Hahndorf was settled by the Germans in 1840 and my idea had been to look at the old stone cottages, but they were plastered over with signs proclaiming ‘Devon Cream Teas’, ‘Bratwurst and chips’ and it was heaving with people like me: tourists. Anyway, enjoyed my lunch and then headed off towards the Barossa Valley via Birdwood where I stumbled across an incredible treat; the National Motor Museum. My timing for once was spot on as the museum was holding a 1970s themed exhibition with a sporty lime green Holden taking centre stage, alongside the last Mini to come off the Australian production line plus photos and clothes from the era and a macramé owl… Why were they ever popular?
Vehicles from the earliest that bounced over Australia’s unmetalled roads to the latest beasts of burden, the mighty trucks used to haul road trains across the outback, were lined up in all their mechanical glory. Gazing up at the road truck’s lofty cab, I was unaware that one day I would discover just how much dust these machines throw up in passing. This was an evocative and engaging collection which really captured my imagination. It’s always hard to know exactly what stamps an enduring impression on your brain, but this museum will remain firmly etched in my memory for years to come, of that I am sure.
Earlier in the day the brilliant sunshine had disappeared behind a curtain of heavy cloud but as I emerged from the museum, I was greeted by a bright blue sky. The sun lit up the colours of the trees, tucked in amongst softly rounded hills passed which I drove, drinking in the sheer beauty of my surroundings. I ventured up the Lofty Range to Angaston, the highest point in the Barossa Valley and home to the Yalumba vineyards and then on to Nuriootpa, where the Wolf Bass vineyards are to be found. I had naïvely hoped to find somewhere cheap and cheerful to stay in this centre of viticulture, but with night-time approaching the only hotel was the Novotel Resort nestled in a prime spot. Gazing across the view that guests would surely enjoy with a glass or two of the Barossa’s finest, I decided that the price-tag would be as prime as the setting. With a sigh, I regretted that this luxury was not for me and flipped a mental coin in lieu of spinning a compass. Ruminations over, and as the early evening was so peaceful, opted to drive down towards Adelaide.
Slight snag though, in those pre-android days, no film left in my camera and nowhere to buy one. A tunnel of gum trees, oh so photogenic, opened up at Jacobs Creek, especially noted for the Shiraz vines, acres of them. Drove across the creek itself which was little more than a trickle at that time of year, and also doffed my cap at Penfolds. Still nowhere to rest my now increasingly weary head, got careless at a crossroads when turning right; luckily the road was empty but it gave my search a more urgent edge… but to no avail. Won’t bore you with details of the increasing number of detours I took trying to find a bed, but on the edge of Adelaide I found a good old Best Western, a chain which is rapidly replacing Travelodge in my affections. I spent the night slobbed in front of Julia Roberts and Susan Sarandon, in the syrupy Stepmom which was just the tonic after a long day!
… A photogenic tunnel of gum trees… no film in my camera…
So having travelled north and back, I am now in the suburbs of Adelaide, the ‘City of Churches’ or the home of the Hills hoist, aka the garden twirly whirly on which to hang your washing. Tomorrow I might just as well head south to the Fleurieu Peninsula after all. Oh, I wish I could describe today’s drive in a way that would really do it justice. The Limestone Coast section was incredible, admittedly it was uber flat, but that just increased the beauty of the open skies. Driving in these conditions created a weird sensation. At one point mackerel clouds washed across the blue sky but the sun filtering through them was painfully bright. To prevent wrinkle-inducing squinting, I put on my sunglasses and the clouds which I had been driving towards, suddenly seemed to turn and rush towards me, which was a tad alarming. So, I took off my glasses, the clouds retreated and I carried on squinting. I have since learnt that my eyes don’t like brown-tinted sunglasses, which is a rather bizarre.
Back to the TV and suddenly Stepmom has become less of a tonic and more of an irritation – it’s lasting forever thanks to adverts every ten minutes; this is truly testing my dedication to viewing. Will multi-task, watch TV and continue to pen the odd thought related to my Great Ocean Road experience…
I took as long (or short) as the standard Trailfinders information seemed to indicate appropriate, I think I added one day, but on reflection this was far too short a stretch of time. I wanted to explore more beaches along the way, and spend longer at those that I did visit. I really wish I had taken more photographs and I must have been off my trolley to drive through the Barossa Valley without a film in my camera. Perhaps you stop thinking logically when you are on your own. I might nag a partner about “Have you got… blahbiddyblah…” but am unlikely to nag myself. Also, at the beginning of this jaunt I really should have allocated an entire day to Ballarat as I severely underestimated how much there was to see and do in the area. Had I spent the first night in Ballarat and then headed off after breakfast, that following day would have marked day one of the Great Ocean Road journey.
Doing it my way, it was getting late and the light was fading by the time I reached Cape Otway and the point where the scenery was becoming really interesting. Plus I added the Limestone Coast. Irrespective of any tweaking that could have been done, all in all it was an amazing experience: thank you very much.
Monday 15th April: down to the coast at Cape Jervis
Pottered in the morning – aided by the fact that I had toast and cereal facilities in my room, but by ten decided that I really ought to get going. With some reluctance, I vacated my room for another stint behind the wheel of my car, the reluctance probably due to the impending end of my freewheeling adventure and not the thought of racking up more miles. When asked in later years if I ever got lonely on my travels, my eyeballs would react in a pop-eyed questioning ‘why?’ way. I had George with me. Admittedly with each re-emergence from car boot or plane hold he looked a little more battle weary, but he proved to be the perfect guardian of my goods and chattels. And as an added bonus, his one squeaky wheel acted as an effective warning siren clearing our passage as, in tandem, we breezed through yet another air terminal or trundled up to another hotel reception desk. A more dependable travelling companion a girl could not wish for.
That said, back to today… when I was mildly surprised at how full the hotel car park was as I steered said companion, the increasingly independently minded George, between rows of parked cars fearful of scratching polished paintwork. As I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure where to go for the day, we set off towards Port Adelaide and then spotting signs to Cape Jervis, changed my mind and headed that way instead. It’s that sort of impromptu manoeuvre which adds to the fun of solo travel – explanations or excuses are not needed. More vineyards in the McLaren Vale area and once again, beautiful scenery down from the Adelaide Hills and across a flat plain and up again into the hills which run down to the Cape. Very twisty road with lots of red and black markers to keep me focused, or perhaps distracted, drove through avenues of majestic gums…still without a film in my camera. Couldn’t I have bought one from or near the hotel…?
Arrived at Cape Jervis in the blistering heat and bought a cold drink and, I am truly ashamed, a hot doughnut from a caravan parked in the car park by the tiny quay: calorific perfection. There was very little to see down by the harbour, except for the looming bulk of the Kangaroo Island Ferry, which was waiting for the off. Licking jam from my fingers, I drove back up the hill into the village and finally managed to track down some film and then returned to take photos of the departing ferry. As time was doing its usual trick, retraced my steps and decided to detour to Port Noarlunga, which is 34km south of Adelaide. It’s a picturesque beachside town where I had lunch and wrote some postcards and then realised that I would have to head back to Adelaide as the Lancer was due to be dropped off that evening.
My internal navigation system reckoned tha
t if I just kept going, I ought to arrive in the area of West Terrace which would then require a right turn into North Terrace, easy, the home of Avis. Indeed, I did make it to North Terrace with relative ease and then spent a certain amount of time cruising up and down, with buses and taxis in close proximity, until finally in amongst the tree-lined avenue I spotted the tiny Avis sign I was looking for. After an exhilarating 1690km (1050 miles) I was sad to part with another hire car, but at least all was okay. Still think the odometers are not recording all that I’ve driven…
The hotel was a two-minute walk away and tired but happy, I checked in. H’mm, just what is the time I thought to ask. My watch was showing five and the hotel clock four. Having put my watch forward by thirty minutes on crossing into South Australia at Mount Gambier that was the time I had assumed for the last few days. In making the adjustment, what I hadn’t appreciated was the fact that South Australia had remained on ‘regular time’ whilst Eastern Australia had changed onto daylight saving. Therefore the half an hour forward, should in fact have been half an hour back… which explains things like empty restaurants in the evenings and full car parks in the mornings; I was an hour out. It also explained why the barman at the hotel in Kingston looked a little bemused when I determinedly claimed my ‘free beer’ at four in the afternoon. A thirty-minute time difference between two adjacent time zones, plus the added complication of inconsistently applied daylight saving does seem confusing…about as confusing as my explanation.
But the bonus came when after a bath and relax it was still daylight and I had time to explore the pretty city of Adelaide. The city had a hard act to follow – Melbourne had really won my heart. The central part of Adelaide, the old city, is surprisingly small and therefore walkable, which is just as well, as there is only one tram in the city and it runs out to Glenelg on the coast. Sadly, there was no time to explore that route. From my email home:
… if you’re still hanging on in there, you now find me in Adelaide after a 1,600km drive which began in Melbourne and carried me through diverse scenery of coast and hills, forest and vineyards. I have met some fascinating characters and now realise that gum trees come in more than one variety, from small gnarled versions to great soaring sentinels and, borrowing a word from Dame Edna, some truly spooky versions. Again, my camera is struggling to do Australia justice. It’s a bit alarming seeing so many signs warning me of koalas and roos and I guess they mean the live variety rather than the few I have seen lying on their backs with their paws in the air. Also saw pelicans again, not where expected, but bobbing about in various bits of coastal waters, also heard strange noises in the bush… butcher birds perhaps.
Melbourne was fascinating and I managed to cram in a goodly amount of sightseeing in two days. Am now in the home of the Barossa Valley and Adelaide Hills wines and enjoying a purely objective sampling spree…
Tuesday 16th April: a day of sightseeing
Began the day with an email session: faster and cheaper than New Zealand. Then went shopping, splashing out on two pairs of long trousers and a top. Not quite sure how I am going to squeeze everything into George, who, like his owner, is beginning to look a little bloated. The hotel provided me with a map of a three-hour walk which took in the main sights. Some attractive Victorian architecture remains, especially the old shopping arcade, plus one or two handsome examples of Art Nouveau. Took lots of photos but no time to visit Ayers (as in the rock) House, as self-guided tours not possible and regrettably had no time to wait for the official tour. From 1855–1897 the house had been the opulent home of Sir Henry Ayers, Premier of South Australia and it would have been lovely to take a peek inside. Sir Henry had made his fortune in the copper mining industry, so I guess he was able to accumulate some fine artefacts.
Banishing my disappointment, the Botanic Garden came to the rescue and reaffirmed my view that Australia is home to some immaculate and diverse public gardens. I wandered amongst an array of weird and wonderful plants including a ‘lost world’ collection of primeval cycads. There seemed to be many more palms outside the Palm House than in it, and everything was in tip top condition. Having missed his house, I discovered that Sir Henry had been a governor of the gardens: a delightful legacy for the citizens of Adelaide and much enjoyed by me.
Ended the day in the Art Gallery of South Australia and that was an absolute and unexpected treat. The paintings were displayed beautifully, with a wide range of European and North American works from the Renaissance to modern art. For me, however, the stars of the collection were the Australian and Australian Aboriginal works. I’m not sure how long I stood before Tom Roberts’ atmospheric 1891 painting entitled A break away! It depicts a drover on horseback trying to deflect stampeding, thirst-crazed sheep from careering destructively headlong towards a dam. The dust and drama portrayed in the painting has come to epitomise the grit of the pioneering pastoralists. After the drama of life in the outback, a change in tempo was to be had browsing the exquisite displays of furniture, glass, silver and a host of marble and bronze statues. A Roman torso, The Bowmore Artemis, was another stellar artefact. I wanted to ruffle the billowy folds of her gathered tunic, but the huntress would have broken my fingers, she was sculpted from marble. Full marks: the art gallery is a sparkling jewel in Adelaide’s crown.
It was in the gallery that I decided it was hard to refute the adage that ‘travel broadens the mind’. At some time in the future I would have to come up with a research topic for a masters degree (hence the excess book baggage). Looking at the work of contemporary indigenous artists, I saw how they, through their creativity, were connecting with and reclaiming their past. I was looking at pictorial representations of an oral creation narrative, in particular the representations of Dreamtime. Without that eureka moment in Adelaide, I might never have argued, through Honey Ant Dreaming, that the ancient oral narratives of the Australian Aboriginal Dreamtime have a contemporary relevance. Through the resilience of narratives, passed down through the generations, they have helped a dispossessed society to reclaim its cultural heritage. Sitting at my desk in England, my research took me back to my son’s adopted country and its ancient history. Thank you, Adelaide.
At the beginning of this book, I exhorted ‘empty nesters’ to go off and have an adventure… and I reiterate that view… go and grab a few more rocking chair moments just as our children are doing. Perhaps not necessarily tie it in with further studies as, I concede, how the dickens do you study Dickens when driving around Oz? And yes, Dombey and Son is a bit of a leap away from Honey Ant Dreaming … but it’s all about stepping stones.
Sydney and Canberra: from Blue to Snowy Mountains
Wednesday 17th April: last few hours in Adelaide and then back to Sydney
Another quick email then off to collect some photos of the Great Ocean Road which had been developed overnight. Thumbing through the prints, sadly the results proved to be no better, in fact worse, than the average one-hour service, plus two of the photos were scratched. Can’t blame the developers for the subject matter – can’t believe how much I hadn’t photographed and I still seem to be mastering the camera judging by the amount of black shadow. Oh well, back-up postcards are obviously the way forward.
Next on the list was the South Australia Museum, where I started in the dinosaur exhibition which, unsurprisingly, was teeming with small children as this was the autumn break. Moved on to the rest of the museum where the highlights proved to be the superb displays of South Sea Islands’ artefacts plus the mineral collection, although here the labelling seemed a bit erratic. For me to spend ages looking at lumps of rock was something totally novel – possibly the Wai-O-Tapu effect?
Returned to the hotel with time for a quick Cascade Lite beer and then clambered aboard the airport bus, ready for the next leg of my journey. Gazing from the window, bidding a silent farewell to Adelaide, I spotted two gentlemen deep in conversation, one sporting an ill-disguised toupee and the other clutching a carrier bag
from the stationers, Wigg & Co… If life sometimes gets you down, it’s equally capable of producing moments of unexpected ‘laugh out loud’ humour. Not that I was particularly down, but I did let out a tiny hiccup-like squeak.
George and I experienced another straightforward flight, and in a little under two hours our bumpy landing announced our arrival back in Sydney, and the first rain for several days. Took the train into town and liaised with Matt to meet for a drink at the Stanley Hotel (really a pub, but termed ‘hotel’ because of the pokies). Hauled George from the station platform, lugged him up a flight of steps, and as I emerged at street level, fell splat onto the pavement. Homebound workers just stepped around me, seemingly convinced that I was something of a drunken bag lady. One of the first rules of solo travel: you must be able to lift and carry your own baggage without either popping your vertebrae or falling flat on your face or both.
Soberly, I gathered myself up, inspected my knees, and tottered off to find the rendezvous point where I settled into a corner, an unloved George hidden under the table. With a schooner of the now familiar, coolly welcoming non-Lite version of Cascade in my grasp, my spirits were restored. Alice was the first to find me, quickly followed by Matt; another beer and then off for a bowl of pasta back at Yurong Street. Joy of joys, it was like coming home.
Travels with George Page 11