Let's get outta here

It’s time to leave Twin Waters, that’s for sure. 

We don’t really want to, but the place is just getting so packed. Today we counted eight other people lounging around our pool and even though only two were in the water at the same tame as I was, and were friendly and chatty as everyone here seems to be, it still didn’t feel right. Also, we saw about three large groups checking in around lunchtime and then at Happy Hour we had to wait several minutes to be served.

I asked Jon to take a photo of me, but not a closeup. I got what I asked for!

Thank God we’re not dining in the restaurant tonight. Our plans are wine and cheese on our beautiful deck, looking at the lights across the lagoon, then a meal with a movie. We’ve almost finished our packing, ready to head south in the morning.

Hopefully there’ll be time for a quick goodbye to the beach before we check out.

Oh and another reason that we know that it’s time to go – if we stayed any longer, we might never  want to leave.

A slight change of pace

The whirlwind that was Jeni and Jacqui touched down Friday night and left Monday morning - for a weekend that swept us up in their unaffected charm and forever present laughter.

Trying to fulfil jeni’s wish, expressed in her shout, “I want to do everything” as we walked around the resort on Saturday, proved difficult because of the weather. In between bouts of rain, however, the two Js threw themselves into whatever they could find.

 

They jumped into the inflated water wheel, aiming to beat the record of 50 revolutions, which had just been set by two young boys. 

The attendant yelled out to the boys who were by then canoeing past, “I think your record’s safe”. Our bubble girls only managed one, but made up for it with joyful screams that made us laugh easily in response.

On to Mini Golf where their own unique style made for an entertaining game filled with antics, dancing and more laughter, especially in dodging all the animal poo.

 

 

Luckily, they’d each brought a huge bag filled with clothes, as we did a quick change and headed back for cocktail hour – or in Jacqui’s case, Mocktail hour.

Sunday saw them hiding from the rain in Maroochydore’s Sunshine Plaza, pulling in a great shopping haul that was later displayed at dinner.

Dinner was a buffet, which I suspect was originally invented for people like them. I stayed at home sick with a cold in bed (damn) but Jon assured me that they did him proud, each going back on numerous occasions with undisguised glee. The dessert counter certainly got a workout I hear, as evidenced by their proud displays later of how much their bellies had grown in just two hours. (I still think they’re both incredibly skinny, but what would I know!)

Somewhere in the weekend they had an hour’s downtime with a trip to the Day Spa – a relaxation massage for Jacqui and a body scrub followed by a manicure for Jeni. We sat here savouring the silence, but also looking forward to their return, knowing we’d get their own special recount, full of fabulously funny and irreverent observations. We weren’t disappointed.

 

It was a delight to spend time with these two wonderful young girls (oops – young ladies!) Ever since they were little, they’ve had a special bond. They might not speak to each other for weeks or months but when they get together, they’re inseparable, laughing at the same jokes, talking in the same way and finishing each other’s sentences- and sometimes, I suspect, knowing exactly how the other is feeling.  Lucky them.

And lucky us for having such a lovely daughter and niece – and especially lucky that they came to stay at our Sunshine Coast retreat, even if it did rain and the time pass all too quickly. 

We loved their energetic interruption to our ‘old people’ routines and the joy that came from being in their company.

What day is it?

Here at our new home at Twin Waters, our days take on a rhythm all of their own.  

Sometimes it feels as if we’ve been here forever. We forget that earlier in the week, it felt strange to relax into each day, to know only a vague outline, not the specifics, of what lay ahead.

We sleep with the curtains open, so that we’re woken by the morning, usually a golden orange glow that hovers over the lagoon, some days lasting longer than others, often gone in the time it takes to get up and make a cup of tea. We sit and watch the water and listen to the silence. 

On one such morning I see a fish leap high out of the blue several times. I catch my breath with each of its arc leaps that are wider and higher than the last. Another morning, a family of ducks glides by. Sometimes, earlier risers than us scoot around on a catamaran, making the most of the morning breeze.

 

 

 Routines eventually emerge. Perhaps we need them.  After breakfast on the deck, we often walk along the beach before heading back to the cafe for a coffee and the papers, choosing a table overlooking the pool. My gaze is often drawn to the (very) few people scattered around the water’s edge on deck chairs, looking as relaxed as we are. No-one swims. The day may look and feel glorious but the water is freezing. 

One day my attention is caught by an elderly man who walks towards the pool, puts on his goggles, steps in and proceeds to swim lap after lap at his own steady, leisurely pace. I am fascinated by the slow, measured movements of his arms . He inspires me more than I realize, for the next day, I find myself doing the same thing, only with not quite as much grace and gentle athleticism.

The pattern of our first day seems to repeat itself, its order rearranged depending on our mood and the weather. We snooze, read, walk, talk, eat. We return to the pool and soak up the sun even though the locals think it’s winter and wonder why we bother. (They’re wearing jumpers.) We consider taking out a canoe but realise this frozen shoulder of mine would leave Jon doing all the rowing. I don’t see anything wrong with that but he is having second thoughts. We plan to hire a bike, perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow. We’ll see. We think about some day trips to surrounding areas, such as Noosa, but put them off until next week. After all, there is no hurry and the car needs to rest in its little underground car park.

We welcome this time where something as simple as a swim in the pool or a walk along a beach brings a smile that doesn’t go away and where a sense of easy familiarity and contentment with the way our days unfold lasts long after the sun goes down.

On the Go!

Here we are at the Grand Mercure Apartments at Twin Waters, where we plan to stay for the next two weeks. 

The first day was such a big day. It rained most of the time so we couldn’t get to the beach, but I still managed to accomplish a great deal.

1.       Had breakfast in bed (Thank you, Jon)

2.       Walked over to the cafe on the other side of the lagoon, picked up the Sunday papers and had a coffee

3.       Had a long lunch in the restaurant

4.       Enquired at the Day Spa about facials and massages

5.       Snoozed

6.       Unpacked and did some washing

7.       Lounged on our deck overlooking the water and read

8.       Made a few phone calls

9.       Cooked an omelette for dinner and washed it down with a glass of Barossa Valley red (Grant Burge)

10.   Wrote this

 

1

The Slow Reveal

Having lunch at a corner table in a beautiful restaurant with floor to ceiling glass, we look out at the scene before us - railway lines, sheds, earth moving equipment and giant piles of rubble. Not the scene we would normally find appealing, but today, it is perfect. This is Broken Hill.

Its appeal seems to creep up on us. It’s a big country mining town - or is it a city? We’re not sure, but it has the feel of a large town, so we decide that’s what it is. It has wide streets lined with beautiful old buildings that have, along the main street and the Heritage Trail, been maintained, but along less visited parts been left to grow old without care and in some cases shut down and bordered up. The latter become sad echoes of the town’s better days, but the new gift shops, small art galleries and renovated corner hotels are reminders that it now caters very cleverly to the tourist trade.  And so it should. We suspect that every visitor finds something different in Broken Hill.

It’s not a ‘pretty’ place to visit but it’s striking and honest and becomes mesmerising the longer we’re here. It is certainly proud of its heritage and that is what draws us in.

Looming over the town is the Line of Lode, paraded in guide books in the glorious orange glow of sunset.  During the day, it is less romantic, a mass of greys, charcoals, ochre, black and all the other colours of this broken earth – which is an apt name for the restaurant and visitors centre that sits atop it and where we now have lunch.

It’s strange driving up to the Broken Earth centre, along a rough edged road that winds its way through tailings and past falling down structures that look ready to fall further. The centre has won architectural awards and we can see why. It is stunning and reaches upward to the sky, away from the earth. Pointing towards the future? Celebrating Broken Hill as a living entity? Near it is the Broken Hill Memorial  which from a distance looks like a series of rust coloured mining buckets or trailers joined together. Together the two buildings represent the past and the future.

I am unprepared for my own reaction as I enter the memorial, confronted with lists of names and dates of miners who have died here, the youngest being 12 and the latest death being in 2007. It moves me far more than any war memorial I have visited, no doubt because I am in the place where these people died.

I wonder later how many aboriginal people have suffered and died because of the occupation and mining here, but for now, I am involved in the experience of what is presented to me.

I look out from our lunch table and see more than just the rubble and cold grey colours. I see the shops and houses of Broken Hill, its grid of streets and beyond to the mines and plains that stretch on forever.  It is such an isolated place and perched up here I get a very real sense of that.

I read a guidebook that said that you can never get a true a sense of Broken Hill until you know its history. In many ways, the memorial to the miners has done that, but I still wait for the history before the white man and there doesn’t seem to be a great acknowledgement of that. 

Our trip to The Living Desert and to the Sculptures there give a different perspective, not just for an understanding of the connection between art and the environment, but for recognition of the importance of the land to its traditional owners. I am left wanting more.

But for more recent history, we try a little trek out to Silverton, with its “classic outback look”. It's interesting trying to imagine the town as it once was, with 5,000 people. We tour the museum housed in the old gaol, where the maintenance man at our motel has told us ‘there’s a lot of ancient shit’ and he’s right. There is. We walk the wide streets and marvel at how much of the town has disappeared with so few ‘ruins’ to show. (Jon loves his ruins)

 The town prides itself on its film history, as does Broken Hill. A new breed of tourists is catered for. Popular culture creates a new breed of tourists, not interested in the town’s past so much as its filmography.

But listen to me....I have only been in Broken Hill for a day and a half! I know I need to stay longer to discover more, as already I am finding holes in my previous statement that the town is proud of its heritage. Who selects the heritage?

Two days later when we drive through the tiny town of Collarenebri on our way to Moree, we stop at a park for lunch. A huge sign explains how the town got its name, which Aboriginal people  live there and why the town is an important site for them. It lists many sites and artefacts and explains their significance.

On reading this, I understand more fully what I missed out on in Broken Hill.

Barossa Valley, I love you.

Everything seems easier here. The light is softer and warmer, and everyone goes about their daily activities with seemingly little effort, but with a hidden efficiency. The pace of life is slower. Sure, there are tourists like us everywhere, but no-one is in a hurry. Businesses are definitely set up to sell, but they seem to do it in such an easy going way. Softly professional.

 

It’s a joy to drive through such lovely countryside, taking in hills covered in grapevines and olive trees. There’s something about vineyards and olive farms that both Jon and I find attractive, and no, it’s not just because we enjoy their produce. It might be the symmetry of the rows, the colours, or the way they seem to stretch on forever, or maybe it’s the promise they hold. Ah, yes, perhaps it is because we enjoy olives and wine after all.

 And we love our resort hotel here. Our balcony overlooks the hills, as does the restaurant. Having breakfast near an open fire looking out over the countryside covered in vineyards is a perfect way to start each day, the only problem being that we don’t want to get up and leave.

We’d been so looking forward to going to Maggie Beer’s farm shop and it didn’t disappoint. I loved stepping inside to another room warmed by an open fire, and with all the products out for tasting, it was a wakeup for the senses. I’d been joking that we were off to see Maggie and Jon actually did. He spied her for about 3 seconds as she walked down a corridor and disappeared into a ‘Staff Only’ room. I sauntered down that way just in case, but all I heard was her voice, unmistakably rich and deep, saying “I just don’t seem to have enough time.” (I know how you feel, Maggie.)  I think I tasted nearly everything in the shop, particularly loving her dukkah blend and her fig pino cotto.

 

The food during our stay here has been an ongoing delight - with special mention going to Jacob’s Restaurant at Jacob’s Creek Winery. The 1^st course grazing plate looked and tasted delicious, but when our 2^nd courses arrived, we were stunned. My salsa verde chicken was the best chicken dish I have ever had. Not exaggerating.

We had lunch another day at the Grant Burge Winery – simpler fare, but still very tasty, especially when washed down with samples of wine we later bought.

 
Perhaps that’s why life is easier here. Good food, good wine, happy people, beautiful scenery – What’s not to love?

*       *        *      *      *     *       *        *      *      *

Oh, it’s so quiet at night. Just like home. Perfect for sleeping. No sounds of drunks yelling and swearing and fighting just outside and below our room, as we had in Adelaide.  People here walk around with a soft smile and a warm glow about them. It’s obvious that we have a better class of drunks!

It was the gin that saved me

Yes, Kangaroo Island definitely is a beautiful place with a stunning coastline and an abundance of wildlife, and yes, it offers many different places in which to relax, to be pampered, to dine, to try fresh local produce, of which all residents seem justifiably proud and it is most certainly a place where the residents and tourist operators are friendly and helpful, and if you’re sensing a ‘but’ here, there’s definitely one coming.

But if it hadn’t been for a quaint little boutique distillery called Kangaroo Island Spirits, it just wouldn’t have been as much fun.

But more on that later.....

Would it be as attractive if it weren’t an island? What is it about islands that capture our romantic spirits? And would it be more attractive if I hadn’t had to suffer terrible sea sickness to get here? 

The weather at this time of year is so unpredictable. We wake up to blue skies that change in an instant to masses of charcoal clouds looming overhead. The winds whip up and the rains come – sometimes gone just as quickly, sometimes lingering. It’s difficult to plan outdoor activities, and plan them we must, as it’s so far to drive from one location to another. Nothing is really close. We were aware of the distances on the island before we came, but weren’t fully aware that when we got here, we somehow thought we’d be having a break from driving so much.

And so, on a day of wild, windy weather that precluded our planned excursion to Seal Bay, a day where dark and threatening skies sent down rain as soon as we thought it might be safe to walk up a hill in search of a particular lighthouse, on this day, we pulled into Kangaroo Island Spirits, up a dirt driveway of what looked to be an old shack and entered a room that smelled of chocolate and coffee and herbs and honey and gin, and sighed.  Rescued.