Up until the final weeks before leaving Port Douglas, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t genuinely shitting bricks and questioning everything. It felt like a huge risk to uproot from the life we loved and built there, move to the other side of Australia and set up our first brick-and-mortar business from scratch. I had no experience in running a holiday stay or owning my own business or living remotely, and zero renovation credentials. My DIY track record to date included accidentally killing plants, and piecing together Ikea flatpacks! Yikes.

The Sailor and I have emigrated frequently over the years, but having a secure teaching job lined up versus flying solo with just an idea is a completely different ball game. This move was, by far, the scariest thing I’ve done.

However, in all the uncertainty, the only thing I could be sure of was that if I didn’t take the leap, then I’d regret the opportunity passing me by. Any new venture is risky, but the biggest risk in life is sitting still, fearing the unknown and never really knowing what you’re capable of.

I reasoned that if the worst that could happen was that the business went tits up or we didn’t enjoy it, then at least we’d know if this dream was worth pursuing or not, and we’d get some experience in the process.

So, in August 2021, we left Far North Queensland again and moved almost a continent away to one of the most remote coastlines in the world.

The Humble Seed

Our new venture was inspired by a kitesurfing holiday in Sri Lanka. The Sailor and I travelled to a semi-remote and picturesque spot called Kalpitiya, where we stayed at several resorts tailored to kiters. One, in particular, was owned by a beautiful-natured Sri Lankan-Swedish and Italian couple. They created a gorgeous boutique stay just by the lake in a local village.

By day, we awoke with sunrise yoga on the deck before travelling by speedboat to the lagoon for kiteboarding lessons. At night, we feasted on home-cooked Italian meals around a communal table, sharing stories with other kiters and the friendly staff. They had a cute dog with one eye who was living the dream as a beach dog, and a son who was raised under coconut trees in this awesome community. The experience was humbling and gave us a taste of a simpler way of living, combining adventure with nature.

For a long while before that, I had an ever-growing desire to work for myself. While teaching was something I enjoyed, the longer I was in the profession, the less I saw it as a lifelong career. Almost at the tipping point of burnout while working at an International School in Malaysia, I just couldn’t see myself juggling the demands of the job with raising a family. I know I’m not alone, many female teachers in their 30s face the same dilemma. The holidays may be a nice perk, but during term time, I could barely keep my head above water.

As a couple of dreamers, what ensued after Sri Lanka was a little goal to create something similar ourselves one day. We knew we’d need to start out small to test the waters first and that the big idea of a “resort” would be more of a long-term goal, for the lack of P’s (or should I say D’s $!) and experience.

We searched for a potential location and property for months and years afterwards and scouted the Queensland coast by taking a big road trip from Cairns to Noosa. Finding even a small-scale opportunity on Australia’s more populated East Coast, in a windy spot and near a body of water and within our price range, was virtually impossible.

It wasn’t until we stopped actively looking that an opportunity presented itself. One day, when I got home from work, the Sailor showed me what he had found. A large 6-bedroom estate on 400 acres of private beachfront land in Western Australia was available on a commercial lease. It was perched in the Mid-West region, known for being one of the windiest spots in Oz and a bit of a kitesurfing mecca. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

The owner was a former crayfisherman from Geraldton who built the house in 1990 for himself and his family. Getting older and now flying solo, it became too much for him to live there by himself after his kids flew the nest. He was a straight-talking Ozzie and seemed like a really nice, genuine guy. As a nod to its heritage, we named the place after him.

The driveway through the estate was 3km long, and the property was so secluded that you couldn’t see any neighbours. It was in the middle of being spruced up when we first visited, as it hadn’t been lived in for almost a decade. It comprised of two separate houses or “wings”: the Main House, which had four bedrooms, and the two-bedroom guesthouse.  You could see the ocean from virtually every room (which probably distracted me from the details!) and it was extremely peaceful.

The owner said that he was fishing out crabs from the pool just before we arrived (who seem to make an annual pilgrimage up the sand dunes) and that during migration season, you can see whales breaching from the house. There was lots of other wildlife around too like roos, echidnas, sea eagles and tawny frogmouths.

The place was unique and we saw a lot of potential, though it wasn’t perfect. To make this project more financially viable, we had the idea of living in the main house to start with and utilising the guesthouse for holidaymakers. Then, if all went well, we’d renovate the main house to open the entire property, hosting events and weddings in between. The landlord relayed all the work he was yet to do on it prior to the takeover, so we thought we could get the place guest-ready in 1-2 months.

I know like-minded travellers escape to locations like this to get away from it all, seeking their own self-contained space and peace and quiet, so I wondered if we could pull it off as a private residence and a guesthouse at the beginning. With some smart workarounds, it appeared like it could work.

Another limitation was the beach area just in front of the property. The idea for a kite stay was to be able to rig up and ride just in front of the house; however, the ocean was pretty rough for any kind of watersports or even swimming.

The compromise was that the pad was a 45-minute drive away from a world-class kiteboarding spot in Geraldton, and near many other swimming beaches.

This concept wasn’t our big dream, but it was a starting point.

The Glass House Before Pictures

Curating The Glass House WA

Our new neighbourhood was four hours north of Perth in a historic farming village called Greenough. Population 344. I’d never seen so much untouched bushland until now, literally all you pass from here to the capital is a sprinkling of small crayfishing villages and sleepy beach towns.

Excited, nervous and tired, my first morning at the house was sobering. I barely slept a wink the night before- in typical ozzy fashion, indoors in winter was freezing with no heating, and the wind was wild out there! I knew it could get pretty crazy, but you could almost feel the building shudder with the gusts.

We must have walked around the grounds in silence several times, sizing up all the work that had to be done and no idea where to start. We also realised that a number of things hadn’t been completed at the house, and I instantly regretted not having them written into the contract.

Aside from one sofa that was salvageable, the properties were unfurnished. Thankfully Geraldton was just half an hour away, which had the necessities, like Bunnings! (The Aussie equivalent to the British B&Q, or US Home Depot). But there were no malls or anything like that, so we had to travel 400km to Perth for everything else.

To make things a weeny bit more complicated, our house only had a lot number and not an official street address, so we couldn’t receive any deliveries. This meant we also had to send all our deliveries to my friend in Perth. It was a bit of a logistical turd.

In the two years we lived in Port Douglas, we clocked about 11’000 km on the car (with regular trips to Cairns included), and in just five months in WA, we did 35’000 km! We must have made over twenty trips to Perth, which alone cost about $7’000 in return for petrol and the occasional budget hotel.

Adding to that, it was post-COVID which meant sourcing materials was often unachievable. Because of WA’s isolation, many goods could only get there via road freight from the East Coast, which required truckies to drive the length of Europe. If those roads were flooded or there were other issues, then it added on weeks for goods to arrive. It really did feel like I was living at the end of the planet.

Adding to that still, a cyclone hit a nearby town of Kalbarri a few months before we landed, which meant most tradies went to help with the rebuild. We eventually got lucky finding a great chippie (carpenter) to help us build the al-fresco kitchen, which was the biggest job. From our consultation with him, we were under the impression it’d only take a couple of weeks to get the job done, but the actual completion time was 4 months, including wait time for materials. Rookie error number 2: always double the time you think it’ll take to renovate!

Other professionals I needed to learn tradie lingo with were dunny divers (plumbers) after discovering “faux” things at the house, like the sink in the courtyard that never had plumbing installed. Kaching, another $1’500.

We needed sparkies (electricians) to fit some lights and add wiring for a stove- that one task cost $4’000. I’m in the wrong job, guys! Maybe it was a Geraldton thing, but folks were working at a very leisurely pace as if they weren’t being paid by the hour.

This was just the start of our long-term relationship with sparkies, and Western Power, at an old, remote house like this exposed to the elements.

The Sailor and I did virtually everything else ourselves to complete the renos, and somehow, he still managed to work remotely full-time. Putting it lightly, it was a pretty crazy time.

Before we knew it, two months had turned into four, and four had become six. The only upside to things taking so long to finish was that we could start getting to grips with the beast we were dealing with out here before we began hosting.

From trying to fix the salty bore water and having a new filter system installed (another $1500), to the tedious job of removing calcium stains from the pool (caused by the salty bore water), which took weeks to pressure hose off, to discovering that we get plagued with power outages in summer- that were more frequent than my years in Thailand, all of this bush life stuff felt relatively within our control until we got hit with these proper mad bug days.

Every couple of months or so, new species would appear, which were usually quite fascinating as I’d not seen them before, but spring was a different story because, literally, the whole fucking Geraldton food chain started hatching.

I wasn’t privy at the time, but I later learnt that things were more extreme when we arrived in ’21 because of La Niña, a weather event that happens every few years in Oz. Typically it brings wetter and slightly cooler weather, and I was starting to understand how even these small adjustments would impact us.

Lots of ☀️ + more 💦  = more life. That year, there was a bumper crop season, which led to a plague of rodents, a surge in bugs and bush flies (WA bushies are perhaps the most pesky of all), and more frequent storms that were wilder than I’ve ever experienced. This place was literally wild in every sense of the word.

The bug surge started with the migrating moths that came one morning in their hundreds, if not thousands. Somehow, they got all in the house and I kid you not, totally covered every nook and cranny outside, flying out like a dark cloud if I disturbed them.

I’m usually not an anti-moth person and I’m quite tolerant of bugs in general, but that amount gave me the utter creeps!

I downloaded a bug app to identify what we’re dealing with and learnt that they’re Bogong moths, who apparently fly all the way to cooler climes in the New South Wales Alps at this time of year, so we were a pit stop for them. Lucky us.

Then shortly after that, on the first few hot days in spring, when strong easterly winds started blowing from inland (also called ‘the beasterlies’ because they’re bloody intense), it brought all the hot air our way and made the temperature rise suddenly. Then I’m not even kidding, everything came alive. I’ve never seen anything like it before and totally freaked out!

You couldn’t even go outside without running away like a mad person because swarms of hoverflies and the rest of the insect food chain were flying into you. They covered all the ceilings, walls, and floors, then the birds came to eat them and shit everywhere. It was a mess cleaning up after a bug day!

There were these little insects (I called them baby stink bugs) that snuck into the house through any tiny gap and let off a pungent smell of ass if you went near them – I wish that were an exaggeration. All I kept thinking was that guests would hate being here on a bug day and would want to leave, because I didn’t even want to be there.

I tried Googling what the heck happened and all I could find through pages of articles were greenies trying to convince people that hoverflies were beneficial bugs. They clearly hadn’t experienced a bug day.

Then I stumbled across one freaked-out soul in California, who must have experienced the exact same thing because he sounded just as traumatised.

We were told by the owner that they only come on the first few hot days, so we prayed that it was just a one-off. But then it happened again the next day, and the following week, and the day after that. 😩

I tried everything possible to deter the bugs or at least minimise their impact, but it was utterly pointless. This was just one of the things we had to get used to in the WA bush. Thankfully, the bug days subsided before we opened the Airbnb, but I absolutely dreaded the following spring.

Despite being a chaotic and very testing few months, transforming the space was one of the most rewarding parts of the experience as we were building something. Being serial expats over the years, we’ve missed out on the chance to do anything like this and put our stamp on a property. We loved working with our hands and being creative, and seeing our vision slowly come together was exciting. Challenging times, working 24/7 with your spouse under these conditions, but exciting!

This experience also made me better appreciate why off-the-beaten-track stays like this are more expensive compared to urban areas, particularly in WA’s Midwest.

Needless to say, our initial budget for the project quickly blew out and for a while it was really touch-and-go if we’d even get to finish.

The Grand Opening 🎉

It took until the beginning of January 2022 to get the place ready for opening. We still wanted to do so much more, but we just had to open before the school holidays were over.

I think it’s easy to want to make everything perfect from the start, but a time comes when you’ve just got to say that’s it, it’s good enough to go. Having guests through the door also gave us an idea of what was working and what needed more attention.

At the beginning, I was quietly confident that the accommodation would attract like-minded travellers, but I still didn’t know how many people from Perth were willing to travel against the compass just to come here.

Most Perthings typically holidayed in the lush southwest, around Margaret River (or Bali, which is called Perth’s most northern suburb!). Traditionally, ‘up north’ had been more for adventurous types or caravanners who only passed through Geraldton on the way to more sought-after spots like Coral Bay or Exmouth.

So, you can probably imagine our utter surprise when the bookings started rolling in thick and fast. Within a few days of listing The Glass House on Airbnb, it had booked out for January. We honestly couldn’t believe it. I can’t even begin to explain our absolute joy and relief after putting everything on the line to get this far.

I’m not a parent, but this felt like the business equivalent of having a baby. It was hard work that took months to create, expensive and needy. But in the end, it became something we were proud of.

Pictures of The Glass House WA

In our first month, we had many families on their summer holidays, and then we hosted a variety of different travellers, from couples to friends and colleagues. People weren’t just passing through either, they booked to celebrate special occasions like birthdays, anniversaries, babymoons and family reunions. One return guest called it her secret beach house. Many told me that it was their first time visiting Geraldton and that they only decided to come up when they saw the house, which blew me away.

Then, when Western Australia’s borders reopened, interstate and overseas travellers started coming to stay. We hosted a pair of Scottish botanists who worked at the Singapore Botanic Gardens and visited as an end-of-holiday treat after exploring the region’s wildflowers. We hosted Swiss architects living in India. A group of Italian musicians who were working on a project with Yamaji Arts. A windsurfing German couple who stayed for 10 nights at the end of their 3-month Aussie vacation. Canadian lawyers who were exploring WA’s coast. A touring author who flew in from Christmas Island. One request came in one December from an American film producer who worked with artists like Florence and the Machines and Rüfüs Du Sol, but sadly, we were booked out! And two separate groups drove over 4,000 km from Melbourne just to stay at the Airbnb.

A really awesome Aussie/Polish couple who were scientists based in Europe also stayed for their honeymoon. They were so lovely. They invited us around one night for a glass of wine and some pizza (which turned into err, a few bottles!). They told us that they initially planned to visit Coral Bay but then found our place and decided to stay here instead. It’s these interactions and yarns with guests that I miss the most, we truly had some wonderful people stay.

After all that hard work, it was just incredible to know that people were enjoying it, and we were blown away by the feedback. It was clear that most guests came for relaxation and not extreme sports, so the Airbnb naturally evolved from a kite stay into a boutique nature retreat, which was more intuitive for the space.

We trialled curating add-ons too like grazing platters with locally sourced produce, and I collaborated with local businesses to offer massages and yoga at the house. We even had local vendors book out the space out for a bridal photoshoot within a few months of opening, and then we started getting wedding inquiries when the photos dropped.

In 2022, we continued to make many more improvements and practically spent all our free time and earnings to enhance different areas. I guess we’d already poured so much of ourselves into the guesthouse that the only way to make it worthwhile was to create something we could be proud of.

Behind the scenes

Back when we had the idea to set up a kite stay, we wanted to essentially create a community, hiring local staff and attracting like-minded travellers. Somewhere that had multiple rooms, a restaurant and a kiteboarding school attached where people could learn together, connect and socialise, or keep to their own. We always knew that this wasn’t going to be that and would be a litmus test, if you will.

Midway through our second year, as our commercial lease was up for renewal, we had to weigh up whether it was worth our time and money to take things to the next level. As mentioned earlier, our original idea was to create a whole house stay. The Airbnb in its current form was only the guesthouse.

However, now we knew the true cost of renovating, it would have required a lot more coin to get the Main House to a standard we’d be happy with, bearing in mind we didn’t own the property. The landlord also had the house listed for sale so it may have been a lot of work only for a short time. If we went down this route, it would have also meant a commitment to staying in Geraldton for the long haul, which wasn’t an option for us, sadly. The town is pretty, but after a while we realised that it’s a bit of a shithole, if I’m brutally honest. I think most places north of Perth are similar- they’re great for a holiday, but to live there can be really frustrating. Which probably explains why 91% of the state’s population lives in the southwest.

We considered running the accommodation remotely, but we knew that the standards would drop. The house was so much work to keep in order, literally a full-time job. We did all the cleaning and maintenance, the gardening and bush tasks, and made all the little touches to make things homely and special for guests. A part of why it did so well was because we were there to manage it, and we weren’t keen to hike up the price and charge what we think is an unreasonable amount just to hold onto it from afar.

We’d put so much love and guts into The Glass House, that it was a really difficult decision to leave all the hard graft we put in and hand over the reigns. But continuing wasn’t financially viable, and we couldn’t continue running the business in its current format.

I don’t think many, if anyone, would have gone to the lengths we did to make things work. There were a lot of sacrifices behind the scenes, more than anyone will ever know or would probably be willing to do. 

By the time our second winter at the house came around, after many more complicated twists and turns, we eventually sold the Airbnb. Even though we can’t be there to drive the bus anymore, I’m stoked the accommodation can continue.

If we had known from the beginning that The Glass House would only be a two-year gig, we would never have moved to Western Australia and taken on this project. However, we have no regrets about having done it. Granted, if I had my time again, I would have done things vastly differently. That’s the beauty of experience and hindsight.

This chapter was by far the most transformative experience of my life and I learnt so much during my time there. For one thing, I learnt that my inability to have any work-life balance in teaching isn’t only because of the job; it’s also the pressure I put on myself.

In business, you can never do enough due diligence. Nor can you trust anyone, or take anything personally.

And also, I realised how important community is. I’d never been so lonely in all my life out here. Whatever I did next had to involve friends, teams and meaningful connections.

Sometimes, I wish I could just pick up the property and move it somewhere else. There’s many things I miss about that place and running The Glass House. The Sailor and I grew to appreciate our humble life by the sea, and even enjoyed the rural chores. One thing is for sure, I’m so proud of us for what we created in Greenough. ✤

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Our Reviews ❤️

During our time running The Glass House WA we received over 90 5* reviews on Airbnb and Booking.com, with such sweet personal messages from guests. Here are some of the public ones that were on Airbnb :

 

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A few more behind-the-scenes snaps

There’s too many photos on my hard drive!

 

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