite’ as any high end cliff top bar in the posher parts of the Spanish Islands, where snobbish Brits still venture in the obtuse expectation of an interloper overhearing that time-honoured banter, “Yes I know it’s only Majorca but this is the true, unspoilt northern end of the island. Lord Sainsbury has a villa here, didn’t you know? It’s well-trodden but this is the hidden hinterland…yacka, yacka, yacka.” Yep, great, sea view. What next? Accommodation consists of a combination of 25 ‘Eco Villas’ (neat but under-appointed weatherboard cottages) and 30 demountable safari style eco tents connected by a raised walkway that meanders through the resort.

Now the tents are where it is at. Pitching in at extremely reasonable rates, they are cosy and luxurious and well, not tents at all really. Bedding down in the upmarket linen, you feel like you’re on an adventure of the David Niven, silver service on safari type affair…and won’t be out of pocket.

Having settled in, a revisit to the bar had me reassessing my jaundiced opinions. It is majestically quiet. Sitting sipping a wine, you could, in all honesty, be staring out at any ocean in the world but there is a strange spirit to the place. I know it sounds rather Baz Luhrman but the feeling of being in the middle of nowhere without being fussed over by a retinue of sycophantic staff was all a little ‘real’.

This resort isn’t about the resort. It is, as the brochure eloquently notes, being privileged to have the luxury and convenience of a resort whilst having access to an unsurpassed wilderness experience right on the doorstep. The ocean is the ocean but the sunset….well, it feels as though it was specifically commissioned just for you to enjoy. And the temperature? In winter it is sublime. Dry, warm and, oh, so rejuvenating.

Eco Beach is remote but without the remote controls. There are no televisions or telephones. If this proves too Robinson Crusoe for you, there is a high speed WiFi link located in reception and in the dining area. It was pretty tragic to watch a litany of guests, myself included, hunched over their laptops even as their meals were approaching. That soon wears off. The bay, the sea and the coastline inescapably beckon you to log off and explore. Pop off your beachfront bar perch and get to ground level: breathtaking seaside cliffs and caves, an ancient salt water creek system and an ocean jammed with aquatic wonders saw me leap out of bed the following morning at dawn (strangely awake) and hop onto the resort’s sports fishing expedition.

It seems a little unenvironmental to label game fishing as a ‘nature based’ activity: the huge fish that are snagged by the barb would probably have been happier lurking about under the waves and, I imagine, would have willingly turned down the twenty minute wild tug of war to reel them in. Having said that, a catch and release programme is honoured and, although I quickly became a little upset at the sight of these silvered beasts gasping for air, the fishing is utterly world class. I previously thought a mackerel could fit snugly within a small sardine can: arthritis of the hand, aching arms and a long bruise the size of a moray eel on my hip, where I had steadied the rod, soon cured me of that delusion. No sooner do you put your rod in the water, than the monster fish start biting.

I landed a 25 kilo, five foot long Spanish mackerel that I was reliably informed would fetch about $500 at any fishmarket. It was a whopper. Swiftly to be followed by a baby shark, a cod the size of a cow (Codzilla) and a grouper that could double as a pantomime horse. Along the way, we spotted two young male whales that came and investigated the boat, sea snakes a go-go and a shark that leapt out of the water and simply snaffled the fish off two of our rods. Having been sports fishing in the Bahamas, Queensland and in Hawaii, this experience topped the lot and is worth the trek to Eco Beach alone. We released all of the fish except the one Red Emperor I eventually managed to snaffle. Being one of the tastiest fishies in the sea, this one was coming back with me for dinner.

The Emperor was served up later that night on a platter in all its resplendent glory: cooked by the Head Chef with a deft hand so that the white juicy flesh could be simply spooned off the bone. Accompanied by the fresh salad and the stunning and cheap house white wine, this was a meal that suggested the normal buffet selection was being forcibly produced by a chef unwillingly batting below his average. The food at the resort is probably the main flaw. Everything is buffet style, with only a couple of choices for the main course, and main ingredients often repeated the following day. I think the chef is an a la carte man at heart and would suggest he was given more of a free hand. The food is satisfactory just without the wow factor although, having resided in Broome either side of my stay down at Eco Beach, by comparison the meals are wonderful.

The food in Broome itself is appalling, abysmal, apocalyptically, arse-crunchingly awful and every other derogatory adjective beginning with an ‘a’ right through every letter of the alphabet…and that still wouldn’t adequately describe quite how bad it is. All meals need a liberal application of salt to enhance the taste and a blindfold to mask the sight of congealed bits and microwave-hardened crusts. Braver souls than I have ventured in these pages in past issues to sample Broome’s cuisine and have also come up with deuces. You will be kept on the edge of hunger, the precipice of starvation for a number of days and you will pay through the nose, ears and eyes for the privilege. Tip – there are a few of the habitual fast food joints just off Broome’s main drag. Head for these, do not pass go, do not get your hopes up and just, as an added alternative, save your money and gorge yourself at the local supermarket’s deli counter. It is maybe a little unfair to criticise Eco Beach for unspectacular food as it is extremely isolated and lacks the resources and manpower to individually cater for dozens of fussy diners three times a day.

You have to take the rough with the smooth. Being underwhelmed on the food front is a minor sacrifice for the glorious remoteness and remarkable grandeur of the location. Thankfully, I extended my stay by a day and took advantage of it by strolling down the coast. This day’s grace proved exhilarating. The red rocks and powder-perfect sand along Roebuck Bay are the resort’s wild show stoppers. A quiet yet gruff voice leeches out of the dramatic landscape. That old cliché ‘being at one with nature’ suddenly held true. Actually, you weren’t ‘at one’ with nature on the Kimberley shore – you are a tiny dot on an arresting canvass that is splashed with overwhelming colours and shapes that scream to be noticed.

This is where the real Australia is…this is what Australia is really about. Brutal beauty and harsh splendour. The pristine panorama is simply more dramatic, more visceral than anything I have ever encountered before. The windswept excesses of Anglesea in Victoria, Kangaroo Island and the South West of Australia are all well and good but they’re a little hackneyed.

Call them New Zealand Lite, whereas the red Kimberley earth meeting the Indian Ocean, the piercing blue sky punctured by the razor-sharp, jagged and stratified rocks in the shape of crazed totem poles, have an identity like no other. The locals call the rocks the ‘mini Bungle Bungles’ which resemble miniature leaning Tower of Pisa’s interbred with the Grand Canyon. Yet, unlike the Grand Canyon, this shoreline is untouched, untravelled and unmolested by the helicopters and day trips and photographs that really do, after the umpteenth postcard, sap the soul of a place. The extra day also gave me the chance for a spot of massage therapy and I was fortunate to meet the resort’s lady with the magic hands.

Like a good priest, a fine masseur has an aura about them. Both use incense and whale music respectively to create an atmosphere but, with the best of them, it is merely interweaved into the background, a subtle serving suggestion, a condiment that can be taken or left depending on taste. The main dish is in the hands on and Eco Beach’s practitioner is gentle and assured and respectful and confident and very, very powerful.

Bobbing in the infinity pool, staring out to sea in my final few hours at the resort I felt one of those unexpected pangs of regret that tend to plague the wandering ex-pat. It poignantly reminded me of gazing out at the Mediterranean in some swanky pool on the Greek Islands.

I could almost hear my mates murmuring and laughing in the background, my mind half-forming plans of which bar we would be descending upon later that evening. Then I snapped back to reality. I was tout seul in North West Australia, not in loud company in Europe. An ex-pat’s lot is a strange one, particularly on vacation and especially when ‘returning’ from a holiday. ‘Divorced from the homeland’ in Australia, an unexotic fish out of water, we sometimes feel like an infected tadpole in an isolation tank, peering out of the fishbowl but not able to pinpoint once familiar shapes and structures.

However, you have to be ruthless about these emotions. It is all too easy to mistake nostalgia, which would happen wherever you are, with topical separation. If I am truly honest, the big boys holiday hasn’t occurred for several years. Due to relationships, careers that have flung us to different corners of the world and a gradual imbalance in funds, the boys’ night out has been a ghost huddled in the corner for a long, sad time. Life has got in the way and had fragmented our contented little clique long before I moved to the other side of the world.

Maybe that is why I felt such an affinity with this ancient, untouched, isolated coastline and place. Looking out to sea, my eye wouldn’t be stopped or imagination pricked by the archeological treasures on the Turkish coastline or the culinary magic of the boot of Italy. Looking out from the Kimberly coast, the nearest landform would be Sri Lanka, 5,000 kilometres away. This is an immovable, solitary place. Just like an ex-pat. Alone and solid. Existing purely through force of will rather than context and reflected glory from friends or family. This is why we whinge and whine a bit when in populated centres of Australia. They simply feel like pale imitations of what we have left behind which will, inevitably, cause nostalgia.

Fortunately, Eco Beach is what it is. Remote, indescribably beautiful and unique. The resort has its faults but it has only just reopened having been destroyed by a cyclone a few years back so is still finding its feet. It is a tribute to its owner who has crafted a luxury resort out of bare earth, put in water facilities and made it all ecologically sound. Now I don’t know what an energy monitoring system is or a lo-flo cistern, bio-degradable toiletries, composite recycled polypropylene plastics or any of resort’s other eco ‘credentials’. But the owner/builder Karl Plunkett does and I think the planet is safe in his hands. Well this part of the planet, anyway.

Karl has created a fine resort but the resort is not the star. He originally fell in love with the location and so will you. The environment is the headline act. The ocean, the coastline, the sun and the palpable yet inexplicable spirit of the place are centre stage and they speak for themselves. Well they don’t speak. They lurk, they glower, they stand tall and their combined rhythm soothes, enchants but is unknowable. The terrain, just like the alienated ex-pat, is stoic. It makes you yearn for something yet makes you content in yourself. The coast is what it is. And it is strong and it is solitary. It is the true Australia.

I arrived cynical and left satisfied. Eco tourism, and all its flowery and flaccid connotations, leaves me cold. Eco Beach Resort shows up all those tired spa retreats as fakes which ‘pamper’ the visitor in a tried and sorely tested formula; where it’s all about you and your body and your mind and feeding baby elephants blah, blah, blah. Eco-tourism should be a measured time out from the ego and an appreciation of nature without damaging it. That’s a truly worthwhile eco experience. Not all head space trips. I don’t need to have my senses delicately ‘appealed’ to and anointed by a sensual experience. I want to be smacked in the face and a sealed lid capping the pressure cooker that is my mind. Quality time without having to inhabit your own head and focus too hard on your multiple shortcomings.

Eco Beach achieves that impact and makes you seem very insignificant…what a wonderful relief that can be. The marketing blurb describes the landscape’s calming aura that, regardless of the stress you endure in your daily life, will bring you back to earth in a wonderfully gentle way. And it does. With a bang not a whimper. In this sense, Eco Beach resort is right at the top of the food chain.

For further information visit www.ecobeach.com.au