Tales of the Subaru - Southbound 2021

DeDe knows the way now, this being her third trip south.  We put her on cruise control just past Campbelltown, sat back and enjoyed the journey.  First stop was Yass which iconic Armidale and Sydney radio announcer the Reverend Doctor Doug Mulray once compared to Adelaide which he said was like Yass with poofters.  I like to think we created something of a conundrum, albeit temporarily.

 

In memory of the Rev Dr Doug, not that he's dead or anything.

Sydney to Melbourne was once a day trip with even a couple of hours in Rutherglen en route to stock up on wine but that was once.  These days we stop over somewhere and this trip's overnight was in Tumut which is a rather lovely town that's nestled into the western foothills of the Snowy Mountains.  It seems we aren't the only ones who think it's lovely because the last motel room in the town was booked out ten days before we got there which is when I was fortunate enough to grab the last hotel room with en-suite which is unusual for an old country pub.  We both have excellent PSA levels but we're now on the 70 side of 60 so we need to get up to pee at some point of time through the night.

 

All checked in and looking forward to dinner at the on-site Thai restaurant we set off for a walk to the river with its associated parkland and full autumnal glory.  Even with the walking stick I only made it 200m before my sacroiliac very boldly announced that it would be going no further and that was completely nonnegotiable.

 

As luck would have it this occurred right outside another pub which had boutique beer on tap so after a brief consultation with the woman behind the bar formally known as a barmaid we settled on a couple of schooners of Bridge Road Celtic Red Ale from Beechworth which is just across the Victorian Border.  We then parked ourselves on a matching pair of comfortable leather lounges and called it a day - well apart from the aforementioned dinner at the on-site Thai restaurant which proved most satisfactory.

 

Next morning we drove the kilometre to the Tumut River which was flowing like the clappers as it usually does.  These days the river fed by the overflow from nearby Blowering Reservoir, the lowest of many dams throughout the amazing aquatic network that is the Snowy Mountains Scheme.  But whatever the reason for the flow best not fall in least your body wash ashore in Gundagai by lunchtime.

 

The Tumut River at Tumut.

I know we had Thai for dinner but we can't pass Wodonga without stopping at The Real Thai Kitchen which has been a favourite for ours 20 years now.  It serves the world's tastiest and lightest tod mum (fish cakes) and once again they did not disappoint, in fact they are so good we ordered a second serve for dessert.  What did disappoint was the fact that the owner and chef is now running the entire restaurant by himself, poor bugger.  Like many businesses it took a real battering during the lengthy Victorian COVID lockdowns.  When the federal government recently withdrew JobKeeper that was the end of employing any staff but the important thing is it worked well for the likes of Gerry Harvey who was able to pay himself a huge bonus at taxpayer expense.  That's the Liberal Party doing it for themselves, to more or less paraphrase the Eurythmics. 

 

Not tod mun but our other favourite, green papaya salad.

From there it was back on the freeway and off to the outskirts of Melbourne and I'm careful to specify outskirts because that's where Thelma the slightly confused sat nav told me to turn off the M31 and onto the old Hume Highway.  Then she said "turn right and join that traffic jam for the next 3km" which I dutifully did.  We arrived at Uncle Russell's an hour later when it should have taken just 15 minutes but never mind.

 

It was lovely to see our old friend again, it having been two years and two more years before that.  But all four of Russell's grandparents were born in Ireland which is why I cannot present a clear photograph of him in this tome.  He was half way through his biannual Efudex treatment in preparation for a visit to the skin specialist so was shunning all photographs since he did look a little like he was made up for Halloween.  He did, however, consent to a veiled shot in Queens Park right near the site of Burke and Wills first encampment on their long and rather fatal journey to find Australia's inland sea.  Of course the sea actually did exist albeit a hundred million years before Bob and Bill went looking for it.  Sadly the Eromanga Sea all of its wonders are no longer there, only fossils remain which is rather ironic given the outcome of the expedition.

 

Peter and the camera shy Uncle Russell at Queens Park.

This was the first time we've been to Melbourne without venturing into the city proper.  We've had an extremely fortunate time with COVID down here near the end of the Earth but I remain reluctant to push my luck with public transport and crowds.  We hung happily in the 'burbs with no less than three visits to Poynton's Nursery in nearby Essendon.  Uncle wanted to replant a corner of his garden and I'm always up for a bit of horticulture so off we went, and again, and again.

 

Poynton's is by far the best nursery I've ever had the privilege to visit.  The range of plants is astounding and the quality just superb.  We went some years ago and much like the shan tung chicken from Timmy's Kitchen in Manuka it's stayed in my mind but more of Timmy's later.

 

Camellia sasanqua Yule Tide is now the dominant feature of Russell's new corner and I purchased ten assorted punnets of seedlings to bring home for our own garden: lupins, Livingston daises, an assortment of pansies and some red chard.  There's something at Poynton's for everyone even if you're not a gardener.  They have an excellent homewares and furnishings section and then there's the cafe for the Ladies Who Lunch - and I use the word Ladies in completely gender non-specific non-binary way.

 

Imagine my delight when we discovered a Walter Burley Griffin-Marion Mahony incinerator just along the road from the nursery.  The Essendon Incinerator is one of eighteen built across the eastern states and South Australia, nine of which still survive as restaurants, theatres or galleries.  It is not as elaborate as some but it was still a real treat to have a good look about and meet somebody who knew its history and evolution.  I can't say I was as excited about the several art exhibitions throughout the structure but I'm sure they work for some just as Griffin-Mahony projects work for me.

 

The Essendon Incinerator.

 

The reason for the trip south was the first birthday of our Claytons great-niece Tessa who we had not previously met, 2020 being as 2020 was.  Proud parents Sara and Mags turned on the perfect party with about two dozen guests of all sizes and ages, Tessa being the youngest and her great-grandad the oldest.  Everyone had a lovely time but nobody more than the birthday girl herself.

 

Peter, Tessa and Glenn.

We were reconnecting with the Southern Cawthornes that evening and what was pretty much half way between party central at Williamstown and dinner in Caulfield South but the Botanic Gardens which just happens to be one of our favourite spots in Melbourne.  Once a park as finally secured there went a couple of very pleasant wandering hours.

 

The Botanic Gardens, Melbourne.

Thelma the sat nav once again proved herself to be a lying bitch as we headed south from the Gardens.  Common sense told me to take St Kilda Road but Thelma said "No, don't do that, I want you to take a zigzag route and that way you can get stuck in all the football traffic heading home along Punt Road."

 

What followed was a great deal of swearing but we managed to get to Dan Murphy's in Malvern then back to Cousin Zelda's at Caulfield North and on to the home of daughter Tanya and grandchildren Liev and Amalia arriving at both destinations within minutes of the appointed times.  I put that all down to the power of a foul mouth.

 

But what calm when we reached our final destination!  Tanya and her two kids haven't been long in their new home, the top floor of a one up one down in a particularly leafy part of Caulfield South, and what a serene and comfortable home she's created!  The place has wonderful bones but Tanya has made it into a real home which has both style and context. And as a recovering teacher I give her an A+ for parenting.  Liev and Amalia are truly wonderful kids and Poppy the cat is right up there as well as is Zelda's Phoebe who loves Peter.  We had the best evening and I was sad when time finally came to turn DeDe northwards from the southernmost point of our sojourn. 

Zelda, Tanya, Liev, Glenn & Amalia.

 

This seems like a good point to digress onto the topic of Melbourne roads...

 

How Victoria got its freeways

 

Imagine, if you will, a large grid of streets which essentially begins on the southern bank of the River Murray then extends southward to Bass Strait and the other watery bits on either side. This, with very few exceptions, is the road pattern of the State of Victoria.  

 

Now imagine that grid becoming much denser at one more or less central southern point. That is the state capital, Melbourne.  Put traffic lights and railway level crossings everywhere and I do mean everywhere and you have 1970s Melbourne.  And tram lines (we mustn't forget the tram lines) and hook turns in the CBD because they're great fun, especially for interstaters.

 

If you're not geographically inclined you can now relax a moment because we are off to the emerging Yarra Valley wine region for a Chardy-fueled week of fun, frivolity and town planning at the biennial Country Roads Board conference, this being the predecessor to VicRoads.

 

These had previously been closed door events but this was the early 70s and emerging TV journalists like Mike Willesee and Carolyn Jones were always sniffing about for a story so it was deemed prudent to take along a couple of maps, just as distracting props.  One featured the grid that was the road pattern of the State of Victoria and the other the grid that was the City of Melbourne.

 

Then a most interesting thing happened...

 

Spaghetti marinara was served on the third night of the conference along with generous lashings of a young but rather moreish Pinot Noir.  Well it wasn't long before things turned ugly when a couple of the less cultured attendees from The Mallee took offence at the wog tucker that had been set before them.  "What do you think I am?" shouted one "A bloody dago or a fucken seagull?!"  He then hurled a mussel at the waiter which was rather rude but possibly fortunate because it had failed to open during the cooking process and was therefore most likely off.

 

One thing lead to another and the spaghetti followed, some of it landing completely unnoticed on the two maps which were on a nearby table.  It wasn't until two days later that the dried mess was observed by a particularly well travelled town planner from to Toorak who had visited Disneyland and been on the Autopia ride.  "Freeways!" he bellowed.  "Fucken freeways, that's what we need!  Sir Henry will fucken love it!  Now where's that fucken waiter with the fucken Chardy?!"

 

And that is the story of how Victoria got its freeways.  They didn't bother with any needs based analysis or even surveying.  They just got a couple of lasses from the typing pool to give each strand of spaghetti a letter followed by a number then built the whole system exactly as it looked that day minus the prawns and oysters.  Those were pocketed by an observer from the NSW Department of Main Roads then replicated in massive proportion by the side of the Pacific Highway at Ballina and Taree respectively.  

 

Next morning we said our thanks and goodbyes to Uncle Russell and joined one of the aforementioned freeways at Bulla Road expecting to see a sign which read Sydney, Canberra or at least Wodonga but no such thing exists.  A few minutes later we were on the Calder Freeway heading towards Ballarat.  Some route recalculation finally got us onto the rather oddly styled M31 and a full hour later we spotted the very first Wodonga sign which confirmed we were indeed on the right road.  Two hours on there was one which read Sydney.  Nice work VicRoads, the lads at the 1972 biennial piss-up in the Yarra Valley would be proud of youse.  

 

It was not too far north of the Sydney sign that I pulled off the freeway and into what we thought might be the famous roadhouse restaurant at Wangaratta, ever hopeful of spotting the wahini but she's long gone as is her husband Craig.  Their lauded establishment has been replaced by an unholy trinity of Maccas, KFC and Hungry Jack's all huddled together in a cholesterol cluster just on the south side of town.  We continued on to a Mexican place called Zambrero which promotes itself as being both healthy and environmentally sound and it probably is but don't rush.
 

We were headed for Canberra that night but it turned out to be a long drive with us arriving at our accommodation just in time to break out the walking stick for the shortish sprint to Timmy's Kitchen in Manuka.  I will admit to being a tad obsessive about their shan tung chicken which we always pair with serve of English spinach and garlic.  We're such creatures of habit.

 

The bed at the Forrest Lodge Hotel and Apartments was super comfortable which was much appreciated after a very long drive, in fact so appreciated that it was an effort to get up and go to the Botticelli to Van Gogh exhibition at the NGA next morning but we had tickets and that was the whole point of being in Canberra.

 

Car park full just 20 minutes after the gallery opened; queues to get in; and queues for the exhibition.  It's true what they say, everyone is travelling at home this year especially the old codgers who have to stand in front of every picture for half a bloody hour then spend another fifteen minutes reading the blurb on the wall and talking about it.  We were suddenly back in the traffic jam Thelma that sat nav directed us to join in the north of Melbourne five days earlier. That gave me time to remember exactly why I dislike ticketed art events, especially ones where people can use a QR code to download a commentary onto their device and stand about blocking bloody traffic for even longer. 

 

Never mind, serenity now, serenity now.  It wasn't a bad exhibition, not as extensive as it might have been but Van Gogh's Sunflowers is worth a look in the right light and it was.  But the van Dyck took my eye, something from his Inbred Period.  There's something about the vacant stares.

 

Something from Anthony van Dyck's Inbred Period.

We parked below the nearby National Portrait Gallery which is always a must see and there were absolutely no disappointments there.  I've been known to stop and chat with portraits, some being so engaging as to draw you right into them.

 

Now way back in the day I loved the Tradesmen's Union Club up in Dixon because they had old Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane and Adelaide trams inside the building.  In fact it looked like they'd positioned them first then built around them just a tradesmen might do.  You could have a beer in a tram; enjoy one of their famous schnitties in a tram; have coffee and cake in a tram; or even play the pokies in a tram.  The membership badge was an enamelled tram which had me renewing year after year to get a new one but the badges have long gone as had all but one of the trams.  But they still serve a damed fine schnitty for a member's price of just $12 so I'm a member again for the next three years at least and that only cost the saving on a couple of beers.

 

While we were over that side of town a stroll in the National Botanic Gardens at the foot of Black Mountain seemed in order and did we get the timing right or what?!  We arrived at the Rainforest Gully just as the misters came on which they do three times a day.  Now talk about Gorillas in the Mist, we couldn't see the fingers on our own outstretched arms!  Less adventurous souls were cautiously fleeing the area but I had the walking stick so tapped my way along the raised metal path with Peter holding on to my shirt tail.  What jolly fun we had! The below picture was taken when the fog began to clear, the ones I took earlier just look like mistakes.

 

A Gorilla in the Mist.

The very next road along goes up to the Telstra Tower on Black Mountain and it had been decades so why not?!  I'd forgotten just how good the view is and there's a lot more of it than there was 30 years ago, Canberra having grown some.  It was night that time as well and therein lies a story...

 

The Tale of the Fish Fillet and the non-Kosher Band-Aid

 

Back when I taught at Artarmon it was our practice to take Year 6 on an annual two night excursion to Canberra; three nights one year when we added on the snow.  This was a regular year though, sometime in the early 90s.  We'd had bad accommodation experiences in the past so ratcheted things up a few notches to a large and rather comfortable hotel in Narrabundah which has since restyled itself as an Ibis.

 

All was going swimmingly well until a scream rent the air at dinner the first evening.  The kid who'd ordered the kosher meal discovered a band-aid in between his piece of fish and its coating.  And it wasn't just any bandaid, it was a used bandaid that had clearly slipped off the finger of whoever prepared the fish, something that happened off-site as we were assured minutes later when all six teachers stormed into the kitchen carrying the offending piece of fish with the band-aid which had been retrieved from the mouth of the still screaming child.

 

Management was mortified.  All meals were hastily recalled with an assurance of something freshly prepared on-site by staff who's fingers we were welcome to inspect.  The problem was that wouldn't happen immediately and when it did they could only feed about two-thirds the kids first up.

 

The bus drivers were even more mortified than the hotel manager because it was their company that had organised the whole thing.  They offered to take the waiting third on a night tour of Canberra while the rest of us took turns relaxing or supervising those that remained. What did they know about duty of care?  Forty kids on a bus with no teachers, that wasn't gonna happen.

 

My good friend Anstee and I volunteered to go out with the first group, one of our stops being the Telstra Tower and here I am almost 30 years on pointing out the location of the non-Kosher Band-Aid Hotel with my walking stick.  My how time flies!

 

Pointing towards the non-Kosher Bandaid Hotel.

But the Narrabundah Hotel wasn't just memorable for its band-aids, something else happened there once a month on a Thursday evening.

 

With all children now fed it was decided that the night tour would continue but Anstee and I, having done the initial trek and still in need of dinner, could stay behind while the other four took charge.  The embarrassed manager ushered us out of the group area and into the main dinning room where we were told to order whatever we liked from the menu.  All good.

 

I was just headed to the bar to get drinks when a couple of well dressed handsome gentlemen appeared at our table.  Now Anstee was then and still is quite the glamor with personality to match.  The eyelids started to flutter and the charm began to flow and moments later the two well dressed handsome gentlemen offered to buy us drinks.  She, of course accepted and when they went off to the bar adjusted her Telstra Tower blown hair and assured me that this sort of thing happened to her all the time.

 

The well dressed handsome gentlemen returned with four drinks and accepted our invitation to sit down but just then our meals arrived so they suggested we join them in the bar around the corner for another drink when we finished and off they went with a friendly glance over their respective shoulders as they disappeared around the corner.

 

Anstee was absolutely glowing by that point, so much so in fact that her glass of handsome man Chardonnay was beginning to bubble.

 

We finished our meals then Anstee refreshed her lipstick and off we went to the bar around the corner where our two new friends introduced us to the rest of their group - the Canberra Gay Business Association.  Now remember this was 30 years and 25kg ago.  It seems I'd proved a hit with my then dark hair and beard, swimmer's body, leather bomber jacket, cargo shorts and Hi-Tops.  Anstee, on the other hand, was glamorously polite if somewhat crestfallen.  All I could think of was what fun it was going to be telling the story in the staffroom back at school the following Monday.  Damn shame we had to go and check on the kiddies though or might be living in Canberra right now!

 

A ramble about the Jerrabomberra Wetlands and a bit of twitching was on the agenda for next morning but rain coupled with a flat tyre put paid to that plan.  I no longer do tyres so put in a call to the NRMA (AA) and we were soon on our way to an exhibition of treasures at the National Library which was probably a better way to spend what was left of the morning than trudging about in the rain in a swamp, as interesting as that particular swamp might be.

 

A very nice Turkish lunch saw us back on the road for the unnecessarily longish drive home to the Heights-of-Hornsby.  NSW governments of the conservative persuasion have had a habit of greasing the palms of their mates for half a century or more and so it was when the contract to build and run the orbital M7 motorway was let.  It should have been constructed with three lanes in each direction but there was money to be saved and profit to be made by only building two lanes each way with no room for future expansion because all the bridges and elevated easements are too narrow to accommodate an extra lane.  The motorway, like the M5 tunnel before it, opened to maximum capacity on Day 1.

 

But what does Bruce know or even care of institutional corruption, he was just pleased to have his Dads home and very nearly turned himself inside out with joy.  What a happy, happy Boy!

 

My Dads are home!

 

Once More Around the Sun - 2020

 

Eurobodalla Botanic Gardens 2020

So 2020, there’ve been worse years - 1985 was a complete and utter mongrel of a thing and I still have nightmares about 2009 and 2010.

Last year ended as this year started, with drought and fires, all perfectly natural, all normal and nothing to see here according to our prime minister who, of course, could see none of it because he was holidaying in Hawaii at the time.  At least 34 people died along with nearly 3 billion animals and over 3000 houses were destroyed but I have a pure Pollyanna moment to share...

With water restrictions set to 'Watch your garden die' we took to keeping a bucket in the shower to catch stray water, as you do.  Of course it was a little soapy so after the first drops of rain were finally absorbed into our parched soil I took to throwing it on some gardenias that were suffering from sooty mold and now they're right as the aforementioned rain.  Good news story!

But wait, there's more and believe it or not these happy moments all revolve around COVID-19.

Now don't get me wrong here, I know he didn't discover Australia but I'm a fan of James Cook.  He wasn't a slave trading racist but appears to have been quite a decent chap who was also a damned fine navigator and cartographer.  But 2020 was the sesquicentenary of his arrival on the Australian east coast and the prime minister was determined to celebrate that with a new $50 million statue which would become nothing more than a rallying point for protest.  Then there was the re-enactment of the circumnavigation of Australia that James Cook never undertook.  That was Matthew Flinders, Morrison you dumbfuck!

Cancelled!

Our six weeks in Wales, Ireland, England and Singapore went right down the gurgler.  Flying business class and staying in flash hotels, it was to be the splurge of a lifetime but we did book it between cats.  Kev had just passed and we needed cheering up so I thought "why not?!"  Of course the Universe had other plans and along came shy nervous rescue cat Bruce who just needed his two dads but nobody else.  He'd have gone spare alone for six weeks even with Aunty Jan and Uncle Tony visiting daily and attempting to fuss over him.  Problem solved though...

Cancelled!

And speaking of Return of the Native 3, I decided to blog the entire trip as per the itinerary and style it "Return of the Native 2.1" with an explanation in Part 1 and numerous other cryptic references to it being a work of fiction peppered throughout the twelve other parts.  Of course the fictional nature of the offering completely eluded one or two readers like Peter Ross who phoned to ask where we were staying in London, was it the place he recommended?  If you missed them the first blog can be found here and the rest follow...

https://cawthorne54.blogspot.com/2020/05/return-of-native-21-wales-ireland.html

We did manage some modest travel though.  There was a four night trip to Canberra in September which was disproportionately satisfying even with screaming sacroiliac pain.  We hadn't travelled further than the Central Coast all year so to actually cross a border, albeit that of the Australian Capital Territory, came close to feeling exotic.

https://cawthorne54.blogspot.com/2020/10/

We were on the road again in November.  It was one of our now traditional jaunts to visit Cate and Brian at Batemans Bay with an overnight at Kiama en route so we could visit Peter's oldest mate John who lives near there.  Same motel and restaurant in Kiama, same cafe in Milton and only a slight variation in the Indian meal I took down to Batemans.  Much like the old Mortein fly spray ad, "When you're on a good thing, stick to it!"  We did add an extra night though with a stopover at Greenwell Point near the mouth of the Shoalhaven River east of Nowra.  It's a lovely place but is best visit on a weekday out of season.  Weekends and holidays see it morph into Boganville.

https://cawthorne54.blogspot.com/2020/12/tales-of-a-subaru-eurobodalla-bound-2020.html

Whilst many people have experienced cuts, Peter's NDIS program funding has been increased slightly so it will cover not only weekly speech and physical therapy but also five or six sessions with a physiotherapist which will be followed up by the EP.  Sadly, this comes back to how well organised your advocate is and how good they are at writing submissions and presenting during assessments.  I've come to rather relish the challenge!  Lori still goes along to therapy sessions with Peter and then spends four hours with him at home doing follow up and helping with a little cleaning.  She does a brilliant job and has become part of our family.

The budget also covers activities Peter can no longer do himself including some garden maintenance.  Old friends Priscilla and David recommended the amazing Lars who has been doing things for them and he now comes to us for a day a month.  That stops me from tumbling down the steep front bank or falling off ladders which are both tasks Peter cannot safely perform either.  And Lars lifts heavy things that neither of us would once have given a second thought.  My how age creeps up on you!

Yakutak Bay, Alaska - 2000

And speaking of fitness, I am in awe of Tony's commitment to twice weekly exercise classes following his heart attack and stent five years ago.  He turned 80 this year and lower back problems aside is still going from strength to strength. 

Jan has been suffering increased arthritis and a rheumatologist who merely ticks boxes rather than looking outside them.  It took my intervention to get her to a neurologist who determined that the debilitating problems she was having with her hands was not carpal tunnel and would not be improved by wearing splints at night.  It was in fact severe constriction of the 3/4 vertebrae which had compromised her spinal cord.  Always measure twice and cut once.  I found a neurosurgeon that impressed both Jan and I on numerous levels the first of which was her apology for being early to our appointment, yes early!  Who's ever had that happen.  The operation went smoothly and now we await a follow up appointment at the end of January.  Recovery, if there is to be any, will take longer than that but at least there should be no further decline.

I gave thanks to the retirement gods when schools all but closed and established remote learning models virtually overnight.  How good are teachers?!  I was one of the facilitators of the amazing Technology in Learning and Teaching (TILT) Program which introduced technology into the curriculum from 1997 to 2003.  I'm prepared to stand back, declare that an outstanding success and pat myself and the rest of the team on the back.  And special bouquets to you, Joy Murray Mother of TILT, without whom none of it would have happened!

And what a relief it must be for teachers to have parents stopped at the school gate.  In my final years of teaching there were almost as many parents hanging around at morning assembly as there were children.  Then they'd walk their treasures to class, wiping their noses as they went and attempt to engage the teacher when they arrived.  For Christ sake leave your kiddies at the gate then allow them to go on their merry way and develop some resilience and independence!  Better still, let them take the bus or walk!

The Girls have continued to be shockingly expensive with mounting veterinary bills now pushing the value of each of egg to around $5 but never mind, it's not all about produce.  Shirley Elizabeth and Lucille Ball joined the lineup earlier this year continuing the Significant Women theme.  Shirley the Barred Plymouth is named for my first principal, Elizabeth (Shirley) Dunn because she was sourced by our mutual friend Scilla Rosenberg.  I got Lucy the lovely little red New Hampshire to be her companion and then spent six months introducing them to the others.  Chooks are a labour of love and are not to be taken lightly.  You don't go out and get them just because there were a few weeks at the height of COVID when you couldn't buy bloody eggs!

All else is well and the garden is growing almost fast enough to block out the house without soul that is being constructed as I write on the land behind us where my childhood home stood until just a few months ago.  That's the price you pay for "returning home" in a city with a particularly buoyant real estate market.

Stay well and may the next rotation be better than the last.  Meanwhile tread lightly.

With love from

Glenn, Peter (Lyle to some of you) Bruce and everyone else at #5

Bruce - 2020

Tales of the a Subaru - Eurobodalla Bound 2020

This trip is seven or eight months late but hey, it's 2020, the year COVID stopped the world and Americans took to the streets protesting against democracy.  We were headed south to catch up with Cate and Brian before our trip to Wales, Ireland, England and Singapore which I blogged regardless of reality.  Of course there was very nearly nowhere to catch up with Cate and Brian, half of their neighbourhood having been lost to last summer's horrendous fires while our thrice failed advertising guru/prime minister, who can neither hold a hose (his words) nor take advice from fire chiefs (their words) was holidaying in Hawaii, but more about charcoal and ash later.

Our first port of call is always a visit with Peter's oldest mate John who is in a Uniting Care facility at Shellharbour.  John is one of the many reasons I no longer believe in any kind of divine being, at least not a caring one.  Reincarnation is mathematically implausible and as for karma, don't shit me, that's just wishful thinking!  We had about 90 minutes all up which is as good as it gets in our brave new world but hey, unlike head-up-their-arse countries such as the UK and America we have zero local transmissions and zero deaths at the time of writing so let's keep it that way, especially in facilities that care for our most vulnerable people.

Tucker Tip #1 - Hanoi on Manning in Kiama (as always).

We had the usual Vietnamee (Kath Day-Knight pronunciation) pancake and a green papaya salad followed by sago, banana and peanut pudding and banana fritters with sago, peanuts and coconut ice cream.  We just keep going back.

Accommodate Tip #1 - the Kiama Beach Boutique Motel

 We've been staying at the Kiama Beach Boutique Motel for years now and it's been slated for demolition and a new flash apartment building for even longer but on it goes.  It's circa 1960 but spotlessly clean and very well run.  And best of all they have a clacker step in the shower so you can give your quoit a good scrub.  The outlook isn't bad either (from the rooms that is, not the clacker steps) so a few extra bucks for an Ocean View room, upstairs is best.

Tucker Tip #2 - Pilgrim's Cafe in Milton

They serve great vegan burgers and wraps but they're big.  We had them cut one in two this time and shared it.  Do order your own milkshake though.  They are even better than what you'll get at the fully retro and completely iconic Bell's Milk Bar in Broken Hill. 

Hint:  Avoid the height of lunchtime, this place is seriously popular!

Leather shop Tip #1 - Roman Leather Goods in Mogo

Gaspar has been making, adjusting and repairing Peter's eye patches for ten years now and doing a fantastic job.  He and wife Lorena are a truly lovely couple who we've come to regard as friends but on New Years Eve, just a fortnight after moving into their new shop a couple of doors up from the old one... you've guessed it... both the new shop and the old one, as well as their house, burned down.  And of course they were underinsured.  They are now operating out of a demountable building in a backstreet that doesn't bode well for passing trade which was how we found them in the first instance.  But check them out, they have a great range as well as doing special orders and repairs.  Turn left towards Mogo Zoo then first left into Charles Street.

Of course shit happens so a few months after the fire, Gaspar and Lorena's oldest daughter, who lives in South-Western Sydney, contracted COVID-19 which resulted in some kind of iron retention problem and several blood transfusions.  We left Peter's patch for a grease and oil change but also bought some fantastic boots for our Claytons great-niece Tessa and a manbag that I can wear on my belt.  I'll probably never use it but I needed to spend some money in their shop.

 

The plan was to head over the hill, collect Cate, kidnap cold frog Brian and head straight down to the beach for our first swim of the season (to which Peter was not looking forward) but as we were chatting with Lorena the skies opened and down it came with all the powers of piss - wind and hail as well.  We helped bring the stock in from the verandah and chatted on for a while longer before making our way through verdant green bush and field all black and charred below, past sites where houses once stood to the McFoley's which escaped any noteworthy damage whilst the two in front and several others there abouts have simply ceased to be.

It was a great catch up as always.  Cate and I were next door neighbours in Drummond College at the University of New England several lifetimes ago and have remained good mates ever since.  The conversion was constant and the view more expansive than ever with a number of remaining neighbours experiencing post-bushfire bouts of chainsaw madness.

We visited the nearby Eurobodalla Botanic Gardens with all its fabulous new infrastructure which was more than a bit of a necessity given the last lot went up with all 42 hectares of the gardens in less than 30 minutes.  There is still a bridge or two that needs replacing but they've done a remarkable job and, as with everywhere along the coast, the vegetation is bouncing back.  Not so the fauna though.  Cate and Brian used to have regular kangaroo visitors who simply haven't been seen since the last few injured ones were put down after the fires.

Stone fruit Tip #1

I can't begin to imagine how many times we've driven past the roadside fruit stall with a 'Peaches' sign that's just off the western side of the highway a kilometre or two south of the Sussex Inlet turnoff.  Well not this time!  Specialising in stone fruit, as they do, it's only open a few months of the year but if it is do yourself a favour.  They only sell what's in season and it's all grown just up the hill.  The stall is their only outlet so the carbon footprint of what you buy is as close to nil as possible and it's seriously good quality fruit.

Accommodation Tip #2 - the Anchor Bay Motel at Greenwell Point

After our usual couple of nights with the McFoleys we said farewell till next time and headed north again.  A few years ago whilst having an explore we passed through the sleepy retirement and holiday haven of Greenwell Point which is in the estuary of the Shoalhaven River.  We noted the Anchor Bay Motel and thought a night there might be in order at some point of time.  That’s now ticked off the bucket list with a star and seal of approval.  The family who run the motel are delightful and it's very well maintained.  Go for a room with a view - 10, 11 and 12.

With a lunch from nearby DJ' Fish 'n' Chips (recommenced) under our belts we went exploring. 

First stop was the Greenwell Point Bowlo which seems to be the town's principal employer and for that I commend them.  Still bloated from lunch, I popped in to pick up a takeaway menu from their in-house Chinee restaurant (Kath Day-Knight again).

Tall and friendly but easily confused young Darren welcomed me to the club but my request for a takeaway menu caught him quite off guard.  We jointly decided it would be best if he took my temperature and scanned my driver's license (as they do these days) and I just went and looked at the menu which was posted on the closed restaurant door.  All good!

Now that's when I observed the view which was better than good, in fact it was excellent, so I determined that we should make a booking to eat in.  And better still, they had a courtesy bus to collect and return us so a drink or three would definitely be in order.

Back I go to tall and friendly but easily confused young Darren who was happy to take a booking for the courtesy bus but couldn't do the same for the restaurant which was first in best dressed in this brand new age of COVID which saw Darren and the entire club staff, restaurant included, wearing masks.  He did, however, warn that it was ham raffle night so there'd likely be quite the crowd of punters all looking to win their Christmas leg.

Well now most of you will know I simply can't ingest enough port product - not!  I booked the bus for 7:30pm which I anticipated would be post Sunday night pre-Christmas ham raffle time in what was, at this time of year, effectively just a retirement community.

So off we went, me still uncomfortable from our F&Cs because I just don't eat much at lunch these days and it was riding heavy on my otherwise uncomfortable guts for which I'd recently had both an ultrasound and blood tests.  That's when we discovered a Forrest Gump style of fishing village on a channel to the south of town.  A dozen or more oyster farmers have set up their processing and sales facilities in shacks on either side of the waterway and it was like stepping back in time.  In the midst of it all was Jim Wild's Oysters which not only does all of the aforementioned but also has its own oyster bar which serves them au naturale or grilled in three or four different ways.  

Now I haven't eaten an oyster for years but suddenly I wanted some!  Peter was repulsed by the very idea, eggplant as well but that's a whole other story.  They also had some lovely, but of course not local, tiger prawns which would have suited him had we not just eaten.  I made a mental note for next time - but not on a Monday.

So back to the motel we went for a cup of tea then a wander around that end of the township.

Travel Tip #1

Best visit Greenwell Point during a weekday and preferably out of season.  On weekends and holiday periods it transforms into Boganville.

I think it's the confluence of the boat ramp, several wharfs, free electric barbecues, a very well maintained local swimming pool, an extensive playground and not one but two F&C outlets.  Build it and provide ample car parking and they will come, mostly in massive 4WDs or Tonka Toy trucks but also in lowered utes which mostly have to be unloaded of both passengers and Eskys in order to negotiate the area's abundance of speed humps which speaks volumes in itself.

 

As our appointed pick up time of 7:30 neared I was tiring of the whole bowlo/Chinee idea then came two failed phone calls from what looked like a local number.  I phoned back and it was my newfound friend Darren who said he wasn't sure how to use the phone which sounded entirely plausible.  He apologised about the failure to collect but the ham raffle had sent the whole of the bowlo into veritable porcine meltdown (my words not his).  Would we mind being collected at 8 o'clock by which time things should have calmed down?

"Darren, mate!"  I said.  "Let's put a hold on the courtesy bus business and we'll just pop down and pick up a takeaway instead of eating in."

"Would you still like us to pick you up though?  We can come at 8 o'clock."

I don't know what people hear these days or how much of that they actually process but never mind.  Darren is a tall friendly chap who has a job and all of that needs to be celebrated.

We arrived at the overflow parking a short while later and hiked up to the club just in time to hear the final leg of ham of the evening being called and witness the collective sign of those who faced a seafood alternative this Christmas.  Some were already making plans to visit Jim Wild down the way a little but I suspect old Jim will be sending a couple of crates of oysters the club's way for their big Christmas Eve raffle.  And then, of course, there are more ham raffles every Sunday evening between now and then anyway.

We ordered a takeaway special fried rice (hold the pork and ham) and a Singapore chicken (which I'd never before heard of) then retired to the rapidly emptying bar for a beer.  That's when the mirror ball above the empty dance floor started to rotate and 78 year-old DJ Barry cranked up the Bee Gees 'Stayin' Alive' which I thought more of an affirmation than an invitation to dance.  That was followed by a pre-George Michael George Michael singing 'Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go' and I sensed a theme, a genre if you like.

I thought we might go out front and take in twilight over the estuary but both doors were alarmed.  I imagine this is an OH&S safety precaution.  The only people in the club who appeared younger than us were Darren and his band of masked colleagues who were already busy enough picking up discarded raffle tickets, clearing tables and collecting lost or misplaced dentures and hearing aids.  Attentive though they were, they'd have been hard pressed to dash outside and haul a bewildered pensioner out of the Shoalhaven should one wander off and topple in as I'm sure they do from time to time.

So back we went with our acceptable but in no way remarkable bowlo Chinee for a fairly early night of TV with a largely I undecipherable remote control.  That aside, my only real complaint about the otherwise excellent Anchor Bay Motel is the snugness of their bathrooms.  When the "little fart that wasn't" struck at around 3:30am I found myself sitting on the loo with my knees all but pressed up against the opposing wall wondering how I was going to do the paperwork.

Over 50s Tip #1

Always wear underpants to bed.  They buy you a little extra time and are much easier to remove and wash than sheets but you still need to move quickly during the initial stages, very quickly!

Traffic having been an utter bitch on the way down we decided to return home via the Picton Road and the continuum of motorways which, with the completion of the new Connex North, now takes us to within a couple of kilometres of home albeit for a great deal of money.  That aside, the route facilitated an hour or so down memory lane when the Spirt of Christmases Past (or something similar) moved me to swing DeDe off the Picton Road at the approach to Cordeaux Dam.  Neither Peter nor I had been there for over 50 years which is a rather disturbing two generations and then some in genealogical terms.

I remember going there some time during the 60s but have no memory of the actual place so was delighted to discover a rather fine example of the faux Egyptian style of hydrological engineering which abounded throughout the Greater Sydney region during the 1920s.  The pump houses and access points all look like pharaonic tombs with great concrete columns that have the appearance of stone at either end of the long dam wall which we walked.

 

Once finally home Bruce almost turned himself inside out with joy.  He completely ignored his Aunty Jan and Uncle Tony who faithfully appeared every evening during our absence to provide him with both sustenance and company.  Our Boy is a two man cat, end of story, and this is.