Though dampened, our 9 days in the Gippslands and on the East Coast of Victoria and New South Wales weren't a total wash out. All that driving gave us a chance to catch up on our podcast listening which had fallen waaaayyyy behind. The Nerdist ep with Kevin Smith is amazing, btw. And there were some diary worthy moments, which I thought I'd highlight to balance the amount of bitching I've done about the weather.
We hadn't stayed in any motels on this trip until we arrived in Australia. Love motels, yes. Regular old drive up motels, no. But here in the exorbitantly more-expensive-than-New York first world, motels are the budge traveling option du jour. Between the Great Ocean road and our recent coastal road trip, I consider us experts in the pros and cons of motor lodge living. The joint pictured below was a place called the Sandbar in Lakes Entrance, Victoria. It was one of my faves. Clean all around, super nice proprietors, across street from the bay and super duper bonus points for its nautical theme and living room area. The highlight, though, was the food hatch through which our complimentary breakfast was shoved at the appointed time each morning. Like prison, but with individual french presses and cloches. 
One rainy day, we headed to the Killer Whale Museum in Eden, Victoria. Below is the skeleton of Old Tom, a killer whale and folk hero in Eden. Tom and his pod assisted the local fisherman by locating, herding and entrapping the Right and Humpback whales they were hunting. In exchange, Tom and his crew were given first dibs on the carcass, feasting on the lips and tongue. The fishing boats at the time were tiny and unstable and it was not unusual for one or several crew members to go overboard when a large whale was on the line and thrashing about. The story goes that when a man was overboard, Tom would swim around the area for protection until he was rescued. Tom and his pod lived miles off shore in open water but when it was his time to go, Tom swam into the harbor to die near his fisherman friends. The following fishing season the pod didn't return to aid the fisherman, contributing to the collapse of the local whaling industry. The exhibit also displayed some bitchin' nautical poetry.
We had a few hours of sun in Narooma and used them to visit a local winery and gab with the crusty old pourer about various means of death by Australian animal. We bought a bottle of local Sauvignon Blanc, headed to Tailor's BYO fish restaurant, got drunk, and ate the most delicious oysters I've ever had. Afterwards, we got lost in the dark walking back to the Festival Motel and then babbled to some wasted old Brits in the parking lot. About astronomy. Good times.
The following day in Narooma, it was sunny and we were practically beside ourselves. We started with a grueling morning beach hike with a gelato chaser. By three, we wading in Mystery Bay. Its hard to tell from the photos but the awesomeness here was swimming in the protected pool made by these giant rock formations while massive waves crashed just behind them.
Small towns in Australia are stuck in the 1950s. Not in a kitchy or preservationist way. They just haven't seen the need to change. Folks stare gape-mouthed at strangers passing through, coffee can take an hour, and pubs like these still offer accommodation for those too drunk or weary to get home after last call. I can't get enough of them.
The day before we arrived in Sydney, there was a break in the weather and we threw on suits and practically skipped to the beach. We made the ugliest sand castle on record (the blueprint was solid, we failed in the execution) and swam in waves that took my breath away. Literally. They were big and the currents were strong and I was simultaneously giggling and trying to avoid drowning. It was a fantastic afternoon.
People say when you lose one of your senses the others are heightened. I think this is can be applied to travel. When the situation-appropriate stimuli aren't available (in this case sun, beach, outside) the mind busies itself noticing what otherwise may have gone unobserved. On this journey where our minds are regularly blown, there was something refreshing about having so little to do. I'm awarding 1 travel point to boredom. And 2 to miniature golf.
We hadn't stayed in any motels on this trip until we arrived in Australia. Love motels, yes. Regular old drive up motels, no. But here in the exorbitantly more-expensive-than-New York first world, motels are the budge traveling option du jour. Between the Great Ocean road and our recent coastal road trip, I consider us experts in the pros and cons of motor lodge living. The joint pictured below was a place called the Sandbar in Lakes Entrance, Victoria. It was one of my faves. Clean all around, super nice proprietors, across street from the bay and super duper bonus points for its nautical theme and living room area. The highlight, though, was the food hatch through which our complimentary breakfast was shoved at the appointed time each morning. Like prison, but with individual french presses and cloches.
One rainy day, we headed to the Killer Whale Museum in Eden, Victoria. Below is the skeleton of Old Tom, a killer whale and folk hero in Eden. Tom and his pod assisted the local fisherman by locating, herding and entrapping the Right and Humpback whales they were hunting. In exchange, Tom and his crew were given first dibs on the carcass, feasting on the lips and tongue. The fishing boats at the time were tiny and unstable and it was not unusual for one or several crew members to go overboard when a large whale was on the line and thrashing about. The story goes that when a man was overboard, Tom would swim around the area for protection until he was rescued. Tom and his pod lived miles off shore in open water but when it was his time to go, Tom swam into the harbor to die near his fisherman friends. The following fishing season the pod didn't return to aid the fisherman, contributing to the collapse of the local whaling industry. The exhibit also displayed some bitchin' nautical poetry.
We had a few hours of sun in Narooma and used them to visit a local winery and gab with the crusty old pourer about various means of death by Australian animal. We bought a bottle of local Sauvignon Blanc, headed to Tailor's BYO fish restaurant, got drunk, and ate the most delicious oysters I've ever had. Afterwards, we got lost in the dark walking back to the Festival Motel and then babbled to some wasted old Brits in the parking lot. About astronomy. Good times.
The following day in Narooma, it was sunny and we were practically beside ourselves. We started with a grueling morning beach hike with a gelato chaser. By three, we wading in Mystery Bay. Its hard to tell from the photos but the awesomeness here was swimming in the protected pool made by these giant rock formations while massive waves crashed just behind them.
Small towns in Australia are stuck in the 1950s. Not in a kitchy or preservationist way. They just haven't seen the need to change. Folks stare gape-mouthed at strangers passing through, coffee can take an hour, and pubs like these still offer accommodation for those too drunk or weary to get home after last call. I can't get enough of them.
The day before we arrived in Sydney, there was a break in the weather and we threw on suits and practically skipped to the beach. We made the ugliest sand castle on record (the blueprint was solid, we failed in the execution) and swam in waves that took my breath away. Literally. They were big and the currents were strong and I was simultaneously giggling and trying to avoid drowning. It was a fantastic afternoon.
People say when you lose one of your senses the others are heightened. I think this is can be applied to travel. When the situation-appropriate stimuli aren't available (in this case sun, beach, outside) the mind busies itself noticing what otherwise may have gone unobserved. On this journey where our minds are regularly blown, there was something refreshing about having so little to do. I'm awarding 1 travel point to boredom. And 2 to miniature golf.
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