February 25
Geelong to Ballarat
I was up and about early, rang the taxi company as I couldn't get their app to work on my phone - far too complicated - and ordered one for 09.00. I breakfasted, watched TV and packed until then.
The taxi arrived - the same driver who had collected me from the station on Saturday - and drove me for nearly fifteen minutes to the Avis Office, some way out of town. The lady there - left South Wales when she was little - had all sorts of problems as she hadn't been taught to handle overseas addresses or drivers licence numbers. She eventually succeeded, was very nice and gave me a smart silver car to play with.
The route out was easy as the office was right on the main road. All I had to do was follow it back towards Geelong centre until I saw the sign for Ballarat, which I did after about ten minutes.
The road took me away from town and into the countryside, none of which, of course, I could photograph.
I reached Bannockburn after about 25 kilometres, a not very exciting small town. The first thing I noticed when leaving the car was the deafening noise being generated by a huge flock of parakeets (cockatoos?). With my long range lens not working properly, I couldn't photograph them effectively. Not a good day so far.
Right: They welcomed me to Bannockburn |
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I found a newsagents, where I bought a paper and some post cards and was pointed towards Red Dog Café, where I was assured that I could get a good coffee. I could not.
The only Australian I have met who can make one is the bloke I meet at the dog shows in England. I did meet a girl in Darwin who could but she was about to emigrate to Auckland. I was able to sit down, however, and write my diary.
20 kilometres along the main road was Lethbridge Estate Wines. I located it after a slight detour up a very corrugated track. I discovered that at ten kph it was bone shaking. At forty kph it was much better.
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I was welcomed inside by a nice young man and a small poodley person, who features in the book of Australian Wine Dogs. He used to have a friend but the friend got into an argument with a snake - and lost. Not a nice thought.
The wine was excellent and imported into the UK by Berkmanns. I tried a Chardonnay, a medium Riesling, a Pinot Noir and a Shiraz. I would buy them all at the right price.
It took another half hour to reach the outskirts of Ballarat and then another fifteen minutes to locate the Eureka Museum. This was interesting enough but could have been much better.
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I do now know a little more about the Eureka Stockade, the event which may or may not have been the foundation stone of Australian democracy. One problem is that no one knows where it all took place, just that it was within a half mile radius of the museum.
The café was disappointing. They only had toasted sandwiches and they couldn't be served raw! I left in a huff and found my way to the motel with surprising ease. They were expecting me, gave me a large room on the first floor and all looked comfortable.
Needing lunch, I walked downhill and found an organic café - not my normal habitat - where I had a vegetable cold spring roll and a heritage tomato and feta salad. Both very good and very healthy.
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A couple of guys were sitting at a table and, when not eating, were playing rigs and jeels on flute and guitar. I felt obliged to try to get a photo before leaving.
I took a photo - one of them now armed with a mandolin - and stopped for a chat. One of the guys knew Teddington and the other, Marlow, so we had plenty of common ground. When I said that I had been to the Eureka Flag Museum but had been a little underwhelmed, they shook their heads sadly.
They both worked at the big theme park which did re-enactments of the stockade and said that the museum was in constant flux. Some politicians didn't even want Eureka acknowledged and there were constant changes of management.
I left the café and made my way through the town. My new friends were long time locals who were sad about the state of the town. Its historic buildings spoke of the wealthy past, based on gold, but it was now rather poor. Parts of it definitely looked it.
I went to the Visitor Centre in the magnificent Town Hall and collected some brochures. The nice old chap who came to assist could only really suggest the buildings and the statues in the town centre. I visited both.
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The art gallery was typical of many in the older towns in the UK. Magnificent old buildings full of a mix of art, old and new. The lady at the desk was very proud of the new display of Picasso prints. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I didn't like Picasso.
I continued my exploration of the centre, spotting few interesting pubs or restaurants. I then found the supermarket, where I bought bread and milk.
Next door to the motel was a smart looking pub. Unfortunately, the door was locked. Research on the WWW revealed that it was closed on Mondays - like several other restaurants in town. Oh dear. I returned to the motel for a sulk and a rest.
The Irish bar in the centre of town was quiet but I had a pint of cold Fat Yak. It was still about 30 degrees outside. I consumed it slowly whilst writing post cards. With stamps being $3 - not much under £2 - I wouldn't be sending many from Australia!
Crossing the road, I spotted more fine buildings. What the town lacks in pubs and restaurants, it makes up for in architecture.
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The steak house was in an old, high ceilinged, building with large ceiling fans. I ordered steak and red wine - all expensive - sat back and waited.
The steak was large and tender but probably not as good as the one I had in the pub in Geelong. As ever, the salad was excellent.
Feeling full, I walked back to the motel and performed my evening chores.