Claireabelle

crossing the border

After a decade-long hiatus, I am officially a resident of Sydney again. There’s a lot that’s great about life here - stunning views, beautiful beaches, warm weather and of course old friends and family. However there’s still a Melbourne-shaped hole in my heart.  

I was touched to say the least when one of my BFF’s flew from Sydney down to Melbourne just so he could drive me all the way back up to Sydney (with my surf board between us the entire way). He’s kind of an amazing guy. 

Challenge #1 came when I picked him up from the airport and he somehow had to fold himself into a passenger seat crammed with crap. I was sporting an acute hangover that morning whilst attempting to finish up my packing (zero points for organisation). He took one look at my efforts and called a total re-pack, in which we narrowly avoided being run over by a Mack truck at a servo. 

My handsome chauffeur had put together an inspired playlist, the highlight of which was hands down the Macarena. Our first stop was lunch at the Victoria Rose Tea Rooms in Rosedale. Many roses ensued. 

I realise these are not roses. 

This was in the window of a butcher. But imagine if it was in the window of  Hairdresser? 

We also found a life-size plastic Loch Ness monster in a park, and spent a substantial amount of time frolicking with Nessie. We sniffed more roses. 

Sunset over Bega was magic. We passed valleys bathed in soft gold light, full of cows sipping at lakes beneath withered old trees. 

As night fell, things took a turn. The fuel light came on, and as town after town passed with darkened petrol stations, we tried to pretend we weren’t freaking out. The panic escalated when we drove through a creepy little gnome-infested town called Cobargo. 

Driving through dark, dense forest, we were relieved to pull into Narooma for the night. Until we realised we didn’t know where our hotel was. The petrol gauge was below empty at this point. I took us to the wrong hotel. We were SO sure we would be stranded in the dark with no petrol and get hacked to pieces by an axe-wielding psycho…but we made it to safety. Mad props to my Honda Jazz.

That night we fell asleep to some of the strangest music I’ve ever heard. The pub down the road had an Australiana/Punk/spoken word performance situation happening that was rather spicy. Later that night my accomplice woke to the sound of me having a nightmare about being pelted with chunks of red velvet cake. 

The next morning he made friends with one of the locals…

…then we hightailed the fuck out of there to get back to our Irish roots at Potato Point. 

We wound down the trip with some popping candy and Beyonce as we cruised in to Sydney. Admittedly it’s been strange to hang out sans giant blue surf board between us, but we’re getting there. Thanks for the mammaries, Seabiscuit.

xx