The taxi driver who took me from the hotel to the Fly Bus at 4am on my departure morning under grey and threatening skies, responded to my comment on the weather gods turning nasty : “The weather in Iceland is like my ex-wife – cold and unpredictable “.
I actually thought that was pretty funny – and true.
Overall, we had been blessed with the weather on its best behaviour. By now at the half way mark it was time for a spin in an amphibian conveyance to get up close and personal to the ice bergs in a pea soup fog.
Who needs to go to Antartica ! Cruising on Jokulsarlon Glacier Lagoon between jagged icebergs shrouded in fog was surreal.I have never watched Game of Thrones but was intrigued to learn that Iceland was the location for much of the infamous series. A cue to binge watching perhaps.
Slightly cool!The crewChecking out icebergs
A comment on our accomodation . Simple but comfortable . I loved the farm village of Modrudalur. The guide says (quote) “At 469 metres (1539 feet) above sea level, Modrudalur is the highest inhabited place in Iceland, and snow can be seen almost year-round. “
The farm has a quaint, beautiful church built in 1949 by farmer Jon Adalsteinn Stefansson in memory of his wife. The dinner menu was intriguing – made all the more so by the preparedness of most to try out just about every local delicacy, including reindeer.
Rescue reindeerLocals
Is there any other country on the planet that offers more natural wonders than Iceland?
We were all agreed that the first couple of days were gob smackingly amazing yet – there was more to come. Waterfalls everywhere.
Godafoss
Dettifoss – Europe’s mightiest waterfall.
Altogether we marvelled at a total of 5 waterfalls , two thermal lagoons, extraordinary lava fields, black sand beaches as well as the diverse animal and bird life .
Namaskard – fossicking – what is this stuff? Steam everywhere from the sulphuric terrain.We could be on Mars .there’s a whole lot of sulphur here ..The volcanic Lake Myvatn
At some point along the way, someone commented on the lack of insects on Iceland. That is until we pulled into the car park at Lake Myvatn only to be greeted by swarms of lake midges after which the lake is named.
Annoying – I added a midge/fly face protection net to my collection of souvenirs. I am used to bugs – I think Intrepid could have warned the group.
Some of the earlier arrivals before our tour got underway had been to the Blue Lagoon near Reykjavik. The Secret Lagoon earlier in the tour had been a hit so most were keen to indulge in the Forest Lagoon at Akureyri. It was quite something – especially the cocktail bar serving drinks in the water. By our standards expensive ($80 AUD) – that doesn’t cover the cocktails , but not hard to see why lounging in a lagoon is very popular with Icelanders.
The changing rooms are an experience on their own!
And so we came to the last two days before returning to Reykjavik and going our various seperate ways .
Group tours aren’t for everyone. You can’t choose your travelling companions and there’s a lot of getting on and off buses and observing departure times. However, having quite enjoyed 50 degrees north small group tour of Norway in 2025, I was keen to have an Intrepid expedition experience of Iceland. First impressions can be misleading – whatever mine were at the conclusion of day 1 , they certainly for the most part had changed by day 8.
I mentioned Heidrun, who multi-tasked as Tour Guide, Tour Leader and Bus driver. A lot. Some of us were a little non plussed by her tendency to do things on her phone as she drove. Very fast. There were deadlines to meet but sometimes I wondered if the suspension on the bus was up to the speed with which we bounced over the not so good roads. She bombarded us with information – geology, history, geography, even Icelandic ghost stories .
We were also warned about the shady aspect of a crowded tourist destination. Hordes of Romanians infiltrating the popular and therefore busier attractions. These ‘pickpocketers’ are very well organised – often enlisting the gypsy travellers to join them.
She was clearly not a fan of people who choose to travel around Iceland on their own – citing many examples of fool hardy visitors who come to grief because they were either ill prepared or didn’t listen. At Reynisfjara beach with its stark back sands and bizarre, rectangular rock formations ,we are warned to never take the seemingly benign waves for granted. There’s a sad a story of a family of German holiday makers. Apparently, the father decided to ignore advice and took his family across the rocks to a beach without a buffer against the waves. His daughter , a strong, cold water swimmer was swept off and into the ocean. Her body was retrieved but by all accounts many hapless travellers meeting the same fate are not. The beautiful smooth round black beach stones exemplify the force of the ocean. These were, of course, originally lava fragments and would have been anything but smooth when first they became part of the ocean floor. Another anecdote from Heidrun – a body retrieved from the ocean was discovered to have pockets full of these stones – an example of the powerful ocean and its constant tumbling movement.
Those first two days were absolute standouts – our senses packed to the rafters with the majesty of Mother Nature . Just when we didn’t think we could be anymore amazed, we start Day 2/3 with the Seljalandsfoss waterfall, followed by Skogafoss waterfall. At 25-metres wide with a 60-metre drop, this waterfall roars. And this creates the most amazing waterfall rainbow. The sun shone on a picture perfect day.
Can there be a more amazing rainbow?
We certainly covered some territory in a short space of time – managing visits to all three National Parks in Iceland . It was a fascinating glimpse into the post ice age when we pulled up at Snaefellsjokull- a compact mix of coastline, lava fields, and a glacier-capped mountain range on the horizon.
Snaefellsjokull
The best was yet to come – not on the official itinerary but we found the puffins ! Most, if not all of us could have spent all day marvelling at their antics but we were reminded that this was an add on extra. We all rather hoped another unscheduled puffin stop could be added but that was unfortunately not to be. At the Reynisfjara Beach stop there were also puffins congregating but high above us and covering the ocean close to the shore with their frantically beating wings.
Moving on to the last scheduled stop of the day and the Jokulsarlon Glacier Lagoon. Icebergs everywhere – all shapes and sizes – many washed onto the black beach sand. Such a cool (pardon the pun) contrast – the black sand and whiter than white icebergs .
We were certainly given copious quantities of information. My age probably impacts on my capacity to remember everything. Heidrun had asked if we would like to participate in an extra activity -a walk on the mottled blue, grey and black face of one of the tongues of Europe’s largest glaciers, the epic ice cap of Vatnajokull. Having walked on a New Zealand Glacier over 20 years ago , I was wary of my limitations. Especially when a wild looking mountain man of a guide greeted us with “ If you had trouble getting into the car (I did) you will have trouble with the rocks and steps.”
It was a bit late to bail out so I gritted my teeth and resolved to not make a complete fool of myself. After about 40 minutes bouncing along in a rather uncomfortable but purpose build conveyance , we came to a halt and our man of few words guide Parvon (Czech – with a name I am not sure of ) hauled out spikes for or shoes and a harness – the purpose of which became clearer as we made our way up the glacier.
Parvon was filling me with confidence when he commanded us to not take selfies or be distracted by anything other than looking where we were going . He informed us that the glacier changes every day and if we did not follow him exactly we could be in danger of falling down a fissure.
Doing as he commanded we made our way to a couple of points of interest both of which I politely declined to get closer to.
As it turned out , he became more convivial as the hike progressed. Even to the point of volunteering to go with me on the scary thing where we attached to a rope and looking down into an abyss . Not enough to convince me though!
Dinner that night was well received! And a good night’s sleep needed. Our accomodation below!
Okay, this is going to be my introduction to Iceland – and whilst I had intended to write anecdotally and not clog up everyone’s devices with spectacular , technically perfect, pictorial content , most of the time the pictures do tell the story.
Ever since the infamous volcanic eruptions in 2010, the world started looking a little closer at Iceland . I enjoy exploring parts of the world where Mother Nature reigns supreme – the element of the unknown which starts as the aircraft (or train) comes to a halt . A brand-new country – new language, new traditions, new everything. Here I am – in Iceland !
The dreaded luggage was there to greet me and a nice, handsome Icelandic person helped me haul it off the carousel. I found my way to the Flybus, for which I had a ticket, and it was to be 45 minutes to the city centre. Another bus was still required to get to the hotel.
The boss of the Flybus was a troll like creature with more metal on her face than flesh . “What hotel?” I scrabble for the itinerary . “The Foss Hotel.” I reply. She looked at me like I had two heads “Which one?” Another examination of the itinerary reveals that is the FossHotel Raudara.
This bus journey was to be followed by asmaller bus where I elected to stand and corral my suitcase. Everybody’s else’s was rolling around like out of control billiard balls. I knew I had to get off at stop 13 but had no idea of the signage. My stop was the end of the line as it happened but still a 200 metre walk and the driver took pity on me and dropped me much closer to my FosshotelI .
It had been a long day of travel – train, plane and buses and I was well and truly ready for a sundowner as I staggered through the doors of the hotel with 10 minutes before the meeting was due to start .
On hand at reception tour guide/bus driver/tour leader, Heidrun, who seemed amicable and friendly. I must have looked like something the cat dragged in by that point of the day.
My first and continuing priority was to ditch the suitcase. I asked Heidrun if we were travelling on the one bus and if so could I please leave my case on the bus, to which she said, “Absolutely.” That was great. With the meeting about to start , I hauled the clobber into the elevator before racing down to join the rest of the group . Heidrun is delivering the basic background briefing on what to do and not do in Iceland. Then there’s the part where we all say who we are etc and why we have chosen Intrepid and Iceland .
We had: – Ken and Laurie from the States, friends or cousins I think – Emmanuel, who’s from Basel in Switzerland, born in France – Shane from British Columbia, who’s got the loudest laugh of anybody I’ve ever heard – Trina, who’s also Canadian – Kirstie, who is from the Falkland Islands but lives and works in the UK. – Miki from Japan – Jade from the Gold Coast – me
Two Australians and we live about an hour from one another.
The meeting concluded and we all traipsed off for dinner where the first of the many hip pocket raids take place. Like Norway, Iceland has its own currency. It’s disgustingly expensive, the Icelandic krona.
We’re all running around converting frantically into US dollars, Australian dollars, or euro -regardless it is very expensive. I think I had some €2,000 in my Wise travel bank when I started this trip. A few days in Iceland will knock that around, at least €100 a day, and that’s not spending money on anything frivolous really. Norway was expensive, I think Iceland is just as bad.
We were ready for an 8:00 start the following day, day two technically although it was really day one for us. The majority of the time to be spent in the precinct of the Golden Circle. I confess that I really didn’t have that much time to study carefully the background or the itinerary itself. The names of the places are impossible to pronounce and one of the great things about a group tour is having a leader. Heidrun is very knowledgeable having worked in the travel industry, pretty much all her life.
So the impossible to pronounce highlights of the day ahead include
Strokkur Geysir Gullfoss Waterfall Thingvellir National Park
And these were to be followed by a dip in The Secret Lagoon.
At the risk of boring anyone who takes the time to read this , I think it best to flip to the photos from what was a pretty much picture perfect day !
Above and below Thingvellir National Park.Gullfoss waterfallSecret Lagoon
I am lured by the mystery and challenge of discovering new places as a solo traveling lady of advanced years. And I question my judgement at times . Firstly, there’s the prep. A countless and seemingly never-ending list of jobs which would normally be spread over a year or more – all to be ticked off in a few short weeks. Interspersed with packing and purchasing the bits and pieces deemed to be essential.
On my last European adventure, I had elected to take a largish Katmandu back pack – with the totally impossible idea of carrying it on my back. It was a pain in more ways than one . Difficult to wheel along old cobble stone streets , heavy, and cumbersome to manoeuvre on and off trains. Totally impractical, I sold it for what I paid for it pretty much.
So my departure date looms .
This trip almost twice as long as last year’s. Seven weeks and five countries – two continents. My constant worry in the lead up was luggage. Especially when my choice of destinations span the extremes of cold to hot . I have had Iceland on the bucket list for a while now and as I write this , I am on an Icelandic Air flight bound for Reykjavik, having travelled from Poitiers to Paris by train , cab from Gare Montparnasse to CDG, and then joining the throngs of Parisians escaping their hot, dry city for the annual summer vacation.
So more about luggage . A couple of sherpas would be handy. I had no choice but to pack the large Samsonite and with Iceland on the itinerary, all the winter gear . My ridiculously heavy Super Dry jacket that has served me well in Tasmania and Norway had to go in. The weighin on departure at Bne was 26kg – not that heavy for a young able bodied person but I was very happy to surrender it at the Singapore Airlines bag drop. But then , there’s the bloody hand luggage . I had every intention of making do with one back pack and a largish hand bag. No – make that two back pack thingies.
So we land at CDG T3 on time and then starts the waiting game at baggage collection. Having replaced the faulty AirTag in my old suitcase , I was looking forward to a cheerful message in the “find my” app telling me Angela’s luggage was at CDG T3. Instead , “Angela’s luggage 57 k away at an unknown location “. Great……..
I run through various scenarios in my mind whilst watching everyone’s suitcases obligingly roll on to the conveyer belt. I had my essential meds and electronic devices with me in the 2 back packs but anxiety does start to bubble away on the back of the random unknown airtag location. I note a woman of my vintage who is also waiting . In a broad Manchester brogue she asks me “So you come from Singapore then?” Well , yes but technically Brisbane . Could that mean my trusty Samsonite had found its way somewhere else in the vicinity of the airport? So we strike up a conversation as everyone else’s luggage is claimed and it turns out we are both on the same train later in the day to Poitiers! Well , she was catching a train from CDG and had to change at St Pierre des Corps whilst I, wary of the 26 kg (if it turned up) , was cabbing across Paris to Gare Montparnasse and the direct service .
No sooner had we laughed about the coincidental nature of our journey , than our suit cases – hers then mine followed one another on to the carousel! So we went our separate ways , and we did bump into one another on the platform at Poitiers as I wrestled the 26 kg into the minute lift that serves weaklings such as myself!
So off to Chez Wenn and time to chill out with Rick , Sara , Camilla and Louis the cat . We stock up on food , wine and gin at the E.Leclerc on the way home.
The wild fires that continue to rage in the south of France , particularly around Bordeaux, are international news. As used as I am to Australian droughts, I was shocked by the degree of damage on show as we drove the Roman Road from Poitiers to Azay. Trees dying, very little in the way of green of any sort. But the worst was yet to come . Rick and Sara have the most beautiful garden – a vast expanse with Rhododendrons, Peonies, Hydrangeas, wonderful and quite ancient apple and pear trees, Grape vines as well as a fabulous collection of Acers, roses,dahlias and iris. On all my previous visits, I have enjoyed very much, hours of labour, weeding, trimming, and planting. This time not a weed in sight, save for some droopy dandelions still hanging on in parts of the lawn.
There has been no rain for months , and none imminent . Sara tells me a long time village resident has likened this season to another quite like it – an age ago- no rain through summer at all , then the heavens opened in October. To compound the situation, Rick and Sara’s well which was the beneficiary of a new pump etc to access underground water , is quite literally dry. And there is now a ban on any form of hosing with drones apparently monitoring ban breakers. Much of the visible damage has been inflicted by the ghastly 40+ days which simply fried tender temperate foliage. I feel sure that most plants will recover but it is a very testing time .
So we decided to head to la merl- specifically La Rochelle where a long time friend of Rick’s has a holiday house – she is happy for special friends to just turn up and use it! It’s a pleasant drive – about 90 minutes. The swimming destination is actually Il de Le Re – one of the many islands that hug this section of French coastline . Getting to the Il is interesting – Le Pont de Re is an enormous structure that is apparently privately owned and commands a toll fee of 16 euro just to drive across ! Sara and Rick tell the story of a previous attempt to pay the enormous toll with une carte – only to not have it accepted . By this time , there were any number of cars queueing behind them . Backing out and crossing three lanes of queued traffic to access a cash toll was somewhat stressful.
So , forewarned this time , the toll gate was happy and we made our way to a car park for a walk around this fascinating and of course historical precinct. The Fort and its surrounds were constructed in 1626 under the reign of Louis XIII to consolidate royal power against the Protestants of La Rochelle.
Rick and I needed hydrating so a pit stop at one of the many cafes with a lovely harbour view was in order!
La RochelleIl de Re
Such a popular destination for French families ‘en vacances’ – bicycles everywhere . I wish I could ride a bike properly.
So Rick had a plan that , at first , didn’t go to plan, which involved heading to a particular beach. La mer didn’t eventuate at first but fortunately all was well once we discovered La Couarde-sur-Mer. A beautiful stretch of not quite beach as bordered by a concrete wall. A google search tells me it is an anti-submersion marine defence structure boot to protect the village and low lying areas from rising sea levels etc. The water was amazing!
Our night at the fabulous beach house in La Rochelle was interrupted by a good old fashioned thunder storm. Despite reports from Azay that the village had also benefitted there was almost no evidence of precipitation. La Rochelle is a delight – so much history, ancient buildings that are all so clean , cafes , fabulous shops, and families enjoying a post storm milder summer day.
My final day with my wonderful hosts included a trip to Domaine de la Berthonniere – La cueillette, c’est ici!
I have never seen a market garden operation on this scale that encourages people to come – pick what they want – and pay for it obviously. Apart from the sheer size, the quality is without peer! What fun . I could do some serious preserving were I living nearby.
Sara often makes observations on the cultural aspects of the French. She and Rick have made Azay their home for some years now – yet were never made aware of the market garden until one of their friends happened to mention it just recently. And the French are socialist to the core – no one is allowed to earn an income from any endeavour whatsoever unless it is declared. Navigating their bureaucratic methods takes enormous amounts of patience . Sara has mastered so much French – yet there are copious numbers of Brits who have acquired their ‘house in France’ with a vision of some idyllic retreat , who simply refuse to learn the language at all .
Sundowners at La Rochelle!
Eccentricities aside, there is something quite unique about the French . Opening and closing hours , doing business and navigating the medical system etc requires lots of local knowledge . Yet all and sundry are welcomed into the country regardless of their ethnicity. As I write this there is a good deal of press about some 1000 minors who have walked across tidal flats from Morocco (apparently) . The coffee is appalling their steak is tough but the wine is cheap and la fromage delicieux !
Observations from my last destinations. I was always planning to stop at Dorrigo Holiday Park after a brief visit last year – loved the beautiful location with its peace and serenity. Dungog to Armidale proved enough driving for one day even though work has vastly improved the Armidale to Dorrigo leg. The Waterfall Way however closed a few kilometres south of Dorigo towards Coffs Harbour after a rockfall. It’s a beautiful but challenging landscape – rock and tree falls par to the course. Settled on a two night stop in Dorrigo to include a day to explore some of the spectacular national parks.
The Australia Day weather forecast is diabolical for most of the country. Dorrigo National Park is actually only about 1.5 K from the Mountain Holiday Park, a walk of about 900 metres down the main road, and then turn off onto another road, which is also fairly busy. Not the best walking surface. Not the best idea especially with the kelpie. Next time drive to Dorrigo National Park car park.
The big loop Wonga Walk is a decent distance, about six and a half kms along a very well maintained track. Very cool, mostly in shade – perfect for walking. I shouldn’t have actually had the dog there. Nobody said anything, and obviously she was on the lead. So we wandered along, came across some really lovely old trees and spectacular waterfalls, and not many people. But by the end I seriously questioned my decision to walk from the holiday park. Down to the pub for dinner at the recommendation of Pete, the fabulously bearded park manager whose mantra is “Whatever, mate, you’ll be right. No worries.”
Camped beside me was one of those little self-contained vans with a trailer + car on the back. Occupied by Mick from Melbourne (Gippsland ). He tells me it’s his home. With his wife in care in Melbourne, he’d had to sell the house to pay for it. It’s a familiar tale… but by the same token, he’s living his best life , first stop after Tamworth for the full fortnight of the country music festival. Another on my list of must dos. We had a bit of a chat that afternoon, touched base again the following day briefly, for more talk about places to stay in Tamworth , driving distances, and maps, and problems, and good things, and bad things about life on the road. It doesn’t matter where you are, there’s always somebody that’s up for chat.
I’d recommend the Dorrigo Hotel Motel to anybody. The only pub in town. Food’s amazing. They have 3 Nepalese chefs apparently and a diverse menu.
A challenging detour down the mountain because of the rockfall not far along . Pete assured me that it was okay, a bit narrow, but you take it carefully. A 10 ton limit, so no trucks.No trucks doesn’t mean no traffic, because, obviously, it’s the only way that people can get from Coffs Harbour or Bellingen to Dorrigo or Armidale, really. It was long- on many occasions slowing to a stop because oncoming traffic and very narrow roads don’t go well together .
My first impression of Ingenia Holiday Park, Byron Bay is that of another Bright. Code for check in, code for this, code for that. I venture off to find the site number, immediately take the wrong turn, heading down a one way street with nowhere to turn around. A park person does a bit of shouting and ultimately guides me to a different site. It’s really quiet right near the walk down to the beach. A lovely spot. And there’s a couple beside me that came to my rescue when I realised I’d left a hose fitting behind somewhere. They are living their best life in a caravan called Frank. The beach is just magnificent.It’s a dog off leash beach, and it’s long. The view of the lighthouse at one end. I’ve really never been to Byron Bay. We ticked the walk to the lighthouse off the list.
Young people make up the visible population of BB at the moment. Late teens , early 20s. On holiday from abroad, waiting for the uni year , whatever, not a lot of little children anymore; Byron Bay probably doesn’t attract young families. I’m amazed by the proliferation of e bikes seemingly to me the most dangerous looking things ever. People flying around the place with kids in the passenger seat. No helmets, what can you do? Can’t put brains in statues.
So I am about an hour out of Bris Vegas – Elliot’s birthday.A big hole in my heart.
To pack up and p… off has its hazards but they are far outweighed by the positives. I love the fact that there are no restrictions . It’s up to you where you stop. It’s up to you how long you stay. It’s up to you how far you drive. And what you do. The actual caravan set up is brilliant; perfect for one person. I would not want to be in this space with more than just myself and my age and stage of life.
So… there’s a whole new world out there. All I can say to anybody entertaining the idea of hooking up and taking off. Just do it. Don’t worry too much about where you’re going( of course Elvis/Tamworth are exceptions), although if you’re travelling as I was in holiday time, you have to deal with restrictions in terms of days and numbers because of holiday bookings.For me personally in future, I would choose little towns with the smaller parks or even just the local show ground.
After Ingenia at Byron Bay was quite lovely, it’s time to dole out a couple of awards. Byron and Dorrigo would be heaving at the height of holidays. Camping with just four or five others is blissful. The ladies’ amenities block at Dorrigo has a bath! We didn’t use it, but it has a bath. So they get a big tick. I think the cleanest and most modern up to date amenities award goes to Khancoban – a beautiful spot for a prolonged stay. On the lake, with the mountains in the background. The least enjoyable award goes to the Big 4 Holiday Park in Bright. Great for holidays with small children, but if you’re a single person looking for peace and quiet it’s not for you.
Hiring a van means you have tech support at the other of the phone -mostly. And there are always going to be glitches. Fortunately , nothing insurmountable this time but a better equipped tool kit next time. Enjoy !
Ramblings from the Road – Crookwell , Dungog, Armidale, Dorrigo.
I should have given Crookwell more airtime. With Dungog, Dorrigo and Byron Bay locked in for the return journey, the stop en route had to have a caravan park – (obviously) as well as being a manageable distance from the next location. We set up at the Crookwell Caravan Park with the issue with the left indicator still to be resolved.
Crookwell must have more windfarms than any other area in the country . Why not – it blows a gale from every direction depending on the time of day. Highways out of town promote “Windfarm Viewing Area”. My caravan park buddy Tony earns a very tidy wage as a wind farmer – he lives at the park for much of the year. We have a chat. He’s from SA – but works for a windfarm company. It might be a little rough lifestyle wise, but the money is anything but . I ask Tony about wedgetail eagles arguing with the turbines. His take is that it is a crock of bs.
He also assisted me to check that the pesky left indicator was functioning properly . Earlier that day , Neil the Van Tech Man had walked me through some steps that did restore the connection. Tony produced a can of special stuff that blows everything out of where it shouldn’t be – a must carry next time. There are a few must haves in the tool kit for the van future trip.
So apart from windfarms and a whole heap of wind , Crookwell also has an amazing sock manufacturing business , using merino wool which is unfortunately produced in China , but still operating the looms in the room behind the shop. Really great to see. .
So Dungog Showgrounds from Crookwell is mostly highway driving. The scenic road is twice as long, and really, highway driving is a lot easier although not at all scenic – instead the antics of nutcase drivers weaving in and out of heavy traffic around Sydney requires concentration. Up the M 31, the M7 and onto the M1. Maitland and we peel off with another 50 or so K of ordinary road to Dungog. Their Showground is a beautiful spot, $25 for the night, power and water. I had never set foot in Dungog before today.- it’s a lovely little town, quite historic and many beautiful properties along the drive in. A lifestyle area in some ways, also lot of older, established properties with dairy or beef cattle. It’s green, which is nice, because everything south is pretty much brown or burnt.
An observation on showground camping, v caravan park camping. There’s no comparison if peace and quiet is a priority. Bright gets the noisiest, crowded award – lightly less babble at Beechworth. The NRMA Bright holiday camp are begging for a review – I won’t be going back there in a hurry. Here at Dungog, there’s me, and three or four others. Camping for different purposes.
Fortunately the indicators were working this morning for the trip up the highway – everything appears to be fine in that regard. So looking forward to meeting up with Jill and Ellie/Beyonce. Villanelle has been having the time of her life – she loves travelling and saying hello to everyone . I can let her off here and there are resident rabbits. She’s not into anything other than check out a burrow.
It goes without saying you learn – what works and what doesn’t – what you like and what you don’t, what’s good or what isn’t, assessing routes, times and distances. You also need to include a special kit for glitches – such as Tony the wind farmer’s special spray stuff.
After catching up with Jill and Ellie , I’m scooting up the highway to Scone. Typhoon Bassett is at Annabel and Rob Archibald’s stables there, and he steps out for his very first race on Thursday next, which is Elliot’s birthday. I wonder if there’s anything fortuitous in that. An add-on idea diverting not really out of my way through Scone. The plan is say hello, and hopefully somebody will show me the horse and I can give him a pat. And from there, we go on to Dorrigo, an overnight stop last year but beautiful. Worthy of a couple of nights at least. And then on to Byron Bay . Update – Dorrigo just a little too far for that drive – Armidale is the stop.
A lovely meeting with Jill, her daughter, Kel and Ellie, Ellipat Beyonce. Kelpie mother and daughter were reunited. Coffee and dog talk – lots of it. I am totally confused with the conversation going in various directions over canine families – father and brother and grandfather and whatever. They’re very nice people and I’m really happy that the puppy is so happy and loved. She’s a bit of an old-fashioned puppy, exuberant like her sister but they’re so similar, the 3 pups, in fact. I think now looking at, at Ellie – she’s probably more like Beatrice. They are certainly stamped with their father’s ears and neck. They’ve got quite ruffled necks these 3 girls, which is a good feature apparently. Their mother’s kind face and feminine manner. I do think they look more like dad than mum.
So that was Dungog – from there to Scone. Directions from Jill and Kel to cut through to Singleton, then it was up the highway. Needed to get fuel, and get the racecourse into the GPS . Arrived with the mercury rising at an imposing complex.
Where do I start? All these barns? However, nothing ventured nothing gained -he must be here somewhere. I follow boom box bopping to some young stable hands who steered me in the direction of two huge barns not far away. I found Chris, who was really nice and met Typhoon Bassett. They call him Typhoon. He’s a lovely horse and now I’ve got the visual of what he looks like in the flesh. It’s a fantastic facility , the racetrack, lots of big stable barns, walkers , swimming pools and a massive equine hospital. Scone has always been the heart of the thoroughbred industry in Australia . Annabel’s got something like 60 horses in 2 barns, as well as a property that’s within spitting distance, used to not so much spell ,but to give a horse in full work a couple of days break in a turn out yard with grass before they resume training with no loss of fitness. To forget about life for a while. It’s a fantastic strategy – she is very good trainer. Great to know she knows every single horse; she’s got 100’s of horses in training. But yet, Chris tells me regardless of the age and stage, Annabel will know exactly what it is, who it is, where it is at. And for every horse that races, all the homework on the others in the race is done. How she has the time to do that is amazing. The horse looks great. He looks really fit. He’s a tall, big, strong type. His 1st race is on Thursday – Elliot’s birthday .
I made it to Armidale. The New England Highway is much improved but the geography doesn’t change and it’s a real uphill chug most of the way. Signs from Tamworth to say that Waterfall Way is closed – may as well just stop in Armidale. I lived here for 6 years after – all a long time ago.
The long driving days can get a bit wearing. In future I’d be more inclined to travel shorter distances and be more destination selective. Instead of just 2 nights somewhere, stop for 4 nights, a big drive and then stop for another 4 nights. Avoiding overcrowded caravan parks with families and children at holiday time . An old duck’s take on things, but so be it. Here, it’s lovely. It’s quiet, and summer is the best season in New England . Now it’s Dorrigo and a delicious Australia Day pub dinner . …….
Time for another episode (4)of Caravanning with the Kelpie aka ramblings from the road.
I’m now north of the border with Victoria – a drive from Khankoben. K-H-A-N-C-O-B-A-N. Lakeside Caravan Park to Crookwell – not far from Canberra or Goulburn. One of many historic towns dotted about the rich farmland sitting high on the Great Divide. It had its beginnings supporting agriculture – the potato industry in particular. Now there’s wine (of course) beautiful gardens, historic buildings, wind farms and a lot of sheep.
It’s a decent distance from Khancoban to Crookwell and I was wary of the drive. GPS and and the map apps are invaluable tools but relying on a route that is labelled ‘the shortest’ can mean trouble. I found out the hard way last year when I blindly followed apple maps on to Berry Mountain Road only to encounter ‘This route is unsuitable for caravans’ when I was too far in to turn around. Apps and artificial intelligence don’t necessarily go together and you can really get caught out, particularly, towing a caravan that’s reasonably large. I have a handy hard cover paper Caravan Parks around Australia in the passenger seat.
I was quite happy to leave Bright – which is no reflection on Bright itself . It’s a bit like Hastings Street, Noosa only in the mountains. Peace and easy access is in short supply at NRMA Big 4 camp in January. It’s packed and noisy – there are I discover, many caravan parks in the vicinity where the view from the van is much more desirable. A shoutout to the servo on the corner – selling the cheapest diesel in the country. $1.60 a litre. With hundreds of thirsty 4WDs incarcerated in the camp, they are raking it in.
So the route from Bright to Khancoben involves a heap of turns. I do mean a heap of turns. Ultimately and eventually we ended up on a piece of dirt road – not ideal. The route went through Myrtleford, a lovely town, well worth a visit – along the The Valley Highway, skirting around the edge of Wodonga before the turns really ramped up – a lot of lefts and rights and rights and lefts taking me basically along the Murray River which was fine but a much better option would have been the Murray Valley Highway instead of the river road. Even though it’s not very far from Khancoban, 25 kilometres of rough dirt is quite testing. Just after this cute one pub town on the mighty Murray called Jingellic. Here we stopped with only another hour to go. An hour on a rough dirt road.
A review of Khancoben -without a doubt the best thing is the caravan park , perfectly situated on Khancoben Lake. There’s a pub, there’s a chemist. I think there’s a couple of food places that close at 4 o’clock. But the actual campsite itself, or caravan park, is just lovely. The nicest setting that I’ve had so far. The most up to date amenities. It is sparsely populated; many moved when fire got going near Corryong. Put simply follow directions to evacuate, or risk getting stuck because the roads close.
A wind change over night is a reminder that the fires are still burning. It’s a really, really smoky morning and with Khancoben being the closest town to Kosciuszko Alpine National Park (originally built to house workers for the Snowy Mountains Hydro Project ) I decide to tackle the 57K drive to Threadbo. You don’t just go past Kosciuszko – the road winds up and down at least 3 different major mountain ranges ; Granite Knob , Mount Townsend, Mount Tempest as well as Kosciuszko. 57 k of hairpin bends. Up and down and up and down. Recommended drive time two hours – but I’ve never been to Threadbo so push on …… made it unscathed – but it’s a national park and dogs are prohibited. There’s lots of stuff going on – chairlifts are running so kids big and little are doing mountain biking and and all sorts of dare devil activities. Certainly a really attractive resort. I feel a cold coming on and not really relishing the thought of the trip back down the mountain so we head off. There’s not very much open – most ski resorts shut over the summer months.
Goodbye Khancoben you are on the return list, I was careful about the route, heading for Crookwell . Up the road from the dog sitting on the tucker box and Gundagai. Through 2 really lovely towns worth a longer stop. One was Tumbarumba and the other was Batlow. Then you head up through Tumut well, you bypass it – as you do most major towns. From there on to where I am now – Crookwell.
On my pre-departure check at Khancoban, a problem presented itself in the form of no left indicator. Not only not safe but illegal. Yass was the best option for assistance and courtesy of cyberspace a couple of options presented. Found a really lovely guy at JB Auto; I had to buy a new plug, but he didn’t charge me for his time to sort the cable – I thought that was great. Plugged it in and had lights. I’m not convinced about the indicators but let that wait till tomorrow.
Update on indicator. A combination of help from Neil the technician at the van company and Tony the wind farmer (yes they do exist) camping on site appears to have resolved the problem.
It’s totally freezing . And it’s summer? On to Dungog tomorrow!
A long drive from Peak Hill that became a little hairy around Wagga Wagga as there was a bit of conflict between ChatGPT ,Google and Apple maps. And I didn’t do my homework properly . Trouble free down the highway for lunch / rest at Wagga then on the Olympic Highway but somehow or other went in the wrong direction only realizing at Junee and about 30 K out of our way. No choice but to turn around and back track adding an hour extra to that day’s driving. Otherwise a pretty uneventful sort of a day , expensive ; a big caravan and speed limit 110 on the highways does chew the fuel.
Thanks to the diversion, the cavalcade finally found Beechworth Lake Sambell Caravan Park around 7.30pm . Steve the manager was about to guide me in – Kevin from across the way wandered over to say hello. His dog Charlie – a fox terrier with small man syndrome, decided to show the kelpie who was boss much to her disgust.
That was night one in high country Victoria. No television reception whatsoever and as usual dodgy wifi. Good excuse to find a pub. Turns out if you want reception you need to pay $20 to hire a cable from the office. Refundable fortunately. The park is full of families enjoying the freedom of a caravan/camping holiday. But there are rules. No washing to be hung from van awnings etc – must go on the various Hill’s Hoists dotted about. (example below)
Beechworth is really lovely but smoky. It’s warm but nothing like Parkes -high 20s maybe. We had a wander in the Lake Sambell precinct followed by exploration of the town and clocked up 10 K. A beautiful oasis in a really historic setting. The discovery of gold in 1852 precipitated one of the gold mining booms that helped shape early colonial history . The historic precinct is fascinating and meticulously preserved. There’s the courthouse where Ned Kelly was trialed initially. An amazing collection of telegraph communication memorabilia and its evolution. You can still send an original telegram for a price from the telegraph bureau. A lovely town with very friendly people and well worth a visit. As I window shopped along the main drag I was stopped by a couple of red kelpie admirers. I have a home for a puppy from a future litter!
Some 60 K along the road is next stop Bright, a favourite holiday destination in the Snowy Mountain Alpine region. It’s anything but snowing tonight. We are booked at the NRMA Holiday Park for the minimum 5 nights. It’s packed to the rafters with generational holiday makers with teams of small people who come here year after year. The receptionist informs me that my booking was to be from the next day. Not quite sure what happened but I was allocated a spot.
This is a reasonable sized van and maneuvering into a 10 m slab with caravans, tents, cars, long draw bars and every other form of camping equipment, not to mention push bikes, dogs and small children within close proximity, requires finesse. After aborting a few attempts to conquer my allocated site (hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself,) a good Samaritan called Peter turns up to offer a hand. Even with assistance, we admitted defeat. Luckily, there was a position further down which was navigated again with Peter’s help ensuring the van was absolutely symmetrically positioned on its gravel pad.
I have the setup process down pat now. I even found the fitting for the grey water outlets which was conveniently hiding behind the jack. The procedure involves various steps in whatever order – attaching the grey water pipe from the washing machine, shower, sink into the outlets, connecting the water, power, and gas. I had no sooner let Villanelle out of the cruiser when I was called to account by somebody claiming to be the manager demanding she be on a lead as well as informing me abruptly I had had one warning and next time I will be asked to leave. I absolutely get it…….but she wasn’t that friendly. This park is home for families with thousands of children and push bikes over the summer. The picturesque creek running through the park is the place to be – deck chairs in the water for the parents and kids armed with all manner of blow up props. It’s a beautiful spot and justifiably busy.
A new day and another challenge. Navigating the tricky 25 k of hairpin bends to the summit of Mt Hotham. followed by a ‘moderate’ hike of around 7k from Milky Way to the top of Mount Loch. It’s not called the high country for nothing. There’s a storm brewing and ominous rumbles of thunder getting closer. We huddled for a while in a guest shelter before gambling on the storm going round and pushing on. The Mount Hotham Visitor Centre was in site when the gods hit top gear with the hail. At least with hail, you don’t get wet! The car scored a free wash too. The visitor centre is pretty much deserted save for a couple of ladies also sheltering . I exchange notes with a Polish born hiker from Adelaide here with a group walking tour. Like most people, she is besotted with Villanelle.
Now to a not so desirable incident which is just one of those caravanning things. At one point, one night I became aware that the 240 volt power was off. My checks followed by a facetime consultation with the technician = no resolution. Call in Andy , a local sparky who assured me he would be here at some point. He turned up at 5.30 and close on 2 hours later, had isolated the problem to an internal cable that was causing the safety switch to trip.
Earlier, waiting for Andy we set off on the Canyon Walk along the Ovens River, an easy walk of about two kilometers before looping over a swing bridge and returning along the other side. All was fine until Villanelle spies a lovely spot for a drink. I left the lead on fortunately because no sooner had she set foot in the water was she literally swept away. It was touch and go for a terrifying moment. I struggled to reach her – the rocks were incredibly slippery and I am ridiculously incapable. Fortunately help arrived in the form of a fellow walker who was able to grab her lead and haul her out. Luckily tragedy averted and she had a bath if nothing else. It was frightening and another lesson learned for me. Do not let the kelpie loose beside deceptively fast running streams.
So it’s the third Saturday in the month and Bright’s turn for the local artists to showcase their wares at the market. There’s fresh local produce, lots of goodies, jams, preserves honey and all other manner of local paraphernalia . It’s very well patronized and we made some selective purchases.
An advantage of hiring a caravan like this is that you do have backup support when things go wrong. Without the backup of the technicians and the outstanding service from Andy the electrician I don’t really know what I would have or could have done. I guess the incident happening here at busy Bright was fortuitous. Andy, my cycling crazy but very likable electrician, even came back next day and he’s on call should I need him again. But from tomorrow – forget it, a cycling junkie he’s headed to Adelaide with some fellow lycra clad addicts for the Tour Down Under.
I am wrapping up this post to the strains of YMCA at the Bright Star Hotel. We ‘explored’ Mt Beauty today – a great gorge walk.
I think Bright is fabulous but at this time of year, peace and quiet is in short supply. That is not in any way a criticism, in fact the opposite. Families with copious numbers of children enjoying the very essence of Australia and given the totally prehistoric wifi, no access to ‘screens’.
Notes from the road episode 1 covered a bit of ground . 800 ks round figures .
This leg includes Orange and a night at Conobolas Caravan Park. It’s busy. Families, holidays, lots of dogs and no doubt a fair few permanents. The selected location to road test my conferred status of ‘Service Dog’ for Villanelle.First stop Coles, then the pub. Walking in looking official – doing what we had to do . No one even looked at us let alone said anything.
Over several glasses of sauvignon blanc with Cath and Trev we discussed anything and everything -politics, pandemics, dressage and lots in between. They live on a lovely ‘lifestyle’ block close to Milthorpe- beautiful part of terra Australis.
The road to Peak Hill backtracked to Orange and to the outskirts of Parkes before cutting through the back roads to the Elvis camp site .
On the way Jan Smith calls to fill me in with what’s happening with the worst fire crisis in Victoria since black Saturday. Bloody scary. She’s near Colac – not directly in line but I listen to the reports on ABC local radio Victoria. New fires igniting and taking off unchecked. There’s a change about to sweep through the south and west – they reckon dry lightning and wind gusts up to 175k.
Peak Hill ……not a peak in sight
Australia – burning at one end , drowning in the north .
The metropolis of Peak Hill looms. It’s 37 degrees , blowing a gale from the north west – the red dust finding its way over and all through things . I need to find Trev the caretaker. Like many small town showgrounds , the land area is vast and power and water facilities for campers are scattered haphazardly around. Trev jumps in his ute and heads along the ‘road’ to sort my spot . After a bit of mucking around, I have my patch of red dust – home for the next 3 days. Elvis is well underway but my enthusiasm is dimmed somewhat by the temperature. The original plan was to hop on the shuttle bus – i have a ticket for the main evening act – so decided to skip the bus today and head to Parkes by car.
A quick reconnoiter confirms that it is filthy hot anywhere outside . The Parkes Services Club beckons , so the kelpie and I join the throng of Elvis impersonators and washed up punters in the TAB bar – where i am able to access wifi and pass the time on the lap top comfortably .
As Australian towns go , Parkes is pretty much average . Average pubs , average shopping , average entertainment venues . The Leagues Club and the Services Club . Elvis central is Cooke Park , home to the main stage , hundreds of plastic chairs and the Festival Markets selling anything from parasols to pulled pork. It’s free ( not the food) – technically fans could attend the festival , bring their own everything , and not spend a cent . So for families everywhere struggling with making ends meet , it’s a no brainer . Of course it’s more appealing if you happen to love Elvis .
A dinky die Elvis festival participant requires careful planning. The devoted book their camp sites a year out and meticulously (well some of them) prepare their outfits, wigs , sideburns , gold chains – while the girls do their best Priscilla . With furnace like heat over the first 3 days, I suspect getting out of all that clobber would have been a task .
The Parkes Elvis festival attracts around 25,000 visitors from all over the country. Tribute artists fly in from all around the world- this year’s winner is a kiwi. There are ticketed shows at the clubs – the headline acts perform every day at different times and a ticket is $85 max . I lost count of how many renditions of Hound Dog , Can’t help Falling in Love and Burning Love were belted out to enthusiastic applause .They are good . Very good . Sweet Caroline , Bridge over Troubled Water and My Way get a run too. The feature artists are great , so too young 17 year old Charlie Gaylard , a star on the rise. The headline act for the last ticketed show looking all the world like a young Elvis . School friends with my good friend Jan’ s grandson. I had never heard of him but hadn’t heard of the others either !
My brief stop in Parkes during last year’s event whet my appetite for more and I think I got my money’s worth .Wangled my way into the supposed sellout of the Ultimate Elvis Tribute Artist final. Eight guys costumed to perfection , wigged and sideburned belting out two songs each while a panel of judges sweat over scores. Then it was the final 5 and the final 3 . Honestly , they are all amazing.
Trivia question – how much does an authentic made to measure Elvis jump suit with the bling and the belt cost ? You will have to read on to find out .
I am putting this post together at the Royal Hotel – Sunday arvo and the patrons are warming up for the night ahead. Villanelle has been lapping up the pats all day – now the raucous crowd in the public bar are keeping her entertained . One wag wanted to know that, given her service dog status, if she would rip his arm off if he came close ……
She has done the rounds – one of the event staff claiming me for a discussion on the ins and outs on becoming a service dog. So much cooler today – conducive to giving the plastic a workout at the markets. Wardrobe additions – a little pink Priscilla number complete with petticoat and belt and a cute dress made by a clever lady recycling bed spreads and lace doilies !
After an exhausting five days,the king has left the building.
Back to dusty old Peak Hill Showgrounds where it’s blowing a gale.
Tomorrow – Beechworth in the Victorian high country. Spared by the fires . Mustn’t forget the accommodation payment- $75 cash in the honesty box for Trev. Everything tinged slightly red courtesy of the gale blowing dust everywhere and through everything. Till next time!
There’s something buzzy about getting behind the wheel of my diesel-guzzling Toyota Sahara, hitched to the very fancy Jayco caravan, and heading off. It’s a sense of adventure with a little risk — nervousness touched with a dollop of freedom. Liberating. No domestic duties to speak of. Footloose and fancy-free, so to speak.
Have I planned the daily driving to cater for some less-than-friendly roads? Perhaps not enough. The first worst so-called highway award goes to Queensland. Cunningham’s Gap — one lane up, one lane down — get to the bottom and breathe again. The road to Warwick is mostly 60 km an hour. I’ve been driving it for fifty years. It’s never been 60, and it’s not in any worse repair than it’s ever been.
So when you finally set off, it’s a little anticlimactic. In the car with the dog, five hours of driving ahead, hoping your calculations — time and distance-wise — come good. It’s the bouncy backroads that link the little towns, some of which seem caught in an absolute time warp.
It’s technically day three. It’s hot — very hot. Mid-forties, according to the blonde little weather lady forecasting doom and gloom. It’s Australia. It’s January. And I’m on my way to sizzle at the Elvis Festival.
Be careful with the toilet. It’s great to have a loo on board, but they’re sensitive little creatures. Note to self: do not overload the toilet with tissues — from my nose or any other part of my body.
If I’m being super honest, caravan technology is brilliant. Everything opens and shuts beautifully. I’ve had a caravan before, so most things are familiar. I think I’ve got it all sorted. These vans are equipped with everything — shower, toilet, washing machine, air-conditioning, heaps of storage, retractable awning with LED strip lights, a pop-out bed. And yet there’s always something you don’t know until the chips are down.
I’m in Orange in thirty-five-plus heat, trying to work out how to separate the screen door from the main door.
All of a sudden:
“Hey lady — do you need a hand? Are you trying to separate your door?”
“Yes,” I say sheepishly.
“You just turn the handle the other way, love.”
Of course you do.
The first little hiccup was the fridge. First night, late-ish check-in. I go through the motions — connect the power, connect the water, check the lights, turn on the van power — but the fridge keeps beeping and flashing. What to do? Eventually, we establish that said fridge needs rebooting. Really? Anyway, it works. Hopefully the contents are okay.
Next thing: these caravans are amazing. I have more storage than in my own house. Everything is organised and neat — and then reality hits. You can’t remember where you put anything. Seriously. Big problem.
Yesterday was long — over 400 kilometres from Glen Innes to Tooraweenah. The roads weren’t especially user-friendly, particularly Inverell to Narrabri.
Today I’ve made it to Orange. I’ve also managed to connect the phone to the laptop, so I don’t need to rely on park Wi-Fi. The kelpie is happy — she’s had a bath and a treat from Petbarn.
Meeting the Bingara locals …
I’m looking forward to a day with Cath and Trevor, then it’s on to Peak Hill, just down the road. Elvis Festival, here I come.
Trevor from Peak Hill Showgrounds has offered me a very large esky.
I’ve tested my Amazon acquisition — a support dog harness for my beautiful kelpie. We did the rounds today: Coles, the pub — no questions asked.
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No Great Hurry - One Woman , one suitcase ,countless stories . 