Exploring Perth's vibrant blend of sports, cuisine and culture

Fresh oysters are a must-try in Perth. — Photos: ABBI KANTHASAMY

I rolled into Perth in Australia like a sinner seeking salvation, suitcase half-full of anticipation, palate primed for trouble. Nothing whispers "great escape” like a direct flight from Kuala Lumpur, five-and-a-half hours through the night, that plants you straight at the doorstep of a city dancing under endless skies.

And there it was: Optus Stadium – gleaming, modern, gargantuan. A cathedral of concrete and light rising on the outskirts of Perth. You could almost taste the electricity in the air – the collective heartbeat of tens of thousand, all there for one thing: the first cricket Test of the 2025-26 Ashes series. The ground had inherited the dangerous bounce of the old Western Australian Cricket Association or Waca, or at least, wasn’t very far behind. Fast. Unforgiving. Brutal.

Cricket is one of the biggest sports in Australia, alongside rugby, Australian football or footy and football.

First day of the Test – crisp sun, blue-skied Perth. Batsmen looked jittery. Seamers raced in. The opening pairs of both sides managed zero. That’s right: zero – first time in Ashes history.

By day two, jaws were on the lawn. Travis Head exploded – 69-ball hundred, carved the chase like a butcher ripping through meat. And before long, it was over. Eight wickets. Game, set, match.

If that Test didn’t feel like a lightning strike from the gods, I don’t know what does. Pace from the bowlers. Gasps from the crowd. And utter beauty from a city that knows how to rise to the moment.

Perth isn’t just a cricket town. It’s a city reborn, growing – but still slotted somewhere between sun, sea, and salt. The skyline glitters off the Indian Ocean, and the vibe is "laid-back with swagger”. The ocean breeze whispers of quiet mornings on beaches like Cottesloe, or clean, beach-crisp air by the waterfront as the city hums along.

But nights – that’s when Perth reveals its true soul. Wandering into the old port-town heart of Fremantle, I found narrow cobbled lanes, neon-lit pubs, the scent of salt and beer and fried seafood lingering like a cheap perfume.

Where oysters dance

Fremantle ... now this is where the city truly tastes itself. There’s lore about the pints here. You hear it whispered in every tavern, every bar, every dim-lit corner. Draft beers pour like rivers, cold and fresh as morning ocean spray.

And there’s the legendary Little Creatures Brewery – pint after pint of hoppy, golden ales, served in heavy-bodied glasses that sweat under the night lights. Locals swear by it. It’s a modern brewery with soul: the kind that smells like mash and barley and dreams. Walking in, you feel like you’ve stumbled into a ritual older than the city itself.

Australia's own Little Creatures beer is famous for its pale ale.

Then there’s the seafood. Fresh oysters that are briny, icy and glimmering on the half-shell, opening like soft-bodied secrets. Fish and chips so crisp you could hear the batter crack beneath your teeth, clam chowder rich and steaming, each spoonful a hug courtesy of the sea.

Every meal felt celebratory, and every swallow a tribute to the ocean that surrounds this wild corner of Australia.

Western Australia isn’t just about hops and beer. The state is stitched together by vineyards that seem to stretch toward the horizon, most famously the Swan Valley, just 30 minutes from Perth, and Margaret River, a few hours south where surf culture and viticulture collide in glorious defiance of convention.

Swan Valley and Margaret River are very popular wine regions in Australia.

In Swan Valley, cellar doors offer buttery Chardonnay and crisp Semillon that catch the sunlight like liquid gold. Down in Margaret River, the Cabernet and Shiraz smell like wet earth and eucalyptus, big-bodied and unapologetic, much like the people who make them.

Vineyards – sprawling, green, sun-drenched – feed Perth a steady pulse of great wines. Dry, crisp whites for sunlit afternoons. Deep, expressive reds for dinner, lingering on the tongue like conversations with old friends. The terroir – rocky soils, salty coastal breezes, warm days shifting into cool nights – gives the wines a structure that whispers "this land”.

I remember sitting at a little bistro back in Perth proper, glass of Chenin blanc in hand, slices of fresh salmon on the plate. I tasted sunshine. I tasted wind. I tasted possibility.

Perth moves different than big east-coast metropolises. There’s space. Air. Stretching concrete that doesn’t bind you in.

You land – airport to downtown is barely 20 minutes by car – and the city welcomes you with short commutes and long horizons.

It’s modern. Clean but not sterile. Warm. Relaxed. Humble.

The kind of place where you don’t need to fight for a table. You just wander in, order a pint or a plate of oysters, and settle into the city’s rhythm without fuss.

The night begins

Back at the stadium on that first day, sure, there were pies: those famous Aussie meat pies with pastry crisply baked and steam rising from minced meat inside. As the crowd stirred, you felt the weight of tradition, the ritual of mouthfuls and chants, the thump of leather on willow echoing across the stands.

But when the match ended – in two jaw-dropping days – the energy didn’t vanish. It morphed. It spilled across the city to Fremantle’s pubs, to the harbour-side bars, to dim-lit tables where strangers clinked pints and spoke about how fast that pitch was, how brutal that bowling was, how perfect that chowder tasted.

Because life in Perth – like that Test – doesn’t always play long. Sometimes it’s over in a flash. And in that flash you feel everything.

Make sure to visit Fremantle when in Western Australia.

If you asked me to describe what Perth is, after all of this – after the crack of the bat, the hiss of the waves, the clink of glasses, the salt-kissed breeze – I’d say this: Perth is what happens when a city forgets how to rush.

It builds a stadium as grand as any, then trades the frenzy for calm, the chaos for clarity, the noise for a deep, slow breathe.

It’s a city that welcomes a traveller from KL in under six hours, hands them a pint, slides oysters across a wooden table, and says: "Stay. Watch the sun set. Stay a little longer.”

And after that first Test – after the roar, the collapse, the lightning victory that ended too soon – I sat there thinking: this wasn’t a mistake in coming here. The "beautiful mistake” was believing it would be just another match, just another trip. Perth had other plans.

It got under my skin – and I’d let it again, in a heartbeat.

The words expressed here are entirely the writer’s own.

Abbi Kanthasamy blends his expertise as an entrepreneur with his passion for photography and travel.