Our good friend Cam T is visiting us from Western Australia. We decided to wander the old, ruined Darulaman Palace together. The guards were initially reluctant, pointing out that we needed ‘a letter of permission’ to enter, though I am not sure who would issue such a pass. Perhaps they meant a different kind of letter. But with a little encouragement, the chief guard, who had a split lip and a loud voice, relented, though not before pointing out some areas where a little donation would help. I demurred.
From within the ruined old palace, the new Parliament takes shape.
We climbed a few internal staircases, somewhat hidden away, and there in a roof space was a pile of school books. It was odd.
The fallen ceiling. It was quite beautiful, the way it hung, a lattice of plaster and wire.
From an upper window. Clearly, someone had been hidden there, sniping at people below.
On our way out, we passed the guards, and I slipped them 500Afs. I’ll come again, with other visitors, and I’d like to keep the relationship cordial. Needless to say though, the guards looked disgusted at the paltriness of my thanks. ‘500Afs? What use is that?’
Today we learnt that our bush property in the South West of WA has been largely burnt in the bush fires. My uncle’s house is destroyed; my parent’s home damaged. It is hard to be so far away, and the shock has an unreality to it.