Merimbula

 

We spent a few days in Merimbula with our cousins.  Summing Merimbula up in a few words - it is a seaside tourist resort - though the locals might not like that description much.  In saying that parts of it have not lost its charm and its worth visiting for a few days.

There is a dramatic coastline - crashing waves created by a storm surge I was told.  Golden beaches and steep rocky outcrops dotted the coast. The walk along the beach was curtailed by an incoming tide but if we had timed it differently we could have walked for miles and seen even more ants, crabs and blue bottles! The little coffee van was closed due to the previous nights unexpected high tide but there were plenty open on the other side of the inlet (if you got there before 2.30pm).

A lovely walk along the boardwalk took us to another quaint cafe decked out with historical ornaments and a floating picnic table!! Certainly worth the dawdle across the marshes and mangroves.

The highlight was probably the motor camp!!  On many an occasion I would pass all the activities (pools, splashpads, trampolines, bouncy castles, hire bikes and swings) wishing this was a place I could meet up with the grandkids - it unfortunately felt like a bit far to come. 

The amenities were great (even an ensuite behind camp sites if you wanted to rent one), and our cabin was just what we needed - kitchen, space to spread out and a nice view across to the hills.

Metung to Merimbula

 

"Staying one night in any place isn't usually enough" I said to Harry as we packed up to leave Metung.  "We have hardly had a chance to look around" I moaned "and we didn't get to soak in the hot springs either".  I know we had both agreed the itinerary but...

After all that, we did have a great day.

We stopped further down the road Lakes Entrance.  At first glance its a little lakeside touristy spot but we spied a bridge and after deliberating about how much time we had, we agreed to take a walk across the bridge and sand dunes to the entrance.  Birds continued to squawk as we first explored the rough and dangerous entrance to the harbour (human-made to enable supply boats to make their deliveries along the lake). It was a fairly wild day rough sea meeting calm lake.

Rawson to Metung

Monday morning began with a drop off at the rental car place.  It is a shuttle ride from the airport for arrivals (who were incidentally told that shuttles weren't available so get a taxi with the fare being refundable).

We walked in the gate and a staff member told us the company didn't open till 10 - we were an hour early.  We looked at each other and decided to walk around the industrial and commercial area vaguely hoping we would find a place open for coffee.  No such luck - we didn't even spy a closed cafe.  

It was cold - a strong wind whistling down the lonely culdersacs.  We hurriedly circled back to where our rental car was waiting and sat patiently waiting for ten o'clock.  Eventually a woman looked up and asked if we had booked a car or a camper van.  It was a car, and so she could help us. After some paperwork, a photo tour of the car, and the gift of a phone holder, we gave her a heartfelt thanks and wished her a happy day. 

After getting lost, and then a "goodbye" brunch in Brunswick we drove to our next stop. 

It started to rain and after stopping at a supermarket for food we hit a fairly isolated road lined by gum trees and pongas which wound up the hills to a little town called Rawson.  We imagine that in winter Rawson would be vibrant and alive with skiers, but today Rawson was cold, wet and isolated.  We found our cabin down a windy and muddy hill, raced in and turned on the heat pump and the bar heaters.  The rain thudded on the roof, the wind whistled through the trees and unknown birds squawked their way into the night. 

Over dinner (salmon, potatoes and salad for dinner) which had to be carefully organised as you couldn't turn the oven and element on at the same time) we decided we were the only people staying at the camp.

Next morning we left in a heavy drizzle and drove up the muddy steep path on our way to the little gold mining town of Walhalla.  A driver towing an off road caravan stopped to say there was a tree down, but he had cleared half the road so traffic could get past. We thanked him and had a vision of him stopping his ute, getting his chain saw out of the back and cutting the tree.  We remembered our time in Dickies Beach when we went for a four wheel drive and we had to stop 3 or 4 times to watch the driver chain saw trees and we helped to clear the fairly substantial logs from the road. A fairly typical day in the life of off roaders in Australia we think.

Walhalla is a little gold mining town settled back in the mid 1800's.  After pulling on our warm hat and coat (Harry did look at me when I suggested we bring them - but admitted he was pleased he had listened as it was about 13 degrees) we wandered up a lot of steps to the old tram track and forest walk.  Once up, the track was reasonably flat and wound around the hill high up above the little village.  Wonderful views of the little buildings (only 13 original ones with all the rest new but built to fit sympathetically with the gold mining era).  We wandered through pongas and scrubby undergrowth to the chirp of kingfishers and other birds.

Walhalla has a permanent population of between 20 and 35 depending on the website you look at.  Back in the mid 1800's when gold was found you could imagine the 4000 or so people living in tents and trudging up to the gold mines each day.  Today, it was cold and misty and adding to the atmosphere a small cottage had smoke floating from its chimney.  Fires would have been a must to keep warm, even in later years because apparently Walhalla was the last town in Australia to get electricity in 1998.  To keep the atmosphere and allowing for period movies the wires were placed underground. 

There is a local cemetery steeped in history.  It's built on the side of a hill, with (I think unusually) all the gravestones looking up the hill rather than down to the valley.   Many quoted a message...

"Oh let my sudden doom, a warning be to all, ere whilst thou bendest over my tomb, thou may as quickly fall".

Sombre to say the least.

Back down the valley and we were at the south end of the village.  We walked past many shop windows "Open 7 days" said the signs.

"Which 7 days?" I asked Harry as there was no sign of life.  But we did find a little cafe (all dressed out in witchcraft paraphenalia) and enjoyed the scones and sandwiches and oh yes that hot cup of English breakfast tea. 

There was an extraordinary tale of  Dr Annie Yoffa.  Back in the late 1920's she was a trailblazer for women.  Amongst her many achievements was surgery, psycriatry, philosophy, published author.  She also was the first woman to hike the Warburton to Walhalla trail unaccompanied.  So I will add courageous to her list of strengths. Unfortunately, she is remembered in Australia as she was murdered by a stranger in the Dandedong Ranges in her early 30's - rather than her many achievements.  A sad end.on why she is not remembered with a few parks or more plaques.

Rather wishing we had booked a place to stay the night (though the hotel didn't appear to welcome guests) we drove back along the windy road, past the fallen tree and onto Metung.   We didn't see another car for 28km and then we saw a number of logging and quarrying trucks heading in the other direction. We stopped along the way to view power stations, quarries and timber mills - rather missing the tranquil nature of years gone by at Walhalla.

We stopped at Sale for a break and a wander along the water front.  

and then at St Marys in Bairnsdale.

Our accommodation in Metung was nice, but only had a microwave.  Deciding it was too cold to cook our sausages on the barbeque we headed to the local put for dinner.  

"Make sure you go at 6.00 before the crowds as it is the only place open for a meal on Monday nights" said the motel manager.  Everyone must have been told the same thing - we joined a number of other tourists leaving their apartments along the road heading to the pub right on 6 o'clock. 

Melbourne

We were two sleepy eyed seniors that boarded the six o'clock morning flight to Melbourne. The film selection was skimmed through and interrupted intermittently by announcements from the cockpit and cabin crew. 

Once the seat belt sign was off, I forgot all about watching movies and moved over to seats 10 A, B and C - empty and just waiting for me to stretch out and have a sleep. A couple of short naps, breakfast, half a movie and a smooth trip passed the time quickly. 

It was nice to be picked up from the airport and after a quick visit to the supermarket we headed to Brunswick for hot cross buns and tea.

Then Harry and I were on our own, enjoying exploring trains and buses with the "Mikey" card. A police incident delayed the train, and so we sat for a while watching other travellers waiting (a bit more exciting than watching paint dry). 

The train trip to Flinders is efficient but a tad boring as the line takes us mainly through run down commercial and industrial areas. We wandered along the Yarra river, reminiscing about our last walk along the same promenade about 15 years ago. It took a while to find a spot for lunch that wasn't a pub or expensive restaurant and a public loo, and in the end we settled for Subway and a very large ice-cream before sneaking into a pub to use their facilities. 

Just as we were about to turn back towards the station we found the Melbourne Convention Center.  Massively long corridors led us to the Lumo Vincent van Gogh exhibition. What a find!! Kiwi seniors got a discount (worth a couple of coffees).  

Two hours later we walked out. Captivated by the visuals, soothing music and subtle lighting.  We saw the show from the mezzanine floor and also from the little 1888 cafe complete with and the cane chairs. A third round would have seen us lying on the double bean bags and would probably have included a snooze.   

For a change we caught the tram home. There were a lot of stops with passengers coming and going. Facing backwards we couldn't see the names of the stops until after we had left the platform and with all the people standing and talking we couldn't hear or see the announcements either.  "Oh well", we thought "We are on holiday so a trip to the end of the line isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Friday was airshow day, and off the four of us went with our seats, picnic and of course our cameras. 

We were told to arrive about midday when the gates opened and were expecting a rather long queue of enthusiastic airplane enthusiasts, but got into the car park quite quickly and wandered with all our gear to a reasonably good viewing sight.  Harry got as near as he could to the fence line and came back to the chairs occasionally for food, a chat and a rest.  

The Avalon airshow was quite different to others we have been too. On the day, the airport was still operating commercial flights and so occasionally the show stopped to let a Jetstar plane land or take off.  I imagine the passengers had never had such a welcoming crowd before.  

Sadly, the air show finished early, as one of the four acrobatic planes crashed, critically injuring the pilot.  We haven't heard how he is, but we wish him a speedy recovery.  I don't think I will ever forget the plume of smoke and watching the other three pilots circling their planes around the crash site waiting to land. I can only admire the pilots fortitude in staying calm while their team mate was injured below and the sombre crowd stood by.  On advice from the commentators the crowd was slow to disperse, buying an early dinner from the well stocked food vans to reduce the risk of traffic jams.  

Williamstown

The next day was a slow start.  We had brunch at the Foundry and then Harry and I went shopping for picnic supplies before catching the train to Williamstown. 

We had been to Williamstown before but we couldn't remember it until we were walking along the road towards the timeball machine.  Our memory was triggered by a maroon building advertising a "Titanic experience", we turned to each other at the same time commenting once again on the unlikely place for the experience. This time we walked around the coast and through the small botanical garden. 

On our last day in Melbourne we took Cherry the dog for a walk along the Yarra - away from the crowds and through the long grass.  The graffiti seems to be everywhere in the Melbourne suburbs.  

We stopped for a devonshire tea, in a rather massive old building that was once a boat shed.  The building was a bit hickeldy pickeldy, with lots of seating areas. History was all around - the furniture, photos of the bygone past and owners, the row boats and old fixtures. 

Our last stop on this whirlwind Melbourne trip took us to a street party in Brunswick, where we met some friends and attempted a quiz.  Questions like "What shop used to be under another shop in the local mall?".  Not a chance of Harry or I winning the prize. 

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