The Tent, The Trailer, The Caravan

Tag: travel

  • Day 24-25 – Mount Gambier

    Day 24-25 – Mount Gambier

    We left Kingston SE and headed for Mount Gambier, stopping off for a coffee in Robe.  Robe is very pretty, much bigger than Kingston and far more touristy. According to the guy who was sitting next to me at the Supercars, you can get an excellent fish chowder in Robe.   No time to seek that out since we were just passing through, and definitely not something I would seek out for breakfast.

    We arrived in Mount Gambier and our GPS took us to the Pine Country Caravan Park and thanks to its convoluted directions, it felt like we must be out in the boondocks somewhere.  Nonetheless, the park is a very pretty one with drive-through, lushly grassed sites. As soon as we set up, we set off to find Mount Gambier’s famous Blue Lake, and discovered it was about a kilometre away, just over the hill.

    Now,  I knew there was a Blue Lake at Mount Gambier, obviously. It’s the reason we decided to have a stop over here, and of course I have seen photos of it heaps of times.  But I don’t think anything can prepare you for the first glimpse of it.  It really takes your breath away and the blue is mesmerising.  There is a road that goes right around the top, and I really don’t understand how there aren’t constantly accidents, because it is hard to keep your eyes on the road. 

    Thankfully, the city of Mount Gambier has made several places where you can stop and take it all in.  One of these features a little turret made of stone which is at the end of walking path which follows a man-made rock wall.  What is amazing about both these structures is that they were built by volunteers  – seven hundred of them, including school children!  These days you’d be flat out getting a dozen people to a working bee at their kids’ soccer club, but such is the pride of the townsfolk for this lake. 

    Nearby is an obelisk dedicated to the poet Adam Lindsay Gordon.  He was not born in Mount Gambier, nor did he die in Mount Gambier, but apparently at one time he was riding a horse and he leapt over the barricade, landing on a narrow ledge and then jumping back over again.  Kind of a “Man from Snowy River” stunt, except Banjo Paterson hadn’t invented him yet. Once you see the sheer cliffs surrounding the lake, you can appreciate how impressive a feat this was.  Obelisk-worthy at the very least. 

    Further along is another viewing platform which appears to be commandeered by lovers, judging by the number of locks which adorn the fence.  It just like they do to bridges in Paris – or in Neighbours where countless couples proclaim their love down by the brown sludge that is Lassiter’s Lake.  

    The idea of course is that you get a padlock, etch your name and that of your true love onto the lock, affix it to the fence and throw away the key, symbolising your everlasting love.  By that logic, the bottom of Blue Lake must be littered with keys.  I must say though, there were a number of couples who had combination locks and if my bloke turned up with one of those, I don’t think I’d be sticking around. Clearly he has commitment issues.

    Blue Lake is located in a volcanic crater, but what struck me about this is that the volcano last erupted only four and a half thousand years ago.  I say only, because Australia is home to the world’s oldest living culture – around sixty thousand years old – which means that there were people here for the life, and death of that volcano, and the gradual formation of the lake.  Of course, I know that people live around volcanoes, but I guess because you typically don’t think of Australia as being a land of fire in that sense, it makes my brain hurt a little bit thinking about it.  I am sure the Boandik peoples, the traditional custodians, have stories about it all, but that will have to wait for another visit. I’m sure we will be back to Mount Gambier one day, because if I heard Mark say, “Mount Gambier delivers” one more time, I think I was going to throttle him.

    On the other side of the hill there is a second lake – Valley Lake.  This one isn’t blue, but you can swim in it, as long as you pay heed to the “Danger: Deep Mud” signs.  There is a section with a little beach which must be incredibly popular during the summer months. A third lake – Brown Lake – no longer has any water in it, but this is now beautiful parklands, complete with a frisbee golf course.

    Now if you really want to get a great vantage of not just the lakes, but the city and the farmland beyond, then a hike up to Centenary Tower is a must. My dodgy knees got me half-way up the hill, where there is a conveniently placed bench, making me think that there are a few dodgy knees that attempt the the trek.  Mark got all the way up to the base of the tower.  He didn’t need it, but a defibrillator was there if he had !  Actually, there are defibrillators all over the place in South Australia, so it must be some sort of government regulation.

    Not only does Mount Gambier have the lakes, but the past volcanic activity has left the landscape dotted with caves and sinkholes.  If you go to the tourist information centre, they will point you in the direction of the Umpherston Sinkhole, so most people visit this one first.  I would not recommend this, because no other sinkhole will compare!  I recommend visiting Cave Garden first. It is located smack bang in the middle of the city centre, right next to the Riddoch Arts and Cultural Centre.  The gardens are beautiful, designed in the style of the 1920s with rose gardens mixed with natives. Then you meander down the path and look down and you go “Oh my God!  Look at that sink hole!” And then you will probably notice the rubbish that accumulates at the bottom and wonder how often some poor council worker has to abseil down there and clean it out.

    There is also this statue that has been commissioned by the council. It’s supposed to represent, “the natural history of the Limestone Coast…palaeontological megafauna , and prehistoric marsupials…”:

    Got it.

    The Umpherston Sinkhole is located on the way out of town, just past the race-course and is surrounded by the sawmill.  Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?  But in the midst of all of piles of lumber, lies yet another gorgeous park, and in the centre of that is the sinkhole.  Wow.  Wow. Wow.

    Now apart from its geological history, there is a social history as well which started when James Umpherson bought the land that the sinkhole is now on.  At the time a third of the bottom was filled with water, so he had the grand idea of developing it into a garden for the enjoyment of his extended family, so he built terraces and planted flowers and even put a rowboat down there.   After he died, the property went through several hands before being acquired by the sawmill.  The gardens were left to become overgrown and Umpherson’s Victorian house was demolished in 1964. Then, in the 1970s, someone had the idea to restore the gardens, and a group made up of the sawmill’s social club got to it, volunteering their labour.  The sometime in the 1990s, the Mount Gambier Council took it over and now the sinkhole, its terraced gardens of hydrangeas and fuchsia, palm trees and ivy – in Victorian style – are public gardens for all to enjoy for free.  The gardens are also literally a hive for bees, who have made their homes in the nooks and crannies of the sinkhole wall, and apparently in the evening you can hand feed to possums, who also make the gardens their home.  It really is hard to describe, but it’s breathtaking,

    There are other caves and sinkholes around, but again we were limited for time in Mount Gambier, so we decided to take a drive out to Port Mac Donnell (according to the green road sign), Port MacDonnell (according to the Regional Visitor’s Guide) or Port Macdonnell (according to our map).  It’s only about a twenty-five-minute drive from Mount Gambier.  On the way you pass Mount Schank, another volcanic crater, and the Allenton sink hole which is literally in the middle of the highway (and only accessible to lunatic cave divers by special permit – no thanks!)

    Port MacDonnell is the most southerly point in the state of South Australia and what I would consider to be the start of the shipwreck coast. 

    While the harbour itself is calm (just as well, as it is home to the largest lobster fishing fleet in South Australia), and there is a long stretch of beach, as you drive out toward the lighthouse, the limestone outcrops are rugged and harsh and the sea angrily throws waves up against them.  And the wind!  I really felt like I was going to be blown into the ocean!

    We stopped in for a toasted sanga for a late lunch and then drove back to Mount Gambier.  We made one more stop over at yet another sinkhole, Little Blue Lake – a popular swimming hole with locals, with a water temperature which is constantly about twelve degrees all year round. I’m not sure why it’s called Little Blue Lake.  Maybe it’s because the water is a little bit blue – like on a cloudless day and if you squint.  Or maybe it’s because if you swim in it you come out a little bit blue with teeth chattering from the constant 12 degree water.

    And just like that, our day and a half in Mount Gambier was done.  And I didn’t even get a chance to go to the coffee shop run by Supercars rookie Kai Allen’s family, because it closes at 1:00 pm.  Mind you, we did drive past it, and it looked a little bit too fancy for me anyway.  Maybe next time, when I remember to pack something other than thongs or ugg boots.

  • Day 23 – Kingston SE, SA

    It was sad to be leaving Adelaide because, although we still have three weeks of our trip, this marked the turning point in terms of us making our way home.

    Today we made our way back through the Adelaide Hills, past Hahndorf and Murray Bridge, making a quick stop at Tailem Bend for petrol, and to wonder at the pelicans fighting against the wind to land in the Murray. They reminded me of the Flying Nun, and if you know what I am talking about, then you have dated yourself as much as I have.   Mark took some photos, but the wind was blowing so hard I could hardly keep the camera still, and it was cold!  Truly, we had been so lucky with the weather to this point, but the wind today was awful. Windy, cold, cloudy and showery.  It meant that Mark really had to concentrate with the drive, with gusts making the van sway at times (the first real sway we have experienced).  The drive took us through the Coorong National Park, with its lagoons separated from the ocean by a this stretch of hilly sand, but the weather didn’t give us the opportunity to enjoy the scenery as much.  Even the couple of pink salt lakes were dull, but Mark was patient enough to wait for the sun to peep out from a cloud momentarily so that he could try to capture the colour.

    Mid-afternoon (or actually early afternoon real time) we pulled into Kingston SE, SA.  The SE part has to be used as a qualifier, because some bozzo in the naming department chose a name that was in use already elsewhere in the state.  I didn’t know a whole lot about Kingston SE – I chose it because it was on the Limestone Coast, and because it filled our criteria of three to four hours drive on travelling days.  It was also recommended as a place to taste South Australian lobster, something which Mark had on his ‘To Do” list. In fact, Kingston SE prides itself on its lobsters so much that the entry to the town is dominated by a 15-metre tall one called Larry. He was built circa 1979 to try to attract tourists and promote local food and wines. 

    I can not attest to how successful this has been over the years, but I can say that at the time of our visit, late November, Kingston SE was QUIET.  The town was quiet, the caravan park had heaps of room, and the beautiful Marine Parade, with car parking spaces running its entire length, did not have a single car parked along it. (Of course, the wind may have been a factor!)

    The lady at the caravan park told me that the place to get rock lobster was Lacepede Seafoods.  With us arriving at 2:00 pm and them closing at 3:00 pm, we high-tailed it down the road (actually, it was only about 150 metres away, but I am trying to create a sense of urgency).  Now we were expecting lobster to be expensive, but even so I think we were both taken aback when we looked in the cabinet and the two fattest lobsters in there were $225 each!  Luckily, ahead of us in the queue was a gentleman who was ordering lunch for his family. He wanted not one, but both of the big lobsters, and half of one of the small ones (“for the kids”).  The lady behind the counter was reluctant to halve the small one because it was so close to the end of their day, but then we jumped in and said we would take the other half of the small one and everyone was happy.  We parted with $50 to taste our crayfish, and the guy ahead of us spent $500 on lobsters –  as well as some whiting and chips – for lunch.

    We took our meagre portion and decided that we would at least eat it in the park across from our van – close to the ocean.  Kevvie the cray fish was delicious – what there was of him – but wish list ticked, we high-tailed it back to the warmth of the van.

    I had picked up a “Walking Guide to Kingston’s Heritage” brochure at reception at the caravan park, but given the wind and the cold, we decided to drive it instead. After all there were thirty-five things on the list!  One of the things that we discovered was that there were originally two townships, one on either side of Maria Creek Eventually the two towns merged to become Kingston.  Now the other town was called Roseville, and I can’t help but wonder why they didn’t opt for that name, thus avoiding that SE business. Maybe the rough and rugged lobster fishermen of the late 1800s couldn’t cope with the femininity of it.

    Kingston has a heap of beautiful old buildings, as well as few vacant lots where historical buildings used to be – you had to use your imagination on those. One of the buildings still in existence (and actually for sale) is the RAOB Hall, once the meeting place for the Royal Antediluvian Order of Buffaloes, and all I could think of was those meetings that Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble used to go to wearing those blue furry hats with horns on them. But apparently they would have looked a little more like this:

     

    As the day we were in Kingston almost coincided with the teachers’ strike in Queensland, I couldn’t help but think about the advancements in teaching conditions thanks to unions.  The Kingston School opened in 1880 with an enrolment of 130 students, housed in two rooms!  You might think that at least they were big rooms. Not judging by this:

    But perhaps my favourite little piece of heritage was the statue for Walter “Tiny” Toop.  His claim to fame? He was one of seven servicemen chosen to ring the bells of Notre Dame Cathedral to mark the end of World War One. I am not sure what Tiny had to do to earn this privilege, But  I am sure people have been given statues for less.

    The other landmark of note is the Cape Jaffa Lighthouse, which stands tall (albeit on a bit of a slant) over the caravan park.  Originally an offshore lighthouse, it was dismantled and re-assembled on shore and is now a museum – which was closed for renovations and that kind of added to the quietness of the town.

    By sunset the wind had died down a bit and the rain had cleared to produce a lovely sunset.

    For one of those towns where we really only had half a day because we were using it as a stopover, I think Kingston SE had a lot to offer.

    Now one day I will have to get to the other Kingston to see how it measures up.

  • Days 16-22 – Adelaide!

    It’s a big one – there will be typos.

    We have just finished our week in Adelaide.  It was the first time here for both of us, and one thing I have learnt is that a week is not enough time in Adelaide, especially when two of them are dedicated to the Supercars final (more about that later).

    We didn’t even have time to visit Elizabeth to see how bad of a shit hole it is. Now, to be fair to this satellite suburb of Adelaide, named for our late Queen, I only hold this image of Elizabeth because I read Jimmy Barnes’ autobiography, Working Class Boy, and he did not paint a pretty picture of it.  I recall him saying in the book that he was lucky to survive his teens for fear of being killed by rivals hanging around the shopping centre.  And I’m sure that the town has changed since it first ‘welcomed’ all the ten-pound-poms in the 1960’s, but on the third day we were in Adelaide the Elizabeth shopping centre was locked down when two teenagers were stabbed in broad daylight…so there you go.

    Anyway, we arrived on Monday and checked onto our caravan park, the Discovery at Semaphore Beach.  It is a tidy little park, close to everything you would need, with gate access directly to the beach.  We promptly set up the awning, complete with our whizz-bang ant-flap kit  and set off to explore Semaphore.  What I found incongruous for a beachside suburb was that all the houses directly opposite the beach are these amazing 19th century, sandstone mansions, complete with fireplaces, and I love that this history has been preserved.  The beach heritage of the Sunshine Coast is ore about fibro beach shacks, and scarcely any of them remain.  Whenever I drive long the Maroochy River I feel sad that not one of these has been heritage-listed.  I know, there’s the asbestos issue, but… you know…history.

    The beach front is also dominated by some larger buildings like the lighthouse, now in a park, which you can go into for $29.  Sorry, we have been spoilt by Hay, so we just looked at it from the outside, and then promptly forgot to go back and take a picture of it.  There is also the very grand Largs Hotel, and the Pavilion.  The latter was opened in 1922 and is the only “building” on the beach side of the road.  Originally it housed a swimming pavilion that could cater for 500 swimmers, and a ballroom (which I think is still there as a less grand function room) but now boasts a café, bar and bistro looking straight out to Antarctica.

    Once we got our bearings about where the sun was going to set, we went back down to the beach in the evening to attempt photos of the sun setting over the Semaphore Jetty.  Now of course, early evening means about 7:45 pm, with the sun not actually going down until an hour later, because Adelaide engages in daylight saving, which totally threw my body clock out because I could never figure out when to eat my evening meal, because the sun wasn’t going down early enough. And yes, I am one of those Queenslanders who will always vote no to any poll about it, because unless you have been living in far western Queensland with summer days that reach into the mid-forties and where the sun already sets later than in the south-east corner, I don’t think you should even be entitled to a say.

    Anyway, I digress.

    While we were down at the beach the wind started to pick up, and by about 10:00 pm the anti-flap kit was struggling, so we pulled the awning down rather than risk damage, and that was the last time we used the awning for the rest of the week, because the wind did not let up.  We met a lady who had been staying there for a month, and she said the wind had been relentless the whole time, so although the park was quite lovely, if we ever go back to Adelaide, we won’t be staying there again.

    On our second day we drove into the city. Again we were greeted by magnificently preserved sandstone buildings dating back a century-and-a-half, including the beautiful University of South Australia, some commercial buildings, a lot of pubs, and of course, since it is known as the city of them – the churches.  According to Google, there are 529 churches in Adelaide, and I reckon during the course of our week we drove past all 863 of them. They are everywhere, and for the most part they are beautiful.  What is incredibly impressive about all of these heritage buildings is remembering that South Australia did not have convicts, therefore no free labour. I think South Australians are very proud of their city, and they have every right to be.  Not only are there the buildings, but the entire city centre is surrounded (literally – take a look at a satellite pic) by parkland, which not only contains the spread of the CBD, but also led to the development of satellite town/suburbs, beyond the gardens, and each of those has an identity of its own.  Yes, there are more than a million people in greater Adelaide, so there are still issues like busy, congested roads, but for the most part, I say, “Well done, Adelaide!”

    No visit to the CBD would be complete without a visit to Rundle Mall and a quick snap in front of its iconic balls – so tick – but after a quick coffee catch-up with our mate, Pete, who is halfway through a work contract down here, we had to head back to Semaphore as we had booked lunch at the Palais – because there was something alluring about having lunch and looking out over the Great Southern Ocean.  Unfortunately, while the lunch was delicious, the Palais was undergoing renovations, so we couldn’t sit out on the deck, and the bistro is in what was once the downstairs bathing pavilion, so even though we could see the ocean, it did feel a little sub-terranean.

    On Wednesday, we headed off to the German town in the Adelaide Hills – Hahndorf.  For Sunshine Coasters, I guess Hahndorf is like Montville or Flaxton – on steroids.  Like, Montville has a cuckoo clock shop.  Hahndorf has a cuckoo clock shop where you think they might actually sell the odd cuckoo clock.  Because we were there mid-week, it was a little bit quieter than it apparently gets on the weekends.  It would have been even quieter if not for the couple of busloads of school kids who were there on a German excursion.  Yeah, right.  They were likely to use about as much German in Hahndorf as your average middle-aged English tourist does on a trip to Ibiza.  I mean, we ordered apple strudel from the German Inn, and both the guy behind the bar and the waitress were Sri Lankan.  But hey…the kids had a worksheet in their hands, and a very minimal teacher presence, so I guess they were having a blast.

    We had lunch at the German Arms – Mark tried the German sausage combo.  I had a smoked pork chop, and also impressed Mark by drawing on some old high-school maths to figure out that it was much better economy to by two small wines rather than one big one (more mls, less money), and even better economy than buying a bottle!

    After lunch we made our way back down the hill.  The freeway here has not one, but two, ‘ramps’ leading off the road in case trucks go out of control – lose the breaks and can’t stop.  Of course, this just makes me wonder how many rogue trucks necessitated to construction of these, how many times they have been used since construction, and which of the trucks surrounding us were likely to need them that day (or worse – I have seen Stephen Spielberg’s early classic, Duel starring Dennis Weaver, a truck and a pair of hands). I also notice that the motor way also had a detection system for over-height vehicles.  One wonders why the Queensland government hasn’t managed to install something like that at that notorious bridge in Rocklea.  Having said that, we were on our way to the Port Adelaide shopping centre and passed a truck being attended to by a tow truck.  The truck’s roof was peeled and collapsed, and there were tell-tale scars on the nearby railway bridge and associated rubble on the road.  I guess you just can’t always account for people’s stupidity.

    On Thursday, we back-tracked to Nuriootpa which we had planned to visit the Sunday before, but I had been tardy in booking our accommodation there and did the wine tour out of Gawler instead. We picked up our friend, Velvet, and headed off to Maggie Beer’s Farm Shop and Eatery.  I love Maggie – she is such an icon and always seems so warm and lovely, that I knew I couldn’t go to the Barossa and not go there.  Of course, I knew she wouldn’t be there herself, but it’s like a culinary pilgrimage in this country. 

    This was one of the signature things that we had planned for this trip, and we indulged on the five course feast lunch accompanied by a bottle of Barossa rose for Velvet and I and some fancy-schmancy juices for Mark. Every morsel of that meal was DIVINE, from the bread to the chutney and crisps to finish. Even the goat’s cheese in the mushroom pasta was delectable, even though this is the top of my overrated food lists (or things that people say they like just to be pretentious twats)  I now want to try to perfect my own grapefruit semi-freddo, knowing that whatever I manage will never be a patch on our Maggie’s!  Even better, because this meal was smaller portions, spaced out, I managed to eat five courses and simply feel happily sated, and not just one course from a German pub that made we want to nap for the rest of the arvo.

    There was just one unexpected thing about the whole eatery experience:

    I guess we’re only supposed to concentration on what’s on top of the plate!

    Upon our return from Nuri (as the locals call it – apparently because they struggle to pronounce it too), we met up with Pete at ONE of his local pubs, the Sussex at Walkerville.  We got a bit lost, courtesy of our dodgy GPS, but at least now Velvet knows where to find the headquarters of transport company Linfox, and she returned the favour by pointing out the block of flats where a guy had been murdered earlier in the year. Did I mention that Adelaide has more churches per capita than any other capital city, but also the most serial killers?  Actually, all over the Adelaide news this week was the story about the only bloke convicted in connection with the so-called “Family” murders in the 1980s.  He’s on his deathbed and the police are hoping that he will give up all his secrets before he falls off his mortal coil.

    Anyway, back to the Sussex, a recently renovated old pub, which was super busy for a Thursday with couples in the lounge bar, and families having dinner in the beer garden (which has a section with a fire pit).  But the thing that most impressed me is that on Mondays, the Sussex does a fondue special!  The most disappointing thing – it was Thursday.

    Then  it was back to Pete and Velvet’s Adelaide digs for a a night cap, before making the drive back to Semaphore Beach. An awesome day.

    Friday greeted us with cold weather and rain.  Our plan had been to go to the Adelaide Oval to watch the WBBL game between the Brisbane Heat and the Sydney Sixes as one of Connor’s teammates from their junior soccer days is contracted to the Heat. But Micky had messaged us on the Thursday night that at that stage she would be carrying the drinks, so when the rain greeted us in the morning, we decided to pull the pin.   As it turned out the game was abandoned without a ball being bowled. 

    And then sometimes, when you have been on the road for almost three weeks, a cold rainy day is not a bad thing. We caught up on our washing – I discovered that our little caravan washing machine can cope with a queen bed sheet, two pillow cases and a couple of T shirts in one hit, so I did a couple of loads and then just chucked it all in the caravan park’s Maybig, and we watched Brodie Kostecki win $50 000 in the sprint race of the Supercars.  We gave the van a good sweep and a general tidy, and just generally recharged the batteries.

    Saturday loomed large because it was Supercars day!  There had already been two days of action down at the track, but our intention had only ever been to go for the final two days. Getting from way out at Semaphore Beach to the track was super easy.  We parked the car at the Glanville train station, about five-minute drive from the caravan park.  Then we hopped on a train to Adelaide Station, then walked straight out the door onto a free shuttle bus, walked 50 metres to the gate, probably another 50 to our seats in the Brabham Stand and we were set for the day – in under an hour. Pete and Velvet joined us, and although their seats were technically a few rows back, they decided to sit with us until the real owners of those seats turned up, but they never did (neither day).

    On Sunday, it was the same thing, but the Sunday at the Supercars was a little bit special.  Firstly, three drivers – Nick Percat, Will Davison and Snowy River Caravan sponsored James Courtney (who we still ‘blame’ for our van) – were retiring after long careers, not only here, but overseas. Secondly, this year there was change to the way that the Driver’s Championship was decided,  I don’t want to bore any non-Supercar fans who have managed to stay with this blog this long, but there were only four drivers in the field of 25 who could win the title, and realistically, it came back to only two.  Now while some people follow a brand, I follow drivers. While my favourite driver was out of contention, two of my other favourites were battling it out.  I wanted Chaz Mostert to win because he had never one after 12 seasons, and I wanted Broc Feeney to win, because at 21 years of age, he is a driving talent and a lovely young man – and had won more races and pole positions than anyone else in the 2025 season.

     On the first lap, Chaz’s driving partner Ryan Wood got tangled up with Broc Feeney, spinning Broc around and pushing him to the back of the field. This caused great controversy as many of Broc’s fans believed that Ryan had done this deliberately to help Chaz.  I thought it was just a racing incident. Broc started to charge back through the field, but then his engine started failing, and he ended up losing all the gain he had made, even being lapped by most of the field.  Chaz finished second in the race behind Matt Payne, but this was enough for him to win the Championship.  I have never been so elated, and so deflated at the same time, and I think a lot of people felt the same way.

    After the race we bid our farewells to Peter and Velvet, having had a great time with our friends of almost forty years. We returned to Semaphore Beach, sad that we were leaving Adelaide, but also sad in realising this was the turning point, because although we still have three weeks on the road, now we are heading home, and although we have missed everyone there, we have really loved our little taste of life on the road.

    Also, we have to go back to Adelaide, because although seeing 1892 churches, we didn’t take a photo of a single one.

  • Day 13-14 – Gawler (but mostly wine)

    OK.  So we were meant to be in Nurioopta for these two days, but I got a bit over confident after talking to people in caravan parks who just rock up to caravan parks at the last minute.  Of course who would have thought that the Barossa Valley would be so popular on weekends, and especially that part of the Barossa where Maggie Beer has her farm?  We couldn’t get into Nuri, nor was I able to extend our stay in Adelaide, and I was too nervous to look into Hipcamp options, not really having my bearings and also with Mark’s fear of getting dirt on the caravan.  So, we ended up in Gawler for our stop over, and we decided we would make a day trip to Nuri later in the week when we catch up with our mate, Velvet.

    Again, Gawler was just a stop over on our way to Adelaide, but as I checked in I noticed an A-frame outside for “A Wine Wagon”, one of the companies offering wine tours.  So I fired off an email to book, and they had spots available for the next day – a Sunday.  At 10:00 am on the Sunday the wine wagon picked us up and we found that there were only two other people on our tour, a Canadian couple from Alberta who were in Australia to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary, and who own their own mead distillery.  They were lovely company as our tour guide, Jim, drove us round pointing out the sights of the Barossa and giving us a little history of the area, and we visited four wineries along the way and tasted about seven wines at each one.  That of course sounds like a lot of wine, but I guess if you added up the little bits of each wine, it might have amounted to about two full glasses.  I’m not sure that we were the best tour from the wineries’ perspectives, with Mark being a non-drinker, Clay not being the biggest fan of reds, Clay and Brenda needing to have any potential purchases shipped to Canada, so that left me.  I did my civic duty and made sure that I bought a bottle at each one, and it’s not that I am cheap, but I prefer whites, and at all of the wineries, the whites were cheaper than the reds.

    At the third winery – Lamberts, is owned by an American and a Peruvian who met in wine school and have built up their vineyard and  have a very flash cellar door with spectacular views over the valley. We enjoyed a charcuterie lunch and it was a perfect choice to go with a glass of wine.  Jim said they used to go to an Italian restaurant and have a three-course lunch, but all anybody wanted to do after that was have a nap.  To be honest, I could have done without the fourth winery anyway, but that it more because we luxuriated a little long over lunch and the lady was rushing us through so she could close up for the day.  I also didn’t really like their reds very much. 

    At the end of the day, Jim dropped us, not only back to our caravan park, but right up to our caravan, so that it is pretty good service.  He is clearly used to patrons who he has to pour out of his bus at the end of the day.  All in all a great day and I can thoroughly recommend catching the Wine Wagon if you are ever in the Barossa.

  • Day 12 – Overland Corner

    I have that it would be great if everyone could make a trip to Uluru once in their lifetime because it really can’t be appreciated just from pictures.  For me, visiting Uluru was probably the closest I have ever come to having a spiritual experience, and I felt that for the first time I understood the connection the aboriginal people have to the land.

    I am going to add another experience to that list.  I feel that everyone should, at least once, camp by the banks of the Murray River, preferably without too many other people around.  They should sit back and appreciate this river, not because it is a mile wide, like America’s Mississippi, but more because it isn’t.  As you sit by the banks of this river, river gums clutching to its banks, pelicans gliding silently on its surface, with the usual cacophony of corellas in the background, you need to appreciate that this riverand its tributaries is very much the lifeblood of this country as it meanders through the driest state on the driest country on Earth.  I certainly found myself appreciating what this river gives to agriculture and livelihoods in this country, and why managing it is so very important for our environment, our economy and our heritage.

    Wow.  I did get all philosophical there for a minute, didn’t i? 

    Day 12 of our adventure and we have finally made it into South Australia. The excitement of crossing through the fruit quarantine station was almost as exciting as realising that our fridge has a special latch to help keep it from flying open on bumpy roads.  We simply had never noticed it before, but the quarantine guy, who spends all day opening caravan fridges searching for contraband melons, simply closed the door and engaged the special latch, just as a matter of course.  Thanks Quarantine guy!

    After a brief stop in Renmark for a very average coffee, dry jam doughnut and equally dry sausage roll, we headed about 35 kilometres out of town to Overland Crossing, our free camp by the Murray.  If I had known more about this spot, we probably would have stayed longer, although the threat of rain was making Mark a little nervous about being able to get out through the mud (there are worse problems in life!).

    Apart from the river, the main reason anyone would come to Overland Crossing is for the hotel.  Established in 1859, it is one of the oldest buildings in South Australia.  It has a fabulous beer garden, a quirky museum-like interior and the biggest beef schnitzels I have ever set eyes upon. We should have known something when the lady at the table next to us came prepared with her own Tupperware containers.  “We’re local,” she said.  For the rest of us fly-by-nighters, the meal came with a couple of sheets of Alfoil for you to wrap your leftovers in. (Note: our beef schnitzels fed us that night and two days’ worth of lunch to follow).  There is also space for camping right behind the pub, but with the river only 700 metres away, why would you?  You can also have a camp fire by the river, but with this stupid daylight savings nonsense it’s not really worth it.  By the time the sun goes down and you can appreciate the fire, it’s time to go to bed. Well, at least that’s the case if you are only staying one night in November.

    Fire or no fire, I can thoroughly recommend this little detour from the highway.

  • Days 10-11 – Mildura

    Today we did a bit of border hopping into Mildura, Victoria. Mildura was a surprise to me.  It is much larger than I expected – a full regional city really – so big that even Lenny Kravitz is doing a concert there.  Banners advertising this concert adorn every bridge and half the streets.  A bit of overkill, one would have thought, because you would think that everyone in Mildura would already know, and if you happen to be the world’s most tragic Lenny Kravitz fan, who just happened to be passing through Mildura to find that you idol was on his way, it is probably too late to get tickets anyway. But while most of the other towns we passed through are starting to tart themselves up for the festive season, this town is proving that Lenny Kravitz is bigger than Christmas.

    And yet, for all of it being a major regional centre, every spare bit of land seems to be covered in vineyards.  It kind of reminded me of when I went to Japan and was trying to work out what sort of town planning allowed tyre shop, cemetery, restaurant and rice paddy to be placed next to each other. All these vineyards, but not a cellar door to be seen.  Then we passed by this huge shed with “Marciano Table Grapes” written on the side, and then I was reminded that some people like to imbibe their grapes as solids.

    We stayed a little out of town in the suburb of Red Cliffs, at the Big 4 where upon arrival I was presented with a coffee voucher and a bag of sultanas.  The Red Cliffs caravan park is beautiful – the best lawns I have seen in any park we have stayed in anywhere, although the groundsman told us that the boss was into him because they were looking shit.  “The worst in four months.”  The park backed on to a vineyard of course, making for a very picturesque two-night stay.

    Allof these little jaunts have been stopovers to the big dance – Adelaide, so we only had a day to check out Mildura. Everything on Mildura is about the river Murray, the provider of the water for all the people in this city, and its vineyards, and the citrus, and all the other agriculture in the area. A stone’s throw from where we were staying is the Red Cliffs lookout, where you get a superb panorama of the, you guessed it, red cliffs of the Murray River bank – at least on the Victoria side. Mark put the drone up to truly capture the view,  

    The in the evening, we took the paddlesteamer “Rothsbury” for  a dinner cruise up the river.  I reckon it was pretty good value for $85 per head, because apart from the spectacular scenery, you are treated to a genuine 1970’s carvery roast with chicken and lam, carrots and beans, cauliflower au gratin, lashings of gravy, and mint jelly from a jar,  and dessert, with the choice of pav, cheesecake or lemon tart with ice-cream scooped straight out of the tub.  No pretention here! Even the drink prices were reasonable: glasses of wine were on the lower end of the price spectrum, and soft drinks matched Bunnings (my new measure for drink pricing). 

    I have to admit to being totally discombobulated on this trip.  Victoria is on one side of the turns so its hard to keep track of what’s what. Anyway, on the NSW side, mansions take up almost every vantage point, whereas on the Victorian side it seems to be much more people orientated with rowing clubs and ski clubs and hundreds of metres of free camp, which I wouldn’t have even thought to look for, but oh well.  I guess that means there needs to be a next time.

    The coffee voucher I was given at reception was for a café down the road called The Shed.  Even though I had been stung by the servo curry chai of the other day, I ordered one here and it was possibly the nicest chai latte I have ever had in my life and Mark raved about his coffee also.  We had brekkie – Mark had salmon eggs benedict, and I had their speciality omelette full of ham, mushrooms, red onion and spinach .  It’s a good thing we only had a couple of days here, or I’m sure we would spend it in a permanent food coma.

  • Day 10 – Hay

    I’m not sure what I was expecting in Hay, but it wasn’t…Hay.

    Our plan here was just an overnight stop over to break up the drive to Mildura, even though it’s only a couple of hours drive from Narrandera.  We pulled into our second free camp – Sandy Point campgrounds.  I had warned Mark, that giving Brewery Flats 5 out of 5 was dangerous territory because it left him nowhere to go, and as usual, I was proven right.  Like Brewery Flat, Sandy Point is on the banks of the Murrumbidgee, but the river is wider here, and the bank is…well…sandy.  You can camp among the river gums and there is plenty of space.

    We arrived mid-morning, so headed to the Tourist Information Centre to see if there was anything we could do to kill the time.  From the minute you pull up, you can tell that Hay is a town that wants, and embraces visitors.  The information centre is modern, offers free showers, free push bike hire and has a tap (with a fitting!) out the front where you can fill your tanks.  Inside, the girl at the desk is friendly and welcoming and when you ask her what she recommends you see, she gets busy with her pen and rattles off a dozen things to see in this speck of a town, and we realised you couldn’t hope to do justice to them all in one day.  So we chose three: the Dunera Boys Museum, the old gaol and the Bishop’s residence.

    Now here’s the thing that struck me about Hay.  They really can’t have much of a crime problem, because for all of most of these attractions, you just rock up, pay $5 either by swiping you card on an unmanned machine, or popping cash into a donation box.  And then you just waltz on in and wander around and don’t encounter another soul. 

    I had heard of the Dunera Boys in that I remember a 1980s mini-series of that name, but I had never seen it and so knew nothing about them.  When Hitler started smashing windows and burning books, Germans who saw the signs, knew they were in his cross-hairs and had the means, fled their homeland for Britain.  The British were happy enough to have them there, until Hitler looked like he was going to attack, so the government rounded up all these refugees along with some Italians and others who they now saw as potential enemies, and not for the first time in their history, shipped off these unwanted to Australia.  A bunch of them arrived on the ship the Dunera, and these men found themselves in Hay, where they were imprisoned during the night and sent off to work on properties during the day.  As being a prisoner of war, which effectively they were, to be a Dunera Boy in Hay probably wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to you.  In fact at the end of the war, 900 of the original 2500 Dunera Boys chose to remain in Australia.  

    After the Japanese entered the war, Hay was used as used to intern Japanese citizens and house POWs, although it is not as well know as Cowra, because of the famous break-out there.

    The Dunera museum is uniquely housed in two railway carriages which are permanent sat at the beautifully restored, but no longer used, railway station.

    From there we headed to the old jail.  Again, just pay via the honour system and in you go.  This one even has free barbeques so you can have a picnic lunch in the grounds, which are beautiful.  It is not set up as a jail, more a museum of the usual old bottles and old washing machines that typically make up any country museum, but it is certainly worth stopping to smell the roses – literally.  There is a wide variety of roses in the beautifully kept grounds.

    In fact, what we noticed as we drove around Hay is that almost all of the gardens in almost all of the houses are immaculate, with lush green lawns and pretty flower beds.  It makes you feel like the people of Hay are very proud of their town.

    The last landmark we visited was The Bishops Lodge, which you can see from the highway as you enter from the Narranderra side.  Again, you just open a gate and you are free to wander through the lush garden. The entry to the main house is a little different int that you have to press an intercom, which puts you through to the girl at the tourist information centre.  She unlocks the door remotely, but then it’s back to the old honour system and you can wander around the old house to your heart’s content.  The old house was built in the late 1800s and was home to a couple of bishops before beings sold to a succession of private families, before the council bought it back again, restored it as a bicentennial project and opened it to the public.  It now has a commercial kitchen so that functions can be held there.  I imagine it would be an amazing wedding venue.  I’m not sure how many brides come out of Hay annually, but there are plenty of motor inns, the caravan park, and of course, the free camp to house the out of towners.

    Hay is also well-serviced for everything you need and all of it is on Lachlan Street. Just outside the IGA is a bench, and every time we drove past it was occupied by tow women, whose job it seemed was to heckle anyone who couldn’t master the reverse angel parking.  They certainly seemed to enjoy it.

    We picked up a couple of nibblies and then headed out of town, 16 kilometres to the sunset viewing area – basically a graded bit of dirt by the side of the highway where you can safely watch the sun drop behind the seemingly endless plains.  We were lusky enough to have a little bit of cloud to give us a spectacle.  The drive back is a little hairy – rabbits and hares, kangaroos, and unidentified bird darting in front of you or menacing to from the side of the road. But this is a must do in Hay.

    Then finally, just before we left the next day, we stopped by the most impressive landmark in Hay, the twin water towers adorned with murals honouring those who served in war.  They really are spectacular.

    Now, we only had half a day in Hay, and we couldn’t see all the town had to offer.  When we returned to the free campground, we noticed that probably about three-quarters of the people there hadn’t bothered to unhitch from their campers, so for them it literally was stop over to sleep before hitting the road again in the morning.  So unless they were catching a courtesy bus to the Sports and Fitness Club (bistro open 7 days a week!), they were really missing out. 

    I think the little township of Hay is a precious find – dare I say, like a needle in a haystack?

  • Day 7-9 – Parkes, Narrandera, Leeton

    Our first stop out of Dubbo was a petrol station to top up on petrol, having learned very quickly that the best process for diesel are definitely not to be found with the big companies, and are more than likely the ones out of town.  To that, Petrol Spy has been an absolute god-send because the difference can sometimes be as much as 20 cents per litre. An added bonus is that our servo of choice stocked Rocko’s thongs and I was able to replace my black ones that were starting to get thread-bare with a shiny new pair of pink ones – just like the original ones I got from my afore-mentioned favourite store, Mr Cheap Lightning Ridge all those years ago.  It was also here that Mark decided to get us coffee and ordered me a chai latte and brought it back proudly since he had remembered (one of) the coffee I like. 

    “A big Polynesian guy with a flower in his hair made it,” Mark told me, like that somehow made it even more special.

    One sip and I realised that chai lattes are probably not big in Polynesian culture, and he just added what ever that was at hand that started with C – possibly curry powder. What ever it was, it was rank, and then I had to nurse the thing all the way to West Wyalong because I was afraid if I poured it out the window, it might strip the paint off the Pajero. 

    In this family, one can not simple drive past Parkes without dropping in to see the radio-telescope. We have been before, of course, and Mark through his nerd network has even managed to present PD there and step inside the dish itself, but otherwise we don’t seem to have much luck.  Last time we were there, the coffee shop was open, but the visitor’s centre was closed because it had been broken into overnight.  This time, the visitor’s centre was open, but the coffee shop was not (can’t get anyone to run it), and of course I was keen for one after tasting the monstrous concoction that I had left in the car because I couldn’t see an obvious bin.

    We arrived in Narrandera mid-afternoon and set up in our first free camp of the trip, the Brewery Flat campground on the banks of the Murrumbidgee and just a stone’s throw from town.

    We had not been set up for half an hour when there was a knock on the caravan door from a guy called Dean who said he wanted to welcome us to Narrandera, and handed us a photocopied page of his top seven “hand-picked” highlights of the town.  At first, I thought it was such a fantastic idea for the shire to send out a welcoming committee.  But then he gave us a $1 million note which he hastened to add was not real (you’re joking!) and a pamphlet of the conservative Christian rhetoric he was peddling and asked us if we had been thinking about God lately.  We both chorused, “No!” which wasn’t entirely true, because at that very moment I was thinking “Jesus fucking Christ.” After he left, I did read his pamphlet, the gist of which seemed to be that vanity leads to a fall and all these “modern gods” who thought they had everything eventually come a cropper.  Like Christopher Reeves thought he was Superman but fell of his horse, and Princess Diana had it all, but then was killed in a car crash, and then it went on to list a pile more of these “modern gods” – like Elvis Presley and Bob Hope.  Bob Hope?  What did he do to deserve the vitriol?  He lived to a hundred, was married to the same woman for 70 years and he performed for the troops 19 times in USO concerts.  Plus he died 20 years ago so I’m not sure how often  the ‘modern’ part of ‘modern gods’  fits that!  I think their propaganda might need an update. Otherwise, they are really limiting their demographic to people who are now in their sixties (at least) and old enough to have been exposed to Bob Hope movies in the Sunday afternoon movie matinees on Channel 9 – before sport was invented. Anyway, we would almost have given the campground 5 out of 5, except for him…and the men’s toilet that was clogged up with toilet paper.

    Next to the campground are the ruins for whom the campgrounds are named, and which these days operate as one of the most impressive aviaries you are likely to see, as the corellas, cockatoos, magpies and pigeons have claimed it as their own.  You can’t go inside the ruins as there is a private house at the bottom and it is fenced off, but it is heritage listed – not that the birds seem take any reverence.

    Strangely, the brewery wasn’t even on Buggalugs’ photocopied list of Narrandera highlights which did include an Op Shop and a pedestrian footbridge.  I guess this shouldn’t be too surprising, because this is the sort of town where signs proclaim streets to be the winners of prettiest street competitions – in 1992. Not even Lake Talbot made it onto the list, and I think that is pretty impressive landmark – a man-made lake that is bordered by the Narrandera Aquatic complex which I imagine is a hive of activity in summer.  There is also a sky-bridge offering a great view of the lake.  It was a bit overcast and cold when we were there though.

    I had actually been curious to see Lake Talbot because of my enjoyment of the novels of Chris Hammer. I first read Scrublands which was set in the western Riverina district, and have since been working my way through his Nell Buchanan/Ivan Lucic series. Each of these books has been set in fictional towns which have been inspired by real towns.  In The Seven, a body is discovered in a waterway which is clearly Lake Talbot, whereas  most of the action takes place in a town that is inspired by nearby Leeton, home of Sunrice, palm-lined streets and an abundance of art deco architecture. Leeton is about a 20 minute drive from Narrandera, off the highway, but much bigger.  It even has a Best and Less and a Maccas!  It was easy to recognise some of the buildings that were referenced in the novel, but the stars of Leeton are the very real Roxy Theatre, the Walter Burleigh-Griffin designed water towers, and the Hydro Hotel.

    The Roxy is a grand old art deco dame, originally opened in 1930 with the capacity to seat 1000 film goers.  Today she stands in all her glory on one corner of the roundabout in the centre of town, opposite the memorial clock and looking down the street to the water towers. But it is at night that the Roxy really shines, Tarting herself up in neon. The water towers are also illuminated.  For ANZAC day they show the faces of the fallen, but we were there in the middle of November, so the illumination was for the 75th anniversary of Sunrice.  Perhaps not as poignant, but still a little pretty.  Even the Hydro Hotel lights up, making visible the stained glass that is hard to see in the daylight. Having been told about these nightly light shows by the lady in the tourist info place earlier in the day,  we went back to Leeton that night – early,  to make sure we could secure our spot to take photos. 

    We were the only ones there, which honestly seemed a little sad.

    Just outside Leeton is the village of Yanco.  It has an impressive looking derelict power station, which is open to the public…on Sunday a moth or something crazy.  There was an unlocked gate and we thought we might be able to snap a photo, but on the creaking of the metal, a woman appeared from the residence at the foot of the power station.  What is it in NSW with residences in ruins…like literally, in them. However, she did let Mark send the drone up for a quick pic.

    Anyway, we could easily have spent aanother day or two exploring Leeton, and even venturing out further to Griffith, notorious for the murder of businessman and anti-drug campaigner Don McKay in the 1970s, and another of Chris Hammer’s locales, but that will have to wait for another trip.

  • Days 4-6 Dubbo

    When I was at uni – a million years ago – I studied a subject call Science, Technology and the Modern Industrial State.  It was actual a cross-over for me from the Arts Faculty into Science.  It was more of a history subject than a science one, which meant I loved it, probably for the same reasons that most of the science students I knew (and for whom it was compulsory), hated it.  Anyway, in the years that have passed, I have forgotten most of what was specifically taught in that course, but I do remember the lecturer saying that you can tell that a city is prosperous by the number of cranes on the skyline.  I can’t see a crane without thinking about this.  I used to think about it when the Sunshine Coast University Hospital was under construction and I think one day I counted seven cranes on that project alone. I can’t drive into Brisbane without counting cranes (and in the lead-up to the Olympics, I expect this will drive me mental!)

    Where I did not expect to see cranes was Dubbo.  Yet as we drove in to the town centre, there was not one, but two of them, and one of them was attached to the first “high-rise” we had seen in a country town since we left Toowoomba (and there weren’t that many there).  Not only that, but one of them was attached to a ten-storey residential building!  This, combined with the very small number of empty shops on the main street makes me think that Dubbo is doing OK. It also has a huge social club called Club Dubbo, where I think they missed a great opportunity to call “Clubbo”, but I that may be why I am not iin charge of naming things

    Of course, Dubbo is a pretty major regional centre, and the number of caravan parks and motor inns (on incongruously called the Abel Tasman Motor Inn, complete with artwork of his olde shippe, like he was a noted citizen of the western plains!) are proof of its appeal to tourists – us included – and the number one draw card is undoubtedly Taronga Westen Plains Zoo.  Although we technically had two days in Dubbo, we (which really means me), had to do some washing and even though we had only been on the road five days, all of that seemed to be spent eating, so we needed a day to…digest.  So, we decided to concentrate on the zoo, and save other attractions like the gaol, and the caves for another visit.

    Now I’m not going to lie, I have always envisaged Dubbo’s Western Plains Zoo to be a vast sprawling affair taking up most of the western plains. In my mind’s eye, I saw lions roaming these vast plains, hunting zebra and bongos and various exotic antelope species and being trampled by the odd elephant. Maybe somewhere there would be a Jurassic-style electric fence to keep them all in, but it would be so far in the distance that neither you, nor the animals were ware of it, and the tourists would be guided around in open-sided Jeeps, taking their lives into their own hands, lest a lioness leap from her camouflage in the grass.   I thought it would be the closest thing that animals got to being in Africa, except in Dubbo.

    So I have to say I was a little bit disappointed to find that it was about one kilometre away from the caravan park we were staying in, and that from the inside of the zoo, in parts, you can look across the enclosures to see the busy Newell Highway, and a brand new sparkling retirement village (another new build – even without cranes!)

    Having said that, it is a lovely zoo and very user friendly.  It is all organised around a roughly six-kilometre track which you can walk around, or drive in your own car and park near the various exhibits. Another option is to hire an electric cart – something a bit more “industrial” (read – no electric steering) than your average golf buggy.  We opted for this, because there is something to be said about the open sides of the buggy.  You feel closer to the action.  Mind you, the animals still totally ignore you unless they think they are about to be fed, many go so far as to stand in the farthest corner of their enclosure with their backsides facing you, and some just stay in their dens because they are nocturnal and aren’t getting out of bed for anyone!  (Hint: the giraffes get carrots at 10:00 am, so there are plenty milling around the fence from about 9:30!) The path is one-way, but you can go around it as many times as you need and I think this is very sensible, especially on weekends and public holidays when the zoo is very busy.  We went on a non-holiday Friday, and it was very civilised.  We also noticed that it was much busier in the morning and had thinned out considerably in the afternoon. 

    We also opted to do the Lion Encounter.  It was probably a bit less than an ‘encounter’ than an experience, but it was only $29 per person and that seemed pretty reasonable.  You get to go on an ENCLOSED bus (seriously, but disappointingly reducing the chance that a random child will be snatched by one) and are taken into the lion enclosure just as they are released from their night pen.  There are also bits of animals scattered around the enclosure which they go hunting for, and it means that they come right up close to the bus so you can get a good look – at least for the couple of minutes it takes them to find and devour their snacks before they retreat to a distant rock, or worse, their day den.

    Anyway, we had a lovely day, but if I am to be honest, zoos are great for kids who have never been to one before and for whom everything is new. Personally, I continue to go to zoos because I appreciate the vital work they do in preserving species that we humans have done our best to wipe out, and I know my entrance fee helps out with that.  But for the most part, a zoo is a zoo is a zoo.

    Hang on?  Did we miss the aquatic bird enclosure?  I don’t recall seeing any cranes.

  • Day 2-3 – Moree

    Day 2-3 Moree

    We left Toowoomba and headed off to Moree via the Gore Highway – a pretty drive, although the word “highway” is used a bit loosely to describe parts of it, especially considering how many trucks use it. This route takes you through Milmerran, (and you can tell you are getting further west by the number of buildings that have murals painted on them), then down to Goondiwindi for the obligatory photo of Gunsynd, the Goondiwindi Grey.  It’s interesting reading the plaque on the statue a week after the 2025 Melbourne Cup. Half Yours won more than four million dollars in that one race. Gunsynd’s total race winnings – from 54 starts – was just over $280 000.  Then over the border we went, thrust an hour forward in time and instantly on to better roads (though NSW-ers still find cause to complain about them).

    I’m not exactly sure what I expected to find in Moree, but from the looks on some people’s faces when we told them we were not only visiting there, but staying for a couple of nights, I guess I was bracing myself for something akin to the recently remodelled Gaza Strip, and that I should sleep with a cricket bat next to my bed, lest someone tries to murder me in my sleep.

    But instead, Moree presents itself as an iconic country town, with a pretty main street lined with ficus and olive trees, wide footpaths, some gorgeous art nouveau and art deco architecture, more dealers in giant farm machinery that you could ever imagine, and a double-fronted business named Logan and Co which is one-half furniture and bedding and one-half funeral director..

    Look, this is not to say that Moree doesn’t have its problems – you can definitely read about those elsewhere if you Google search – but in terms of towns that make me feel scared when I visit, this one doesn’t even rate (Wilcannia, anyone?).  One of the casualties of youth crime was the big rocket in what was formerly known as Rocket Park.  It has been replaced by a rope climbing tower, which, if you squint, could be mistaken for a rocket…shape.  But the original rocket, remains – a steel monument to all things space travel, like many identical ones erected across the country, paying homage to the moon landing and Australia’s role in getting them there. Of course, the entrance to the ladder allowing climbing access is now welded shut, because this rocket was erected in 1972, when we were just interested in kids having fun and didn’t care about them hurting themselves.  Like those steel slippery slides that would give you third degree burns in summer and give your backside frostbite in winter.  If you know, you know.

    I was a bit disappointed in the Moree public baths, not because they aren’t impressive, because they are, with several pools and a water slide and renovations under way.  More, there is nothing there to reflect the role they played in the civil rights movement in this country, when Charles Perkins and the Freedom Riders rounded up the Aboriginal kids and staged stand-offs to allow them equal access.  If you want to find out more about this, I can thoroughly recommend the two-part documentary “The Pool”.  I don’t think it is on Iview anymore (What are you doing, ABC?), but I think you can find it on Prime.  I know, I couldn’t believe that a two-part documentary about swimming pools would hold my attention either, but there you go.  Here’s the trailer:

    Apart from the waterslide, the main reason you would go to the baths is for the artesian water, but it seems to me from driving around that pretty much every caravan park and hotel has their own thermal swimming pool, which makes the baths even a little bit more less special.

    Of course, we weren’t really there as tourists, but to catch up with my cousins Lee-Anne and Debbie.  I only met these two fantastic women for the first time at my parents’ 60th wedding anniversary party at the beginning of 2024.  Far than being disappointed to surrender my position as the eldest grandchild on my paternal side, it has been wonderful to welcome them into the fold.  The whole story is complicated, albeit not that uncommon.  We share a grandmother, Edie Gray .  Their mother, Mary – my aunt- was brought up to believe she was my grandmother’s sister, when in fact she was her daughter. Because of what would now seem to be ridiculous social mores, and the decisions of two men in the 1930’s, an enormous rift was created in our family, one which has now begun to fill, albeit too late for Edie and Mary. 

    Lee-Anne and her husband have called Moree home for more than 40 years, raising their children there and building a successful business. She speaks of the town with great fondness, sadness about its problems, but very proud none-the-less, and I look forward to heading back again to see more of the area under her guidance.  Time spent with them was all too short, but not too short for her to show us a few things that don’t appear on the traditional “things to do in Moree” lists.

    1. The Amaroo Tavern

      Well yes, this is just a pub, but how many pubs have a beer garden with a kids’ playground featuring a DC3 plane? Not only is it there, but the kids can climb the stairs to go inside and pull the leavers and make the flaps move. From memory, that is more interactive that the QANTAS museum in Longreach, where you could go inside the plane, but everything was protected behind sheets of perspex. Even the big kids in my group couldn’t resist. Tasty food too – I had the fish tacos.  Delicious.

      2. The Gift Barrell

      This an unassuming little store on a side street.  It was started more than 40 years ago as a way for farmers wives to generate extra income for the family in times of drought by selling homemade relishes, baked goodies and handicrafts. A small portion of each sale goes to the collective to cover rent. Insurance and what-not, but the bulk of each sale goes to the producer.  The shop is staffed completely by volunteers.  On the day we visited, Maureen was behind the counter, who was thrilled to see us (although dragging her away from her Kindle).  I wouldn’t say she had been flooded with customers that day, but this is a fantastic initiative and says much about the country spirit. Between Debbie and myself, we certainly bolstered the coffers, picking up some gifts, and Mark bought some Thai Chilli Sauce made by none other than Lee-Anne!

      3. Assef’s

      I only half-joke that my favourite shop in all the world is Mr Cheap’s in Lightning Ridge.  This is not just because it is where I bought my first ever pair of Rocko’s thongs (thought that alone s cause for celebration), but because it services a town by supplying EVERYTHING and every nook and cranny is taken up by stuff. Well, Assef’s is like a top end version of that.  It sells, clothing brands from Billabong,  Country Road and RM Williams (of course), to Calvin Kein.  It sells giftware and kitchenware, and after the closure of the local Toyworld, found space to open a toy section. And it was busy (maybe not Westfield busy, but definitely Moree, busy!).  According to Lee-Anne, Assef’s is something of an institution in Moree, and another one of those businesses that is proud of its town.  No Rocko’s, but a decent range of Havianas.