Drive Time
Sydney Morning Herald
Saturday July 11, 1998
There are few countries better suited to a winter motoring holiday than Australia.
STEVE MEACHAM set off from Sydney to see Adelaide and the Great Ocean Road - and returned having sampled a continent of images.
FOR A moment my mind wandered from the long road ahead. Back to a memory from the '70s when I'd met a group of American students in the Jeu de Paume art gallery in Paris. They were doing a course on European culture. Perhaps "crash course" would be a better description.
None of them was actually looking at any of the French Impressionist masterpieces; they were merely collecting names. "Manet, Monet, Renoir..."
They'd signed up for a whirlwind coach tour of Europe: "Witness the cultural highlights of Europe. Paris, Vienna, Venice, Rome, Barcelona, Madrid, Amsterdam, and London. Nine countries in nine days."
And most of it had been sampled through their coach window. "On your left is Switzerland ... on your right, that was Austria."
Who knows what they thought of Europe when they got back to Dakota or Illinois, but their look of collective bewilderment came vividly to mind during my own recent winter motoring excursion. It, too, seemed a breakneck collection of European highlights.
Day one: the orange groves of Italy. Day two: the river steamers of the Danube. Day three: the log-fired stone cottages of the English Cotswolds. Day four: the Germanic pastry shops of the Rhine Vineyards. Day five: the stark quayside of a Scottish fishing town. Day six: the Dalmatian coast road suspended between mountain and sea.
And so on, from the English cathedral town with cricket ground sandwiched between river and spire, to the ski slopes so reminiscent of the Norwegian Alps.
So many images of Europe, and yet this time our passports remained at home.
Hit by the plummeting dollar, our dreams of a cheap winter week in the sun destroyed, we had opted to take off in the car instead. We had expected to "find Australia", and so we did. But as the kilometres ticked by, and the radio news became more and more absorbed by the immigration debate, we saw evidence everywhere of previous immigrants who had helped shape this glorious landscape.
Wherever we turned, there were echoes of Europe. Scots, Germans, Italians, Dutch, Irish - all had helped build new communities in a new world, and in doing so had transplanted some of their old worlds to produce the colourful cultural quilt that is Australia. Here a corner of Alsace; there a hectare or two of Calabria.
As an expatriate Englishman, I relish motoring holidays in Australia, a passion some Australian friends find odd. They'll drive from A to B if they have to, but they don't quite see the point of meandering from place to place for the simple pleasure of taking the road less travelled. Perhaps it is a European thing: being able to hop in the car for three or four hours and be in a different country.
Certainly, our intended route caused a few raised eyebrows. "You're going to drive to Adelaide? Via the Murray River? Why?"
You tell them the blindingly obvious. That Australia is one of the very best countries in the world for a motoring holiday. First-class roads, reasonably sane (or at least predictably insane) drivers; plentiful and cheap roadside accommodation, and an endless procession of changing panoramas.
And still they doubt you. "You did how many kilometres? Four thousand five hundred! In 10 days! That's nearly 500 kilometres a day! You must have been bored out of your minds!"
Perhaps they don't appreciate how different one day's journey is from the next. Or how relaxing it can be, taking the unexpected detour to see a vineyard, or buy some farm apples, or visit a church.
And winter in Australia is one of the happiest seasons for the holidaying motorist. Admittedly we were lucky; of our 10 days, eight were spent under cloudless skies. But even when it rained, winter had its bonuses. Roads were empty, queues at museums and galleries non-existent and, best of all, rooms were always available at our first-choice accommodation.
The route we chose simply linked together a number of places we wanted to visit - the Riverina, the Adelaide Hills, the Great Ocean Road, the Victorian Goldfields and the Snowies - which formed a sensible loop. We also set ourselves a budget - we would stay, preferably in pubs, holiday cottages and B&Bs, averaging no more than $100 a night.
And then we set off. We expected to find Australia, so we were surprised to find that a little bit of Europe came free with the package.
DAY ONE:
ITALIAN STOPOVER
Sydney to Griffith (600km)
WHY GRIFFITH? Because we wanted to pop in on some friends. But we took the pretty way - via Robertson and Temora - arriving early afternoon so we could fit in a visit to De Bortoli's vineyard.
There we stocked up on a few bottles of port. It's difficult to think of another alcoholic drink which is so underrated in Australia, or so ideally suited to winter: we planned to spend several evenings sitting by log fires, and what better accompaniment than a glass of port?
Griffith's Italian ancestry is too well-known to be documented here, but if you need reminding, stop and take a walk through one of the orange groves, or have a traditional Italian meal at La Scala, or sample some of the local salamis. Not that Griffith is Leichhardt, you understand - our friends had arranged for a bush breakfast, so we got up early the next day and drove to the Cocoparra National Park where we had barbecued bacon and eggs and billy tea. You can't do that in Tuscany.
Suggested accommodation:
Try a farmstay at Ingleden Park, 17km out of Griffith on the Leeton Road; phone (02) 6963 6527. The owners have two cottages to let, the smaller being former jackeroo quarters costing $50 a night. The larger cottage costs $60 a night, with ingredients for a farmhouse breakfast costing $5 a head.
DAY TWO:
RIVERBOAT COUNTRY
Griffith to Echuca (365km)
BLAME Monty, the Channel Nine weatherman. He did a segment from Echuca for the Today show and we thought the historic river port looked interesting enough for us to take the dogleg rather than the more direct route to Adelaide via Mildura. This stretch of flat country is not the most visually exciting but the local radio keeps you amused. You know you're well away from big city stresses when the lead item on the news broadcast says, "Firemen were called to a restaurant in Main Street today where customers complained of paint smells. After a thorough investigation, the firemen were able to extinguish the smells and the customers were able to proceed with their meals." Imagine Brian Henderson saying that with a straight face.
Echuca is a well-baited tourist trap. The restored port has been made to resemble what it looked like in 1864 when the railway arrived to connect Mel-bourne with the steamboats and cattle-droving trails of the Murray. The paddle steamers remain Echuca's favourite tourist attraction. We settled instead for a walk along the Murray bank and a splendid meal at the Bridge Hotel, one of Echuca's most famous buildings. Built in 1858, it was the brainchild of Henry Hopwood, an ex-convict who had visions of turning Echuca into Australia's Chicago. He cunningly devised a system of bridges and ferries across the Murray, deliberately staggering the timetables to ensure the waiting cattlemen would drift to his pub.
Suggested accommodation:
The River Gallery Inn, 578 High Street, Echuca, Victoria 3564; phone (03) 5480 6902. Themed rooms (Scottish, French or Italian), all with open fires, from $130 a night, including breakfast.
DAY THREE:
VIA SWAN HILL TO COTSWOLD COUNTRY
Echuca to Adelaide Hills (660km)
WE ARRIVED at Swan Hill in time for the 10.30am paddle steamer ride. Pioneer Settlement, one of Australia's oldest pioneer theme parks, is on the outskirts of the town and has a collection of 19th-century shops and houses. The Pyap, a genuine paddle steamer lovingly restored, makes two trips a day, only an hour each but long enough to give some impression of life on the Murray when it was as important to the country as the Mississippi was to the Deep South.
Then we began the long trek westwards, first through more vineyard country (has anyone else noticed how much of Australia has been put to grapes?) then, less interestingly, through bleak, unrelenting plains of the Big Desert.
Eventually, having surrendered our fruit at the border, we crossed into South Australia and soon the Adelaide Hills beckoned. No doubt they are wonderful in summer, too, but in winter they are magical - the intoxicating smell of woodsmoke seems to hang over each squat little cottage like the aroma of a Thomas Hardy novel.
Our half cottage (the owners live in the other half) was reassuringly finished with the kind of comfortable chairs and tables your grandparents had. The local pub, a five-minute stroll down the hill through crisp twilight air, had a hearty menu and some decent wines from local wineries. But the best part was the walk home to the glass of port by the log fire. It doesn't get any more English in a Miss Marples movie.
Suggested accommodation:
Chippings Cottage, 32 Ludgate Hill Road, Aldgate, SA 5154; phone (08) 8339 1008; from $80 a night, including breakfast.
DAY FOUR:
CANTERBURY TALE, GERMAN SAGA
Adelaide Hills to Adelaide and the Barossa (220km round trip)
FRIENDS HAD recommended that we base ourselves in the Adelaide Hills for a couple of days since all of the region's highlights are easily accessible. It was inspired advice. The journey into Adelaide town centre took us less than 20 minutes including parking, and yet the local radio stations were running hot with the day's big story: Adelaide had emerged in some poll as the worst city in Australia for road rage. How can you have road rage if you don't have traffic?
Others have pointed out the similarity between Adelaide and English cathedral cities such as Canterbury or Worcester: the cricket ground and the ducks on the river add to the illusion. Obviously you could comfortably spend days in Adelaide; though we had merely set aside a morning, the unhurried pace of the city stretched four hours into 14. Apart from the obligatory visit to the Bradman exhibition we spent an hour at the Museum of Migration - an interesting trawl through the history of European immigration to South Australia. (But why is there nothing on Asian immigration? Sydney could do with its own version in these Hansonesque years.)
After a coffee in Rundle Street, we set off for the Barossa, now famed throughout the world as the area where German Lutherans escaping from religious persecution settled to produce some of the finest wine known.
Winter is a great time to visit. We were early enough to catch the vines still in their autumnal hues of russet and brown.
And the coach parties which must crowd the wineries in summer were thankfully absent, allowing staff to take time helping you to choose. A personal favourite - Rockford vineyard on the outskirts of Tanunda. Friends in the restaurant trade had recommended it as the only vineyard in the Barossa clinging doggedly to the labour intensive, less cost effective methods of the early Barossa pioneers. Producing so little wine, it sells only to restaurants (some of Sydney's finest) and personal callers.
DAY FIVE:
A TOUCH OF CORNWALL
From Adelaide Hills to Robe (450km)
BUT FIRST, a detour. Goolwa is a curious place, reminiscent of England's East Anglian seaports Aldeburgh or Southwold. The mighty Murray river resembles a tired old man at this point, barely rousing the spirit, after such an arduous journey across a continent, to flow into the sea. The actual mouth, across a constantly fluctuating sandbar, is 10 kilometres downstream, but Goolwa was the main terminus where the old paddlesteamers used to load and unload.
Unfortunately the seeds of its own destruction were sown in its very foundation - Australia's first railway (horse drawn) was built to connect the riverport with the ocean: eventually the new invention made the river trade obsolete.
Today, Goolwa offers some paddle steamer rides, but we settled for the museum that charts the history of the Murray.
South, then, along the Princes Highway. Our destination, Robe, turned out to be an unpretentious little fishing town; in winter, at least, not unlike some of the ports of Cornwall (along with Cornwall's lack of architectural distinction). We took a twilight walk along the seafront and then settled into the bar of the Caledonian Inn, an ivy-clad building that wouldn't look out of place in a Daphne du Maurier novel, complete with fishermen in the front bar and a log fire in the back. It has rooms above the bar in traditional style, but a better bet are the self-contained cottages between the pub and the ocean.
Suggested accommodation:
The Caledonian Inn, Victoria Street, Robe, SA 5276; phone (08) 8768 2029. Self-contained cottages on seafront, $100 a night, includes continental breakfast.
DAY SIX:
PEACE IN BELFAST
From Robe to Port Fairy (300km)
ON THE way, it's worth stopping off at Beachport to watch the lobster boats unload at one of the longest jetties in Australia. The jetty is an impressive sight, though it was meant to be three times as long - the British firm that built it last century screwed up.
Port Fairy is a charming and historic place, one of those fishing towns which looks comfortable with winter. Once called Belfast, it lies at the mouth of the River Moyne and predates Melbourne as a Victorian port. Indeed, it used to be the second biggest port in Australia after Sydney, almost impossible to imagine given the quaint backwater it has become.
Part of Port Fairy's attraction is its boast "the oldest in Victoria". We stayed at the Merryjig Inn, "the oldest inn in Australia". Beautifully located opposite the quay, the Merryjig has a distinguished little restaurant where the front bar used to be as well as some cosy attic rooms above. There are some splendid walks - one of which takes in the mutton bird rookery on Griffith Island. If you play golf, allow time to play the back nine on Port Fairy's beautiful links course; the views over the dunes to the ocean would rival any in Scotland or Ireland.
Suggested accommodation:
The Merryjig Inn, 1 Campbell Street, Port Fairy, Vic 3284; phone (03) 5568 2324. Attic room costs $90 a night, including breakfast.
DAY SEVEN:
MEDITERRANEAN CORNICHE
From Port Fairy to Lorne (220km)
THERE ARE several countries in the world that could boast the finest ocean road. France with its corniches; Italy with its Amalfi coast; Croatia with the Dalmatian wonders of Split and Dubrovnik.
In 1919, unemployed diggers began building Australia's equivalent of the California ocean road. That far-sighted policy not only provided immediate work but continues to draw tourists from around the world nearly 80 years later. The official distance of the Great Ocean Road is 285km from Warrnambool to Torquay, and it remains one of the must-sees of Australian tourism. That said, I personally found it a trifle disappointing, possibly because I had expected too much.
Certainly, the stretch from Port Fairy to Lorne is full of exquisite vistas - most of which, such as the Twelve Apostles, will be familiar from postcards. Warrnambool has a whale-watching station worth a stop in late winter. Apollo Bay is a pleasant seaside spot but we chose to stay at Lorne, which tries - perhaps a little too hard - to be Victoria's equivalent of Noosa or Byron Bay. There are good walks to the waterfalls on the outskirts of the town.
Suggested accommodation:
The Great Ocean Road Cottages, Erskine Avenue, Lorne, VIC 3232; phone (03) 5289 1070. Self-contained wooden cottages in modern style, $95 a night.
DAY EIGHT:
GOLDRUSH COUNTRY TO HANGING ROCK
From Lorne to Hanging Rock (260km)
THOUGH THE Great Ocean Road continues on its picturesque way to Torquay, we headed inland, setting aside the bulk of the day to see Ballarat's golden heritage before driving on to the emerging vineyard area of Mount Macedon.
Ballarat's imposing Victorian architecture speaks eloquently of the town's rich past, but its history is even more graphically outlined at the newly opened Eureka Stockade Museum, a child-friendly venture that vividly portrays the explosive events of the miners' uprising - well worth a visit. Those with more time should stop at the gold museum opposite Sovereign Hill tourist park.
From Ballarat it's a comfortable trip to Hanging Rock, setting of the famous film and novel. It is a mere pimple compared with the mountain that appears in Peter Weir's film, but it is a memorable backdrop nonetheless.
Arriving late, we were disappointed with the chocolate bar selection at the cafe near the base of the walk. Picnics had sold out. We had to settle for a Crunchie, so our photos - Crunchie at Hanging Rock - lack a certain authenticity. The ascent (it's a gentle walk rather than a climb) takes only 20 minutes, and you are rewarded with striking views from the top.
That night we'd booked a cottage two or three kilometres from Hanging Rock. It turned out to be one of the finds of our trip: an isolated cottage standing in its own grounds, with a pot-belly stove, Country Interiors furnishings and a welcoming decanter of port (thankfully, as we'd drunk our bottles from Griffith). Not too far away, along the mountain track in Mount Macedon itself, is the Mountain Inn, with a good array of winter dishes and local wines.
Suggested accommodation:
Swallow's Cottage, Mount Macedon, VIC 3441; phone (03) 5427 0327. The 19th-century stone cottage sleeps four, $110 a night, breakfast included.
DAY NINE:
ALPINE ODYSSEY
From Hanging Rock to Thredbo (550km)
A LONG stretch, with a stopover at Glenrowan to take in the thriving Ned Kelly industry. Most bizarre, though entertaining in a macabre sort of way, is the computer-enhanced animation show, "Ned Kelly's Last Stand" at the Glenrowan Tourist Centre, complete with a mock hanging at the end. Barnum himself would have been proud.
From Glenrowan, we took the Murray Highway across the alps to Thredbo. It's a route few people from NSW would take unless they live in the Riverina, but it is worth the diversion - unless snow makes the gradients and stretches of dirt track impassable.
We arrived in Thredbo just before dark, in time for a quick beer, before pressing ahead to the accommodation we had booked, Crackenback Cottage, midway between Thredbo and Jindabyne. Designed as a ski base, it is well worth considering if you want to retain flexibility about where you ski all day. The cottage has a well-regarded restaurant (good enough to be mentioned in the SMH Good Food Guide). The accommodation is in a large chalet-type house with eight double rooms, a full-size billiard table, indoor swimming pool and sauna, plus a TV room with "honesty bar"!
Suggested accommodation:
Crackenback Cottage, Alpine Way, Thred-bo Valley, NSW 2625; phone (02) 6456 2198. Rate is $110 a night (children $60), including breakfast and three-course dinner.
DAY TEN:
HOME, JAMES
From Thredbo to Sydney (600km)
YOU KNOW the way. But even then we were keen to see a little more before we got back to the big city. So we took the pretty way: down the Snowy Mountains Highway to Bega, and then the long coast road home.
Fittingly, we passed Sydney Airport. It was all we could do not to reach for our passports to show immigration.
Driving tips
We drove 4,500km and spent about $650 on petrol and oil.
Some of the accommodation was booked in advance, but most of it was arranged on the day - the mobile phone is an indispensable tool!
Take plenty of guidebooks with you. We used the NRMA, Dawsons etc and found no one book gave us all the best accommodation choices.
Tourist offices can be helpful. We were particularly impressed with the advice and helpfulness of tourist offices in South Australia and rural Victoria. When we told them we wanted something atmospheric and individual, people seemed to go out of their way to make sure we got it.
Take turns driving - we swapped over every 90 minutes or two hours. And we made sure we had frequent stops. You don't need to do very much planning to work out interesting little stops en route - a waterfall, museum, scenic view or art gallery. It all helps break up the time in the car.
Get the driving done early. We preferred to set off at 8.30am at the latest, leaving enough time at our overnight destination for a walk in the afternoon air.
Resist the temptation to speed. Those open roads are sometimes just too inviting.
© 1998 Sydney Morning Herald