Around NSW With Andrew

Around NSW With Andrew: Bellingen

2010-03-09T21:49:00.003+11:00

Gateway To The Hippie North

It's been many a year since I followed the Waterfall Way down from Armidale to the coast. As will be revealed in some following entries for this blog, when we touch upon Ebor, Dorrigo and Coffs Harbour the route taken off the New England tablelands leaving due east of my old uni home town is one I've not taken lightly, nor recently. And so it is arguable that my so-called insights into Bellingen are about as useful as a hip pocket on a singlet. Still, I want to mark my passage through this town and show it as much respect as my minimal travelogue talents can offer:

View Around NSW With Andrew in a larger map
Bellingen has been in the news recently for its periodic bouts of flooding, and having passed through town several times I can vouch for the vulnerability to big rains. However it's not so much the roaring tumults of water that drench you when you come into Bellingen, it's the Mother Earth new age sensitivities of many a recent Belligenite that you soak in. Like a southern suburb of Nimbin there is a noticeable hippie-esque quality to the town.

Now there's nowt wrong with this per se. However I am fascinated by how in an area which was once salt of the earth, Country Party voting, lumber felling and dairy cow raising countryside the introduction of Zen, Gaia worship and reflexology has landed here. You don't see Bellingen's social mix replicated down in the Riverina, or west of the Blue Mountains. Whatever is in the Bellinger River is obviously further up stream at Byron, at Mullumbimby.

Aside from the Haight-Ashbury near Coffs aspect to the town the most important experience you can have in Bellingen is coming to a stop after coming down the winding turns of the Dorrigo road, or preparing yourself for the ascent. I've done this both ways in army buses and 76 Corollas, ex-cop cars and a Camry laden down for a naughty weekend. Your brakes may smoke a little on the descent if you're too eager, or perhaps if careless a huge gash may appear in a sheet of sparks on the side of your vehicle. In fact the road off the tablelands into Bellingen is much like the Snowy as it winds its way up from Bega to Cooma. So be careful folks; it ain't an easy road to swan along on.

Sad to say, with my recent travels keeping me on the Pacific or the Newie as I head north, I've had no reason to detour down the Waterfall Way and revisit Bellingen. I'm sure it is a hedonistic bucolic town with enough dampness to make a Chux superwipe happy. So in conclusion, who knows if and when I'll be back.

Around NSW With Andrew: Albion Park & Shellharbour

2010-03-04T22:24:00.003+11:00

Of Railways, Airports and Shellharbour

When you head south of the mighty Illawarra city of Wollongong you are effectively stuck on the Princes Highway, which will in turn meander all the way down to the Victorian border and then some. A scant 15 minutes in this direction from the old home of Aunty Jack you'll find two semi-suburban out crops of the 'Gong; Albion Park and Shellharbour.

View Around NSW With Andrew in a larger map

Albion Park has all the raw industrial ugliness on the coastal side as you head south, with car yards, fast food complexes, petrol stations and some smaller shops, with the regional airport on your right. There is a museum there for aviation buffs however unlike so many similar set ups in other country towns I've yet to call on that facility (though the Lockheed Constellation which forms a centrepiece of that collection is usually to be seen out on the tarmac).

However Albion Park isn't just a train station, tacky roadside facilities and a combined airport/museum. It is also a growing way-outer suburban centre, with a massive increase in development since the days I used to pass through here on the way to Kiama. Like Topsy it has grown, and the road to Jamberoo is dotted hither and yon with new housing cheek-by-jowl to old rural plots. I guess urban sprawl had to encroach upon the Illawarra, but it is still surprising to see it so at Albion Park.

Taking a right hander as you head south, by going over the railway line you end up in Shellharbour. Now Shellharbour has all the delights you can expect from a major new growth centre built around young families and retirees. The library there is a pleasant one (he says from occupational experience) and there is a sizeable amount of shopping facilities. However whilst I was able to secure a St George Illawarra NRL jersey for the league season just gone, sad to say Shellharbour has NO fridge magnets. Well, none that I could scare up. If anyone knows where and how to secure such an item please let your correspondent know by comment or message.

Like so much of the south coast below the Gong there are rolling hills, sweeping vistas of the sea and a strange mixture of old diary paddocks and huge residential developments. Shellharbour has been blighted recently by some serious road works around its interchange with the Princes Highway. However this has been mostly resolved, and as it's about 2 hours south of Sydney I am sure many a day tripper could find an excuse to get down there.

So, next time you're driving down to Nowra, or maybe further south, slow down as you hit Albion Park and Shellharbour. Like Hadrian's Wall this is where an empire (i.e. Wollongong) stages its last frontier. Beyond these two locations is the real South Coast.

Around NSW With Andrew: Cessnock

2009-05-28T23:36:00.006+10:00

Hunter Valley Humdrummery

I've had a long and varied history of ambivalent feelings to the town of Cessnock since I was 7 years old, and I don't expect that attitude to change in the short or long run. It's not that Cessnock and Cessnockians in general have done anything to earn my ennui (or even distaste), and I'm sure they would be unhappy with me for offering any criticisms (justified or not) of their town. Yet since the day when the Cessnock Goannas defeated the Maitland Pumpkin Pickers in the 1972 Hunter Valley rigby league grand final me Cessnock and I really just don't get along that well.

View Around NSW With Andrew in a larger map

Now Cessnock is not a pretty town, and I guess it's unfair to blame the local architecture for the lingering antipathy I harbour against the place. Yet when it is compared with near Hunter neighbours such as Singleton, Scone or even 'big brother' Maitland the influence of the coal mining history of Cessnock has given (to my mind) the town a rather sombre, depressed and unwelcoming feel. Small homes with narrow, badly maintained streets give you plenty of encouragement to keep driving if your passing through. The main street (Vincent Street) looks sadly dated and down at heel, and the shopping complexes facing Wollombi Road also have an air of quiet desperation about them.

But these comments need to be tempered with the reflection that Cessnock has had it far tougher over the years than the likes of Singleton (which had farming and the army to help out economically). The Hunter Valley wineries which dot the surrounding areas of Cessnock no doubt provide a second income stream to the town, but Cessnock was shaped for many a year by the demands of men mining coal first. This can be seen up the Branxton Road with the memorial to the Rothbury mine riot of 1929.

This actually provides a half-decent segue for my next issue with Cessnock; the road between there and New England Highway. For years I have diverted off the more developed route that takes you past Maitland and over the Hunter River near Hexham, instead travelling through townships such as Freeman's Waterhole, Mulbring, Kearsley and Abedare to the south of Cessnock, and Nulkaba and Rothbury to the north heading towards Branxton. For I don't know how many times I've travelled this stretch and it would be fair to say it has been a badly maintained, horridly uninteresting and rather unattractive diversion. I do have one exception in that the Kearsley pub looks like a stand out of rural drinking holes, but when you're on the road heading north or south through Cessnock be prepared for a fairly unrewarding experience. And by the way, the same cavalier approach to road maintenance exists on the Cessnock-Bellbird-Wollombi road to the west.

If this all sounds like a rant against one town I have to temper it with a high commendation to one tourist feature of Cessnock. The Potters Hotel and Brewery has a reasonable gastropub feel to its bistro and a delightful Kolsch style beer made on site which raised a few smiles for me on a couple of instances. It's a pleasant dining and drinking experience and I would happily stop there again.

As for the Hunter Valley wineries which dot the landscape around Cessnock I can't comment on them either as a whole or individually because I've never taken the opportunity of spending more than a passing sip or two in their vineyards, bodegas and tasting sheds. The local tourism info centre (north of Nulkaba) has a plethora of material about the Cessnock area and its wines and it's actually a decent resource for the traveller. However it's not an ends to the journey itself.

Finally a word about the fridge magnet art available at Cessnock. As you might assume wine takes a central role in this, the most kitschy of traveller's accoutrement:
I'd rather have picked up one of those stylish drawing/impressionistic caricatures of Cessnock's cityscape but sad to say I don't think such a vision exists. It does the job however, which perhaps can be a fitting coda for cessnock in itself. Travelling through the Hunter Valley? Cessnock: it does the job.

Around NSW With Andrew: Central Colo

2009-05-26T23:10:00.004+10:00

Jewel Of The Southern Putty

When one travels the back roads and by-ways of NSW, there are untold numbers of small villages that dot the landscape offering rest and succour as you travel to the next big town. You usually have to slow down to 80 kmph, there's perhaps a derelict servo or a cafe/pub/general store with dilapidated fixtures, a public phone booth and a few hold out properties. Sometimes, as in Freeman's Waterhole with it's Oak Dairy cafe and service station life still pulses at a goodly beat. Sad to say the last time I drove through Central Colo it was fenced off and as vibrant as a Taliban keg-party.

View Around NSW With Andrew in a larger map

Now as the above map shows Central Colo lies east of Upper Colo, south of Colo Heights and north of Colo. You could say that Central Colo is part of a veritable plethora of Colos. Lying beside the Putty Road and near the upper reaches of the Hawkesbury River Central Colo for years was a place I'd drive past as I wended my way between Singleton and Richmond. Sited in a valley at the bottom of a reasonably tortuous and winding stretch of the Putty it was not a place to stop at during my passages. Too close to home for first stop on the way north or last stop on the way south, it and its near neighbour Colo Heights presaged civilisation on the Putty.

The Putty Road has almost legendary status for me, partly because of the amount of times I've driven it, partly because of what has happened on it, but mostly because it is one of the most isolated stretches of arterial road in regional NSW. With switch backs, hill climbs, long flat rough as buggery stretches, national parks, state forests and jungle-covered creeks the Putty challenges all and sundry who drive it. It can be dangerous even when taken in the best of circumstances, and if you have mechanical problems then be prepared for a long wait. Hence the importance of Colo Central which may well have sadly passed. It was at the southern end like the coastal village in "Heart of Darkness". Once you went past Central Colo you were in the unknown (until you hit Bulga).

From memory Central Colo also had a fairly vibrant holiday/caravan park. Yet when I motored past that same location about 8 months ago wire fencing and no entry signs had separated the recreational facilities from public access and I felt like I was seeing a tourist ghost town. It may well have been revived since then; I hope so. Perhaps Colo Heights is now the epicentre of everything 'Colo-esque' on the Putty. Be that as it may, as long as there is a driver willing to take the road less travelled from the Hawkesbury to the Hunter the sights, smells and sounds of Central Colo will metaphysically cry out "This is the Putty: Abandon ye hope all who enter here".

Around NSW With Andrew: Casino

2009-02-01T11:44:00.008+11:00

The Town That Brought Beef & Clowns Together

A few of the major regional cities of NSW have a near-by neighbouring town which in itself is a sizeable town yet in some ways lives under the shadow of the bigger centre. For example Woolgoola, Nambucca Heads and Sawtell are all close enough to Coffs Harbour to see it as the nearest big smoke so to speak, yet in themselves they have most of the facilities, local interest points, history, architectural style and sufficient population to differentiate themselves from Coffs itself. In some ways these towns can be more pleasant, more interesting and more satisfying to the occasional visitor because they haven't fallen into the same traps of the larger country. And in that context I would argue that Casino stands out as a unique town, utterly different to its 30 odd kilometre nearby town of Lismore in ways that make it a far more enjoyable place to see.

View Larger Map

Entering Casino from the south or from the west is in itself an intriguing part of the trip. The Bruxner Highway which brings you down from Tentefield and the New England area is a windy, deeply forested and near its end very hilly road which is very tiring for the unsuspecting driver. Driving through villages like Tabulam and Drake you do sense you're in a part of NSW few folk but the local inhabitants venture through. Coming up from Grafton on the Summerland Way is different yet again. There are few landmarks and far less kilometres to travel, and you can keep a reasoanbly rapid rate of knots along the bush and farming surrounded road. I've done the Summerland in daytime and at night, at the beginning of a journey and near the end and I've not had a bad time of it. The Bruxner on the other hand is incredibly wearying so care and some strong coffee are highly recommended.

Now as to Casino itself it is of a size large enough to merit the usual fast food franchises and services. The main commercial area on Walker Street is dotted with substantial rural buildings built I would guess in the first half of the 20th Century thanks to agricultural and governmental income. Like many towns that have at some point been on stock routes there are wide thoroughfares in Casino's centre and 45% rear angle parking (though thankfully the guttering is not so high as to bugger a rear bumper bar). The Richmond River flows with marginal vigour through Casino so you don't feel as if you are in a parched part of the bush. All up it looks and feels moderately prosperous and populous without the inane vulgarities or b-s you may find in a Lismore or Byron Bay, nor does it have the Deliverance-esque qualities of much smaller Northern Rivers towns such as the aforementioned Drake or Tabulam.

If you are thinking I have a fairly good opinion of Casino well you've read right. However it's not just down to urban design and food facilities. It also has to do with one specific moment in time which will forever imprint this town's presence on my mind. In May 2004 I was on a round trip between home and Lismore for work, during which I had on my return occasion to stop in Casino for some important tasks (i.e. send some mail and pick up a fridge magnet). Now as the Casino devotees and members of the bovine agricultural sector would know May is when Casino holds its mighty Beef Week, extolling all the related glories of stacking up steak, swallowing swathes of sirloin and helping your hunger with a Hereford. Imagine my delight as I drove into town seeing all the bunting and signage indicating I was in time for Beef Week (well, about an hour's worth of it anyway).

Things only got better, for as I sorted out some postal duties I was greeted by a sight that still beggars belief. two of Casino most pulchritudinous middle aged lady-folk were dressed as clowns and riding around in the back of a Mini Moke, calling via a loud megaphone for everyone to 'roll up, roll up and get geared up for Beef Week". It's just that kind of regional pride, surreal dress sense and communcal friendship which I love to see in a local town when travelling through NSW's regions. Hats off Casino town-fathers and town-mothers! Viva Beef Week! Viva Clowns in Mini Mokes!

To top off my sojourn in Casino I grabbed myself a fairly solid performer in the fridge magnet stakes:
As fridge magnets go this is reasonably conservative having a semi-aerial shot of casino's low level housing placed in the context of its Richmond River location. However what separates this magnet from the mundane is the Beef Week logo. Some magnets may jazz up their graphical design with a 21st Century flashiness. No, this ain't the way of Casino. In solid browns a simple yet eloquent visual message is sent to the fridge magnet's viewer; Casino is the Beef Capital...no arguments will be brooked.

In summary I like Casino for several reasons. It may not be a town I have spent that long in, and like all of my entries this isn't a serious exposition but a highly subjective view on the town. yet if I was asked by anyone where to go if you were in the Northern Rivers I'd readily point out Casino as a destination well worth a poke around.

Around NSW With Andrew: Captain's Flat - Tallaganda

2009-01-31T15:19:00.004+11:00

The Great Army Exercise of 85

The majority of the locations I write about on this blog are positioned either on the way to somewhere else, on the way back from somewhere else, a destination in themselves or a stopping point on one of the major arterial highways of regional NSW. Then there are the places you only go to because you have to. They are remote, distant not just in kilometres but also in time and attitude to the rest of the state, and ultimately the visit there is short and not repeated. Tingha is one such location as is Tabulam. One of the screaming examples over the last 40 years or sop of my travelling in NSW has been Captain's Flat.

View Larger Map

Now I have to admit my time in Captain's Flat has been exceedingly limited and was 24 years ago. hence my observations are out of date, ill-informed and highly personal. Then again as that is the modus vivendi for virtually everything written by me and other bloggers I think I can escape with a mild rebuke from the friends of Captain's Flat. Positioned as it is, about 45 minuntes south east of Canberra there are not many other townships in NSW that are so close to a huge city and yet utterly isolated. I recall with great clarity being driven in the back of an Army truck past the tennis courts of Captain Flat, watching children with clay-dust feet stare at us as if we some gods from a New Guinian cargo cult. I honestly felt like we were entering Australia's own Deliverance country.

The actual area that I spent most of my time in during those three weeks of January 1985 wasn't actually Captian's Flat but the Tallaganda State Fores t. Serving with one of the Army Reserve's finest university regiments I learned the ins and outs of stand to, stand down, M79 grenade launchers, helo insertion and Taj Mahootchie construction. If that sounds unintelligable now then you can imagine my confusion all those years ago. To be brutally honest the scrub near Captain's Flat was the same as the scrub at Singleton and as the scrub at Hillgrove. Geography and topography may have been different but the dirty, dusty, tiring duties of a weekend warrior were as numbingly tedious in the Tallaganda as they would have been anywhere else in NSW.

During those weeks in the Captain's Flat/Tallaganda region I wasn't able to access some of the services or features that nowadays I seek out whilst on the road on NSW's back block roads. There were no fridge magnets on sale either in camp or in town, and as for meals they were served up by greasy civilian cooks in the mess tent or taken as ration packs out on exercise (luncheon meat type 2 anyone?). Hence the paucity of great anecdotal information or advice I can give you about these essentials dear reader.

Captain's Flat's delights were not striking to the casual passer-by as I was then and as I have not been back since I can't comment on the village's current wonders. I do know that the trip to and from Queanbeyan is a relatively easy one if probably bumpy when taken in the back of a military truck. It's probable I'll never go there again, which could be called a shame if I wanted to do justice to writing about the township. And yet like plenty of other places in NSW just having the satisfaction of being able to say "been there, done that" is enough for now.

Around NSW With Andrew: Byron Bay

2009-01-29T13:31:00.009+11:00

Hippie Hell In The Pacific

All things considered I am by nature a reasonably conservative kind of bloke. Not rabid card carrying member of the Red-Haired Idiot Fishmonger Female from Queensland Fan Club, nor a bible-thumping god-botherer who is moved to tears by John Williamson songs about being true blue around a Cootamundra wattle. No; my attitudes are usually laissez faire according to how I think people should live their lives, but I don't enjoy too much new age bullsh or greenie/commo/veggo ratbaggery with hemp dreadlocks and a nut-cutlet takeaway.

Therefore my antipathy to certain more celebrated aspects of Byron Bay are based on this reticence about hippie-dom conquering what must have been a pleasant seaside village. Throw in a self-consciously politically correct yet avaricious local tourism industry and I would be quite happy to retain only memories of the light house and Byron Bay Chilli as my travel mementos from the hippiest resort town of the far north coast.

View Larger Map

Now I will say in Byron's defence that I am sure for the majority of its visitors this is a green and lush paradise that has an eclectic mix of old farmers, middle-aged free spirits and teenaged back packers. Unfortunately I found there a coastal Newtown or seaside Glebe, with what I suspect little of the character of what must have been the old Byron of say 30-40 years ago remaining. Perhaps the idyll of Byron's environs attracted the original hippies et al back in the 70s, and what they represent ideologically I can appreciate. Yet what I saw on my most recent trip to Byron was a crude and rushed mix of tourist traps, flash as a pox doctor's clerk developer-types, a hint of local arrogance and a strong suppression of pre-60s history and culture.

Now as a rep on the road one of my most important requirements is a cheap and easy place to grab a feed, preferably at a local cafe or restaurant with no major vices and hopefully good service and prices. Byron almost failed that test miserably. Thankfully there was the Byron Bay Chilli takeaway near the railway line and that was rather pleasant if greasy. One of the other diners there was quite surprised when I took on the establishment's hottest sauce and we struck up a great chat for 5 minutes whilst the 7/10 chilli heat was applied to my hot dog. However that momentary pleasure was wiped out by the expense and the angst involved in buying a six pack afterwards to drink with my dinner. It cost to park most places, the gaggles of backpacking young 'uns gambolled up and down the streets and the only safety was to be found back in my motel room.

I will again throw over the logic of my blogpost and say that everyone must go to the Cape Byron Lighthouse if you are ever in the area. Aside from the geographic importance of the place there are simply stunning views to be had from the look outs. I took some footage when there last year and whilst this is no Leyland Brother's travelogue hopefully it gives a dim hint of the beauty there:

Finally, a word about the fridge magnet. It is hardly inspiring though drawing on an iconic local feature (and no, not a vegetarian hippie smoking a guava and lemongrass infused wheatgerm roll your own), and cost $5. If I wasn't such a caricature of a collector I wouldn't have bought said item.

Around NSW With Andrew: Bulahdelah

2009-01-18T19:52:00.003+11:00

The Best Hamburgers on the South-Mid-North Coast

Travelling north on the Pacific Highway a logical first stop once you escape the delights of the Hunter Valley (with Heatherbrae your last exit point) is the smallish town of Bulahdelah. Sitting beside the Myall River on one side with Alum Mountain leering over it from the east it is ideally suited for the weary driver. And thank goodness unlike so many townships across NSW it hasn't been cut off from a major arterial route by a very worthy yet life-sucking highway diversion, nor has a major chain fats food dump desided to set down roots here.

View Larger Map

I am a relative late comer to the on-the-road charms of Bulahdelah, partly through choice and partly through fate. For years the stretch of the Pacific Highway beteen Bulahdelah and Karuah was reported as a right hazardous bastard. The very nature of thePacific Highway between these staging points almost conspired against the unwary driver, and this combined with the proximity of the stretch to Sydney (inducing either fatigue or overzealous driving) meant that fatalities weren't uncommon. All reports of vehicular damage and death gave me plenty of reason not to take this route when heading north. Also there was little cause for me to go this way as my northward journeys almost invariably turned inland around Cessnock.So it wasn't until around 2004 that I first ventured to then through Bulahdelah.

As small townships go Bulahdelah meets most of the requirements. There's a pub, a local landmark or two, some places to stop for fuel and most importantly for me a tourism information centre and a local takeaway that does a mean hamburger. Which in turn means I can fill my hunger for fridge magnets and for meat on a toasted bun.

This fine illustration of the art of the fridge magnet goes a long way of killing two waterfowl on the Myall River in one go. Take from the southern side of Stroud Street from the river not only does it fulfil one major criteria (i.e. given Bulahdelah an impressive sounding name which in the grand scheme of things isn't that huge a tourism selling point) it also shows off the local pub and if you look carefully on the right hand side of the streescape a hint of a damn fine takeaway, where I source my burgers when visiting. Arguably not as aesthetically rewarding to the fridge magnet aficionado due to the low angle shot and the fact it's a photo instead of a stylised cartoon/drawing/topless young girl, I still find this beauty purchased for the princely sum of $3.00 from the tourism centre one of my more pleasing items.

Now, as to the burgers from the takeaway on the corner of the Pacific Highway and Stroud Street. Please do yourself a Molly Meldrum-esque favour and stop in and buy one from the cafe on your immediate left as you pass over the bridge over the Myall. Parking is arguably easier in Stroud Street itself unless there is a convoy of bikers, grey nomads or weekend getawayers have a few at the pub down and across. Plus you do see a goodly amount of trucks driving past on the Pacific so it could be a safety issue to avoid the gravel and grass area on the corner. Admittedly the hamburgers here aren't cheap (you won't get much change from $15 after getting a works and a coke). But importantly this is a local business keeping up dare I say a dying tradition in regional NSW. The cafe or takeaway that is on a major arterial road, without the imminenet threat of a TJ McFunsters or Incinerated Confederate Poultry shop to corrupt the cholesterol levels of the local yokels or the road rep or tired tourist.

Ultimately Bulahdelah serves it's most important function, that of the rest stop for the Pacific Highway driver, with admirable aplomb. I'm not particularly inspired to spend longer than an hour in town which of course smacks of Mid North Coast Phillistinism. On the other hand when there are such delights as Coopernook, Nabiac and Middle Brother all calling you onwards with their siren serenade well perhaps Bulahdelah must give way and let me be on my way.

Around NSW With Andrew: Broken Hill

2009-01-17T09:55:00.005+11:00

The Mother Lode Town

Over the last 40 odd years I've been on this mortal coil, not ceasing to be, there have been a couple of places that I could call home. Obviously when I have lived in that one place for a considerable time then that kind of description goes without saying (i.e. Penrith, Armidale, Maitland). Then there are the places where I have such an emotional and/or familial link that they are tantamount to being a hometown (Deniliquin perhaps, Narrabri maybe as well). Yet of all the NSW towns that yanks on the soul and the sense of place I find Broken Hill to be that one location that no matter how far away I am from it in time or place it still draws me back at some basic level.

I don't need to go into all the pseudo-psycho bulldust behind this attachment to Broken Hill, because (a) the Hill ain't that the kind of town to go for such preposterous posturing and (b) I love Broken Hill because it is where half my family come from. As a kid growing up on the road trips to see my mother's parents in Blende Street Broken Hill were always a long but immensely satisfying journeys. And because Broken hill's isolation meant these trips were so long I came to enjoy the country roads of NSW and in turn appreciate the special nature of the town itself.

Of course Broken Hill is probably the most isolated town in NSW to be larger than a pub and a petrol station. For those of you unfamiliar with the geography, take a geek below:

View Larger Map

Less than an hour from the South Australian border and a good 1100 kilometres from Sydney, Broken Hill was built on three metals, lead, zinc and silver, and for a good part of the late 19th century followed by most of the 20th it was the most prominent mining town in NSW. Prosperous because of the four major mines (North, South, Central and the Zinc Corporation) at one point Broken Hill was the third largest town in the state. Probably the only city ever ruled by a trade union (the Barrier Industrial Council) in NSW history, Broken Hill figured in some pretty amazing events. It was in the local area that BHP was initially established, whilst during World War One the first incident of Islamic terrorism ever occured on Australian soil. In World War Two Australia's gold reserves were moved to the Broken Hill jail for safekeeping whilst about 25 years later the Hill was the setting for one fo the first films of the Australian cinema renaissance, "Wake in Frigh t".

However all these nuggets of information can be drawn out from other far more erudite sources than me. The importance of Broken Hill for me is way more personal and in the grand scheme of things way less earth-shattering. It's all about things, places and events like feeding the rabbits in my Poppa's backyard shed with the scraps from my Nanna's homecooked dinners. It's about dust storms outside while I was in the town cinema watching a movie with my Nanna. It's about getting up at the age of 6 at my auntie's wedding reception to sing "Waltzing Matilda". It's about going to the North Broken Hill Mine Park with my Poppa and sharing his crib (miner's slang for lunch). It's about my mum and dad spending their honeymoon night in Mario's Palace, the rather eccentric hotel featured prominently in "The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert". It's about sitting underneath the grenade thrower statue on Argent Street reading a purloined golden book at the age of 5.

Between 1979 and 2004 I missed out on heading out to Broken Hill as family disagreements, university study, work and the move of my grandparents from the Hill to Sydney meant I had no real reason to get there. In some ways that was a good thing as during that time the old Broken Hill which was built up around the mines and the mineral wealth faded. With less money in town and a steady stream of young people leaving to larger places such as Adelaide and Sydney the halcyon days that I recall arguably dimmed during the last 25 years. Admittedly Broken Hill's leading lights tried to address this issue with improving tourism resources plus playing up on the art and cinema links to the town. But when I called back in 2004 for a few days with my fiancée the old Broken Hill I knew was barely there.

However don't interpret this opinion as a negative. In fact for the most part Broken Hill has as much charm if not more than when it was the place I'd go for family holidays, plus it's only natural for a child's view to be supplanted and replaced by an adult's vision. I am sad to see Argent Street is a bit of a commercial sinkhole thanks to the convenient but out-of-local-synch Centro Westside. On the other hand the development of the tourist centre, miner's memorial and Broken Earth restaurant on the huge mullock hill behind the railway station is truly fantastic. It's hard not to be really moved by reading the details of all the men killed mining Broken Hill's rich ore, and yet the sense of well being after a good feed in the Broken Earth, surveying Broken hill at dusk is just as emotionally charged. And whilst my father may have had a few beers in the bar of the old Caledonian pub, when I went there in 2004 I stayed in its recently converted B&B facilities which were extremely comfortable (plus the owner treated me almost like a local).

Of all the towns in NSW I've been to Broken Hill is easily in my top five. I love it because of the feelings it evokes, the memories I hold of good times and the unique character and history of the place. If anyone was to ask me where in NSW they should go for a quintessential bush experience which would give some kind of insight into what kind of country there is and how the people leave outside the coastal fringe then this is where I'd send them.

Finally, a word about Broken Hill and fridge magnets. Perhaps the local tourism authority thought too little good would come from great images of Argent Street or the various remnants of better days at the mines. Or even the tinnies that line the mineral inspired streets (Chloride, Sulphide, Berylt to name but a few). Nope, they went for the setting bush sun and a shot of the Silverton pub. Sorry, but Silverton is as separate to Broken Hill as the Central Coast is to Sydney. except dryer. And smaller.

Around NSW With Andrew: Black Mountain

2009-01-15T13:00:00.003+11:00

Night on Black Mountain

There are a few towns, landmarks and locales that I've come across over the years on my travels that share the same name yet are separated by considerable distances. For example I entered this world at Kingswood Private Hospital in Adelaide, then about 13 years and 1400 kilometres distant I went to Kingswood High School. I've crossed Reedy Creeks in the Hunter Valley, the Mannum district of South Australia and near Yass in southern NSW. It's a long bow to draw but I've also been to Epping and Armidale in NSW whilst driving past the turn-off to Melbourne's Epping and drinking Talisker single malt from the Isle of Skye where the ancestral town of Armadale lies.

And then there's Black Mountain which comes in two varieties; the ACT edition which overlooks Canberra and has a bloody big Telstra Tower crowning it, and the NSW version in the northern New England ranges which is surmounted by the more architecturally and gastronomically pleasing Black Mountain Roadhouse. There's also an abandoned train station which I vaguely recall was at one point the highest in Australia (or was that Llangothlin?).
The roadhouse was a focal point for many a post 12 am student takeaway run during my time as an undergrad at UNE, though I only took the road up north for such a purpose once. Considering that the choice was either Black Mountain or the Thunderbolt Roadhouse at Uralla it usually came down to whether you were willing to go that little bit further uphill to Black Mountain, or take the shorter less hilly route for the latter. Then along came the Golden Tits, Pizza Hut and longer opening hours for the Midnight down the road from Grant McCarroll Ford and so the wee small hour burger run to Black Mountain fell into abeyance. I last drove past there without a stop September last year and whilst it has been tarted up a bit the Black Mountain Roadhouse looks like it's stayed faithful to the appetites of the New England Highway driver.
Where Black Mountain really sits in my memory is as the vague position for a rather tortuous overnight spent on military exercise way back in 1984, when I was an untrained absolutely sodden-behind-the-ears recruit in NEU Company. Our weekend warrior unit was driven up to Black Mountain in the back of the company Universal truck and we disembarked that cold July Friday night somewhere in the donga on arguably the most frigid topographical place on the New England.

View Larger Map

During the evening after deployment I tried to keep my eyes and ears open and learn as much as I could from the veterans and to be honest the information was like a cockroach ice skating on olive oil...nothing was gripped and it was faintly disturbing. I was introduced to the wonders of the hootchie, the hotbox meal and the night picquet duty. That was a bit of a CF (starts with cluster, ends with rhymes with duck), as I couldn't see anything, couldn't wake my relief and so in nocturnal terror of being charged with dereliction of my post or going AWOL in the face of rock wallabies I stayed awake till the truly excrebable dinner was brought in.

Funnily enough I survived that first and shambolic introduction into army reserve's life and climbed over later years to the dizzying rank of private. Black Mountain was a f%&king cold entree into the world of soldiering on a part-time basis for your correspondent and I am dead certain that the low temperatures still to this day keep dangly bits drawn up very tightly anatomically speaking if you spend much time outside in winter.

Around NSW With Andrew: Billinudgel

2009-01-14T11:52:00.004+11:00

Pie Town Of The Far North

There are very few places on the NSW map where I would state categorically they are worth stopping at for the food. In the late 80s and early 90s Murrurundi used to have some of the best pies ever baked in the north of the state and I usually knocked over a couple from either Pat's Cafe or the servo across the road on the Liverpool Range's side of town. Kiama used to have a fisho's right on the beach way back in the 70s that was a damn good feed, whilst the burgers at the Niagara Cafe in Gundagai combine solid sustenance and cafe history as opposed to the local golden tits of America warehouse.

In recent times though the search for the good feed on the road has come down to two star performers. Both on the northern side of the state, the closer to Sydney is Fredericktown's legendary 'Fredo Pies' which sits about 5 kilometres north of Kempsey. The second location for a beaut pastry covered mystery meat meal is the Humble Pie shop at Billinudgel.

View Larger MapNow I'm a very late convert to the delights of the Humble Pie at Billinudgel. I was given the good oil on this temple to gravy and pastry by a relative and like me a devotee of road trips and takeaway early 2008. He'd taken many a run up north whilst living in Brisbane and also visiting more kin in Byron Bay, and his recommendation for Billinudgel's pie shop was succinct. "You gotta go there Andrew!". And so it was I agreed to follow his recommendation whilst returning from a work trip that had taken me up as far as Noosa in Queensland, February 2008.

I won't use this blog as a site to spruik the Humble Pie's wares beyond saying they are a great feed and either a delight for the tourist or the sustenance of the gods for a road rep. I am not a big fan of their access route, insofar as you have to do some rather tricky navigation if you are trying to leave the Pacific Highway to grab a feed. And another little tip; try and get there just before closing time and you might just get your pies at half price.

There is bugger all else to distinguish Billinudgel as a destination for the itinerant tourist or the weary road warrior. There's a pub on the right hand side once you cross over the disused rail tracks and the general store/newsagents has a 'Deliverance' feel to it. One thing that was a bitter disappointment when I last called into town. No sign of a fridge magnet. Methinks the propertied patricians of the Brunswick Valley need to contact some fine producer of these object d'art and start tapping the rich vein of pie eating fridge magnet collectors on the Pacific Highway.

In summary Billinudgel is a National Trust Pie Town in my reckoning, and if you want a bit of pepper beef or chicken and vegetable you could do a lot worse dropping in and tossing on the feedbag here.

Around NSW With Andrew: Branxton

2008-11-08T15:33:00.005+11:00

There are certain highways and by-ways that run through my life like an artery from my heart. The Great Western Highway with its focal points of Parramatta, Penrith, Katoomba and Bathurst is one such regional road. I've been up and down that stretch so many times I could almost drive it blindfolded (especially if I had a death wish and wanted to pile my vehicle into almost every stationary or moving object along its course). Another is the F3 between Sydney and Raymond Terrace, or heading in the opposite direction the Hume Highway between Campbelltown and Goulburn.

Yet if I was to pick one route that I feel the greatest affinity for it would be the New England Highway. Heading either north to my most distant NSW destination on this road (Tenterfield), or reaching its southern-most point at Hexham I've been over its bitumen year-in, year-out since at least 1984. I've seen dirt patches masquerading as highway near Scone, I've seen cars on fire at Beresfield, I've had certain naughty acts committed at 2nd Moonbi Hill look out and I've eaten takeaway chicken at the Rix's Creek rest spot. The Newie as I refer to it is my Route 66, personally taking me through space and time.

Now right at the point where I have more often than not joined the New england Highway when heading north is the village of Branxton. It's not what you would call developed...there's a pub, a few shops, a park and a set of traffic lights. But for some reason the town as a whole and one specific takeaway in particular sit in my consciousness lightly and pleasantly.

View Larger Map

Branxton has usually been my jumping-on or jumping-off point when travelling the New England Highway because it is where the Cessnock Road ends/begins. In earlier days I would almost always use the Putty and join on the Newie at Singleton when heading north. However with the advent of arguably smoother and faster travelling on the M7/Pennant Hills Rd/F3 (and the relative safety of this route) the Putty has become less and less the avenue de jeur and the Cessnock Road has been my shortcut. Therefore I've been hanging a left when heading north, or turning right through the lights when heading south at Branxton for about 18 years now.

Arguably the best kept secret about Branxton is the little Chinese takeaway on the left hand side as you approach the New England Highway intersection. I believe it is currently called Yee's, but to be honest the proprietor's name and ownership is immaterial. It's the memory of gutzing down a few of their delicious Dim Sims in the park opposite the Newie intersection that always will keep this place close to my heart...or perhaps stomach considering the context.

Another Branxtonian feature is the signage as you come into town from Singleton. Over the years there has been constant reminders of the potential for road death, and paraphrasing my memory the notices about the spaces in the local cemetary certainly sober you up. usually driver fatigue heading north or south hits near Branxton (maybe back to Singleton or at Cessnock) so the juxtaposing of the safety message is impeccable.

Branxton hasn't been where I've set up camp like I have in other regional NSW towns like Dubbo, Narooma, Inverell or Jindabyne. Yet those minute-by-minute moments spent passing through town or gnawing on takeaway Chinese have always brought me pleasure. I know this is a geographic necessity, but the New England Highway is a natural corollary of Branxton, and Branxton is a natural corollary of the New England Highway.

Around NSW With Andrew: Bermagui/Wallaga Lake Update

2008-11-01T12:27:00.008+11:00

Earlier this year I went back to Bermagui and Wallaga Lake, courtesy of a work trip that saw me in Bega as well and as promised I made sure to revisit some old haunts. Thanks to the magic of modern technology and/or steam powered mobile phone cameras I am pleased to attach a couple of YouTube clips of this historic return:

I was quite taken by Bermagui although when I spent a few minutes in the visitors centre the rather helpful volunteer gave me to believe that times were tough in town. I didn't get the chance to sample the delights of the fisho's co-op down at the marina which I do regret, but I did score a beauty in the fridge magnet stakes:

Illuminating the important link between seafood and Bermagui this fridge magnet does play it safe. I was a little disappointed with it, but in light of the alternatives (offered in a rather opulent-yet-dowdy bric-a-brac store on Lamont Street) which included the ubiquitous girl with bare bum or boobs on a beach motif then the above image was the most tasteful. Plus the cost ($4.50) was a little pricey...so Bermagui's town fathers might need to take a long hard look at themselves and get both the cost down and the artistic licence up. Having said that, I still would like to come back for an extended period.

Around NSW With Andrew: Bowral

2008-10-26T16:32:00.009+11:00

Certain towns in NSW have a place in our cultural and national consciousness that few people outside of Australia can understand. For example, Tamworth is the focus of anything related to Aussie hillbilly sounds and bumpkin tunes thanks to the yearly country music festival. Coffs Harbour is the Big Banana and is both the alpha and omega of the "Big..." phenomenon. Wollongong and Newcastle are both steel cities that have risen, reached their peaks and then slowly dwindled in harmony with the changing industrial development of Australia. Then there is Bowral...no huge factories or artificial festivals here...this is the home of the Don. Our Don. Don Bradman...arguably Australia's true patron saint.

View Larger Map

I am quite partial to Bowral, but before I go into all the whys and wherefores, some general comments on the place. First off, even though it has a smattering of yuppification thanks to the strong B&B tourism industry there is just enough of the underlying local yokel to make you feel that you aren't in South West Newtown or Mosman-By-The-Wingecarribee. Thanks to the upmarket influences of the getawayers from Sydney's wealthier suburbs the restaurant scene is quite strong (my fave is That Noodle Place is Bong Bong Street). There is also a decent selection of bookshops, with the local Angus & Robertson very nicely fitted out and the Brown Bookshop just round the corner from the main drag is also a welcome spot for the bibliophile. There's a half-decent kebab shop down the Moss Vale end of Bong Bong Street and I was reasonably happy with the beer at the Royal Hotel.

In fact if I was to draw any comparisions between Bowral and other towns in my travels I can only refer to one other similar locale; my beloved Armidale. If Bowral was about twice as large and had a university campus then you could say they were identical twins. The icy cold winters certainly encourage thoughts of my old northern tablelands haunt, and the combination of sizeable homes, hilly topography, food for the mind and tummy and an open fire culture means Bowral and me get along quite nicely.

However the major 'selling point' of the town since I dunno when is The Bradman Museum and oval. This may not be Lords, and it may not compete as a repository of cricket history in Australia contrasted with the MCG, but for its size and atmosphere it could be argued this is the true spiritual home of Australian cricket. The museum has enough of the Don's gear to make you feel like you've seen the great one's career unfurled in front of you, plus there is plenty of activities and hand on displays to keep the littlies and uninitiated happy. The ground outside reminds me of the traditional Pommy rural cricket ground, and whilst there is a significant commercial imperative within the attached souvenier shop it doesn't feel like some tacky add-on. And how can anyone complain when they produce fridge magnets such as this example:

This fridge magnet holds a very special place at home, as it isn't just some stylised photo or drawing of the townscape of Bowral. Nope...this is almost art. One day I may stoop to getting the regular type of fridge magnet from Bowral but until the good burghers of this southern tablelands haven come up with something to match this example of fridge magnetry well I'll hold on to my $3-$5 (the usual price for such a specimen of tourist kitsch).

Now as for my own links with Bowral, aside from a couple of visits to the Bradman museum and in the old days a travelling through town on the way south (when the Hume Highway didn't bypass the Mittagong - Bowral - Moss Vale triumvirate), this has been the place where my time has been spent in aquatic golf and a rather nice B&B weekend away. I shan't reflect too much on the latter, as that is a matter between myself and my better half. Let me just say that the Burradoo homestead we occupied was tres bonzer.

Golf on the other hand at Bowral is not an easy matter. Thanks to a couple of serious inundations when I called on the same club that Jimmy Barnes used to wield the mashie niblicks at, I've not been able to say I've enjoyed chasing round the Hot Dot at Bowral Golf Club. It may be picturesque in sunny conditions, as the photo below illustrates, but when the heavens open the best bet is to go back to the Royal Hotel and sink schooners instead of putts.

This might look nice, but a couple of inches of rain and you'll need scuba gear and not your clubs

The course is challenging for the hacker such as me, and to make things worse when the rain comes (which may be a regular event, check the Bureau of Meterology for more accurate stats) and parking is at a premium you'll need to trudge through the mud and floods to throw the sticks back in the boot so you can piss off back to something warm. Oh...and if the sun does deign to draw itself out from the clouds after a bit of precipitation you'll feel the humidity seep into every pore. I'm sure the course is great fun for the proficient in the dry, but my soggy sorry sojourns on this course make me want to give away golf for good. Period.

Yet no matter how torrid and ordinary the golf experience has been for me, you can't help but like Bowral. I have no probs with the idea of returning there, and for that matter in the future when retirement beckons then perhaps this could be a reasonable place to dig in and wield the senile willow till the great bowler upstairs calls stumps (how's that for a cricket metaphor). Bowral is one of the few regional towns in NSW that allows you to combine all the best features of the rural and the metropolitan, and its character hasn't been spoilt by either hard economic times, the weekend antique-hunter or the monobrowed yokel. Nice one Bowral...I like it!

Around NSW With Andrew: Bateman's Bay & Surrounds

2008-10-20T15:51:00.005+11:00

Generally speaking I am a bigger fan of the south coast of NSW contrasted with the north coast. No doubt due to climate and demographic patterns the white shoe brigade have been pumping most of the coastal developmental bucks into towns like Coffs Harbour, Byron Bay, Nelson's Bay and Port Macquarie, chasing the almighty tourist buck. Also, as the north coast's Pacific Highway serves as a far greater transport thoroughfare when contrasted to the windy old Princes Highway, then it's no surprise that the south coast of NSW hasn't the same hurley-burley mad-rush to populate tourist traps along the meandering coastline. Thankfully the excesses of Bateman's Bay and surrounding districts which may be a little unsettling for the weekender from Canberra or the rep heading south from Sydney are in no way as egregious as one sees as you journey up towards the banana curtain of the Queensland border.

View Larger Map

My time in Bateman's Bay and its surrounds has been limited to the casual drive through or, in a previous long forgotten decade (i.e. the 80s), an excursion down the King's Highway from Canberra to Guerilla Bay. I've stopped to peruse the delights of the local Maccas (as one does when you're doing the rep routine), and this lived up to the dazzling heights of mediocrity that I expected. I guess the most interesting aspect to the town of Bateman's Bay for me is how developed it is within the context of being a South Coast haven for usually Canberrans on a weekend, yet how little there is to see or do from a tourist point of view. There's a decent sized bridge over the Clyde River and a Centro shopping centre, but all up Bateman's has a certain anonymity to it. This leaves me in two minds; can you have a strong opinion either for or against Bateman's Bay? Or is this in fact a good thing; being the biggest town between Nowra and the Victorian/NSW border and being so nondescript actually is a positive.

At this point I would normally chime in with some faux-literate commentary on the fine art of the fridge magnet. However due to circumstances beyond my control (i.e. I haven't been motivated enough to stop and buy one) there's no example to cite for now. But dear reader this will change...I swear!

In the grand scheme of travelling around NSW Bateman's Bay is not what I would call a must-do town. It's greatest weakness is also its greatest strength, and conversely avoiding the north coast syndrome of overdevelopment will not change it for either the better or worse. I will definitely derive more insight if and when I stay around Bateman's Bay for longer periods over a more frequent schedule. Until then well I guess this is a reserved judgement on an ambivalent guesstimate.

Oh, one thing; Mogo has all the potential to being a Berry or a Leura with the added advantage of a pissant zoo. My suggestion, keep driving between Bateman's and Bega and don't stop.

June 2009 Update
Last month I stopped overnight in Bateman's because of accommodation issues down the road. I found it to be an average experience insofar as it was just another slightly larger seaside town that in out of season was quiet and dull. However the afternoon sun as it sat behind the bridge on the Clyde Rivermade the scene sparkle. Plus I was able to secure one of the better examples of the fridge magnet oeuvre, sub-section for photographic images:

Around NSW With Andrew: Alstonville & Wollongbar

2008-10-18T11:30:00.007+11:00

A Pause on the Path to the Pacific

I can honestly say that as part of my many and varied travels around NSW certain parts of this state have seen my footprints rather infrequently or only recently. My first trip to Lismore was only about 4 years ago, whilst Ballina hadn't been seen through my car's windscreen up close and personal until early 2008. Be that as it may, within that context I have a fairly robust knowledge of these two major cities of the Northern Rivers district, and know which turn offs to take if I want to get from (say) Goonellabah to Southern Cross University, or take the coastal road from the Big Prawn to Byron Bay. Therefore it's no wonder that as I have traversed the Bruxner between the aforementioned conurbations I have passed through Alstonville and Wollongbar; two townships I would claim to be the more attractive because they don't suffer from the provincial "think we're a big city but actually you're just damned small-minded" aspects of Lismore or the semi-coastal garishness of Ballina.

So, how do you get to Alstonville and/or Wollongbar? Simple, take a geek at this map:

View Larger Map

These outposts of what I consider to be older Northern Rivers communities with all the attendant values, architecture, shops, etc are an easy 15-20 minutes from Lismore to the west or Ballina to the east, and whilst the Bruxner Highway in this area is not what you may be used to if you drive between Goulburn to Yass on the Hume Highway, it is still traversable in Hi-Ace van or European 2 cylinder beastie. The countryside is lush, with just a hint of the sub-tropical plus (as to be expected) a considerable smattering of banana and mango plantations. Wollongbar seems the more rural whilst Alstonville has a hint of the "God's waiting room" about it. I got the feeling last time I was in Alstonville that those folk who were unwilling to deal with Ballina's property prices, coastal humidity or simply wanted something more than visions of the unbuilt Ballina by-pass or the Big Prawn have taken the hinterland route. Lismore-ites on the other hand have perhaps stopped at Goonellabah being unwilling to migrate from their slough of Northern Rivers despond. More fool them I say!

I will freely admit that I haven't spent more than a few hours in Wollongbar (the more agricultural of the pair) and alstonville, but overall I liked what I saw. The main drag in Alstonville had some life to it, without being overly commercial. It reminds me a little of a smaller, less tropical version of Eumundi (on Queensland's Sunshine Coast) which perhaps may serve as a recommendation. Also to the credit of the town fathers of Alstonville none of the major fast food chains have a presence there; as much as I enjoy a greasy mass-produced hamburger it's refreshing to know that the Golden Arches' evil empire hasn't infiltrated places like Alstonville.

In closing, if you have to head north towards Brisbane and are in the Ballina/Lismore region do yourself a favour and avoid the larger towns. Take a geek at Alstonville and Wollongbar, grab yourself a feed or some accommodation in these places instead of their larger neighbours and consider how cool it is that small town northern NSW centres can overshadow bigger centres with charm, grace and history.

Around NSW With Andrew: Blayney

2008-07-30T20:36:00.005+10:00

Golf On The Side of a Hill

The central west and slopes of NSW are dominated by two big towns. Bathurst, which is closest to Sydney and Orange which is about 40 minutes further west driving along the Mitchell Highway. If on the other hand one doesn't go this specific route, and goes straight at the roundabout before the Bathurst golf course, you'll head south west for about 30 minutes along the Mid Western Highway, ending up in the sleepy town of Blayney.

View Larger Map
To be honest, there's not much to really get excited about in Blayney. Outside of town on the western side there are some seriously windy hills which have provided a good home to some bloody large wind power generators (as displayed on this fine example of the fridge magnet art form):

The last time I drove past these they certainly had a "what the f...!" effect, and in truth you have to respect the local authorities for actually making these green power icons not just part of the area's power grid but also for making you thinking about Blayney for more than 5 minutes...a remarkable achievement that.

There's also some decent bakeries in Blayney, and as you come in from the Bathurst side of town you get to cross over some train tracks that will relieve some of the mundanity of your travels for say...30 seconds. However when all is said and done the real distinguishing feature of Blayney is it gets fecking cold there in winter. From April to September the temperature never on average gets above 15 degrees celsius, and will drop on average as low as -1 degree celsius. I know that doesn't exactly compare with the heart of the Siberian tundra, but for an Aussie country town that's brass monkeys weather!

Now my personal links to the town are fairly limited, having only been there thrice in the last four years. The longest sojourn in town was for a game of golf at the local course, a 9 holer with some fairly steep sides thanks to it being built on a hill. I played half a round there as part of a 40th birthday weekend for a mate of mine, and we certainly got value for money (and as Bathurst was booked out it was a fairly logical location for us to hit off at). Maybe not as cold at the Berridale course, it still wasn't as much fun as sleeping in and then drinking copious amounts of beer whilst eating a Blayney pie.

I wish I could tell you more about Blayney, but unless I spend more time there I can't. It arguably suffers from size issues thanks to its proximity to Bathurst and Orange, and is arguably slower and more quiet that Cowra and Mudgee. It probably has some selling points for the resident and for the longer term tourist, but for me it's all about the cold weather and the big bloody generators.

Around NSW With Andrew: Berry

2008-07-06T15:38:00.004+10:00

It is certainly unfair to say that all towns and regional cities in NSW are the same, and definitely inaccurate. You can't say that (for example) Broken Hill is the same type of place as Bermagui. When you drive into Parkes on the Newell Highway you don't mistake the place for Warialda or even more likely Forbes. However, there are archetypal traits that can be seen across several rural towns in NSW. I call them the 'Antiquers Weekender Locales'. And Berry is up there on the list...

View Larger Map
The typical Antiquers Weekender Locale has the following traits:

More than one antique store
A fairly substantial pub with some longevity in history
Within 3 hours of Sydney
A lolly shop selling overpriced bags of lollies that you could buy at a supermarket far more cheaply
Too many four wheel drives driven into town by people who don't actually live there
A major arterial highway that unfortunately has no bypass near by

On almost all these criteria Berry gets full marks. There are at least 3 antique stores in town, the pub has been in town for over 120 years, the lolly shop has the usual suspects (Dutch licorice, English toffees etc etc), and in this case the Princes Highway goes through the guts of the town. A little more pleasing to the eye than Berrima, and more accessible than Central Tilba, and less hilly than Leura, Berry is one place I've been that I can happily cross of the list without feeling any great pangs of regret from not staying longer.

Actually, the longest visit I had there was because I was on an excursion to Nowra and the RAN Fleet Air Arm museum at HMAS Albatross. Myself and my good lady friend dropped into Berry on the way back and we did the usual things you do in such a place. We had a feed at the pub (a rather pleasant experience and nicer than Berrima's Surveyor General), had a geek at some of the old fixtures on offer, watched the Mosman tractors and their drivers navigate the main drag. Also, as this was in my pre-fridge magnet accumulating days I have no sample of that fine art to offer here. I didn't mind the place, but Berry had too many echoes of other places to get me expanding my trousers at the front (metaphorically of course).

I last travelled through town on the way back from Bega and whilst there had been about five years between visits I didn't see any major changes. There were still the same shops, the pub on the corner, the 4WDs forming a constant element on the Berry streetscape. Perhaps this is a reassuring thing for the locals and for the visitors, but when you see Berry doing what Berrima does, what Bowral does, what Tilba does, what...well, you get the bloody drift...why do it again?

The most interesting place in Berry...the Great Southern Pub

Around NSW With Andrew: Ballina

2008-06-28T12:05:00.006+10:00

I'm sorry to say that when it comes to the towns of the mid and far north coast of NSW my impressions have been either limited or not exactly favourable. As I will discuss in latter blog entries, the towns of Coffs Harbour, Byron Bay, Taree, Kempsey etc etc don't exactly thrill me and fulfill me. And unlike places such as Wagga Wagga, Bathurst or Deniliquin where I have been repeatedly, some of the locations between Newcastle and the Tweed have not exactly been overrun by sightings of your correspondent. And Ballina certainly falls into this category.

View Larger Map
Now for me the Ballina experience can be summed up in two very succinct words. These words are "Big" and "Prawn". As shown in this delightful example of the fridge magnet art oeuvre (below), the Big Prawn at Ballina is a monument to good taste and crustaceans not seen anywhere else between Sydney and the NSW/Queensland border (admittedly there is a Big Oyster at Taree but that is both not really open now plus it's a mollusk).

My first visit to the Big Prawn was in February 2008 as I was returning from a trip to Noosa. I had seen it before on TV, and as I was heading south along the truly decrepit Pacific Highway in this part of the world my eyes were peeled for the oversized cement seafood delicacy. Then, just as I thought I may have missed it, on the south side it loomed like a Brobdingnagian Shrimp. And to my delight there was a decent crowd there.

Thankfully the town fathers of Ballina have decided to install not just a seafood takeway underneath the mandibles of the Big Prawn, they have also installed a well stocked and dare I say exquisitelly stocked souvenier shop which was literally teeming with old age pensioner tourists as I walked through its welcoming doors. Between fridge magnets, key rings, local jams and other foods, knitted goods, postcards and a veritable cornucopeia of trinkets and Ballina-focused goodies the sound of twittering oldies and a ringing cash register kept me from falling asleep from the journey's tedium.

Of course a town isn't defined by its local "big..." thing. As much as Marulan might like to be known for its now sadly defunct big pavlova, or Robertson for the desolated desiree spud made from cement in its district, neither has a claim to fame dependent on their local monolith. Ballina is the same. Well, maybe not 100%. It is a decent sized regional centre which reminds me of a larger version of Ulladulla, and compares reasonably favourably with other far north coast towns (i.e. Byron Bay and Lismore) in that I wouldn't mind visiting again and for longer. The fridge magnet art is alive and well there, which is always a big plus for me. As I have alluded to the Pacific Highway still goes through town which is not entirely a bad thing (I'm not always a fan of the bypass, which removes your willingness to come face to face with a regional or rural town's real face, instead of highway service centres). On the other hand Ballina suffers as a destination because it doesn't lend itself to an overnight stop on the road between Sydney and Brisbane. Maybe with more visits I'll get a better handle on the place. So...watch this space!

Around NSW With Andrew: Bega June 2008 Update

2008-06-15T21:19:00.005+10:00

I did it! I returned to the scene of the crime. I took a drive down the Princes Highway and roughly 17 years after my last trip to Cheesetown NSW, also known as Bega, I made it to the hub of the Sapphire Coast. Or more specifically, I made it to Bega and the Bega Cheese Heritage Centre.

My recent sojourn in this micro-metropolis of the far south coast was both rewarding but also faintly disappointing. In some respects the town hasn't changed since April 1991, in so far as there is a definitive feeling of Yokeldom as one drives down the various streets of the town. Admittedly it was a cold and miserable morning when I arrived, but the prevalence of beanies and lumber jackets was a stark reminder that an Australian version of "Deliverance" could be filmed in nearby Cobargo.

These harsh thoughts were banished almost as soon as I started my return up north and decided to grab some lunch on the way. My quest for fine and beautiful pieces of the fridge magnet art work oeuvre was absolutely sated when I scored this specimen at the Bega Cheese Heritage Centre:

I mean, how splendiferous and urban was the gag-meister who decided to link a cow with the immortal lines "One good churn deserves an undder"! Forget Shakespeare, Chaucer and Austen...the greatest mind in literature obviously writes copy for the Bega Cheese Heritage Centre!

Now before you accuse me of being overly sarcastic I must say that I was actually pleasantly surprised that Bega has the Heritage Cheese Centre, and unlike other small iconic NSW towns hasn't fallen into the McDonald/Hungry Jacks complex syndrome trap. There was plenty of souveniers to be had at the centre, plus the cafe in house did a fairly edible version of cheese nachos (okay, not exactly haute cuisine but it filled my tum for lunch). And when compared with some of the less salubrious tourism spots in NSW (yes, I am thinking of the Big Merino at Goulburn) the folk at Bega have acquitted themselves quite admirably.

The best thing about coming back to Bega was that I had a chance to meander in my own small way down nostalgia's laneways, whilst encountering something new and a little fun. As I will show in my upcoming blog update about the Bermagui/Tilba/Wallaga Lake triangle, it's good for the soul to see a place from the dark deeds of the past illuminated by more recent viewings.

Around NSW With Andrew: Balranald

2008-06-13T14:08:00.003+10:00

This is going to be a rather short entry on my travelogue round NSW because unfortunately my sojourn in Balranald was (to date) very short. One morning in fact. About 60 minutes on that one morning to be blunt. Or an hour if you want to think in metric terms. Anyway, here is where Balranald is:

View Larger Map
About an hour's drive to the west of Hay on the Sturt Highway and like so many of the towns on this route between Adelaide and Sydney sitting on the Murrumbidgee River, Balranald is big enough to merit a caravan park, a tourism information centre and a couple of servos. Thankfully there is no sign of the decay that I saw in Hay, though I'm sure when I was there in late January 2008 the hard times were hurting Balranald in ways not obvious to the casual visitor.

Now my main reason for stopping in Balranald was for my travelling passion of collecting fridge magnets. Disappointed with Hay, I was hoping that Balranald would come to the rescue. As my route on my journey which took me near these two oases meant that I would be taking a small diversion to get into Balranald, I thought "What the hell...hang the expense." My devotion to the artistry that is the fridge magnet is of such a level that even the five kilometres from the Tooleybuc turnoff that took me into Balranald seemed a mere momentary blip on my car's speedo.

Anyways, I arrived in Balranald circa 9.15 am, and after a quick coffee at a road house found the tourism information centre, located on the main drag near the river end of town. Imagine my dismay and disgust dear reader when I saw on the firmly secured door that the venue within which I was sure a treasure trove of fridge magnets lay was closed, not to open till 10.00 am. Shock horror! Are the town fathers and mothers of Balranald unaware that they are missing out on a vital tourism industry by not opening early enough to get the itinerant fridge magnet collector?!

Disappointed, I drove down the main street, searching for a newsagent who may sell something along the lines of what I needed. Here's the video footage of that unlucky search:

Again my luck was out and it's sad to say that not long thereafter I had to point the car south east and head on my way, into Mexican territory and the home of the vanilla slice, Ouyen. As that is in Victoria that is a story for another blog. As for Balranald, I may pass through there again...who knows. If so, they better have their tourism info centre open!

Around NSW With Andrew: Bathurst May 2008 Update

2008-05-22T23:48:00.005+10:00

Thanks to the miracles of modern technology and the dubious artistic taste of the Bathurst Council when it comes to tourism, I'm pleased to bring you an update regarding the home of Mount Panorama as reflected in its fridge magnets.

I've never been a big fan of the drawn or cartoon fridge magnet, mostly because if I want to have my memories of a plesant rural locale invoked it's far easier when there is a photo on the fridge magnet. Photo-realism may not be totally objective, but it is far more understandable contrasted with some artist's drawings. And this example of the latter mode from Bathurst doesn't exactly hit the right notes. In fact we get three so-called iconic structures, the Bathurst court house, railway station and Ben Chifley's home. Where is Mount Panorama? Where is the statue of the gold panner from the Kelso end of town? Where is the virtually condemned new Bathurst hospital? Nowhere, which is a shame. Even Bathurst jail doesn't get a guernsey!

So where does this leave me and my long term relationship with Bathurst? Well, I'm sure I'll be back there again before year's end. Perhaps when it comes to sourcing fridge magnets from the area I'll have to drop by the museum at the bottom of Mount Panorama, or even visit the newsagents at CSU Mitchell and see what they have to offer. You might get a good brekky at the Bathurst tourism centre, but forgo the delights of their fridge magnet range.

Around NSW With Andrew: Albury May 2008 Update

2008-05-21T23:30:00.008+10:00

Boring on the Border: Part 2

Last year I made some disparaging remarks about Albury. Since then I have been back there and whilst I may not have changed my mind too much about the genuine sense of ennui that one feels when you actually have to stay in the city, there are some points of additional information I would like to provide.

First off the implementation of a new bypass confluence north and again closer to the centre of Albury has taken some of the joys one can reap from travelling through the town. Instead of stop-starting past the Centro Thurgoona shopping mall as you come in from the Sydney side, or shunting over the train tracks in Wodonga you can be effortlessly guided on your way thanks to the major works accomplished since I don't know when. Bypasses are a bit like a curates egg when it comes to travelling through NSW towns; they can take the interesting parts away from your trip, yet can also make your journey quicker. For every Albury or Goulburn there is a Buladelah or Uralla; you don't want to stop but you do want to stop.

Another point of (in this case cultural) information I'd like to add is the work of the local tourism centre, with specific reference to the art of the fridge magnet. Here is a prime example of what many would call kitsch, but I call kitsch with a magnetised back:

This fridge magnet has played it safe, with an aerial view showing the basic grid pattern of Albury's town streets, with the view coming down from the west along Dean Street (Albury's answer to the Champs Elysee). Whilst I do like the calligraphy of the town's name cited on the fridge magnet, I'm disappointed by the almost Soviet-era insistence on realism. Why not a stylised photo of the PS Cumberoona on the Murray River? Or a Cubist rendition of Lavington? Be that as it may I would humbly submit to the town fathers of Albury that as fridge magnets go this is a bit of a buzz kill.

Finally, I am still awaiting an insouciant, intelligent and endearing food experience in Albury. Whilst a certain noodle shop in Dean Street gave me some succour during my last visit I am again sending out a warning viz the capabilities of chain takeaways in town. My order for KFC on the first night in town two months ago was like trying to convey the Rosetta Stone to Stevie Wonder whilst he was on work experience from school. If anyone can suggest a decent place to grab a feed that doesn't require big dollars, single syllable commands or entrance into a faded pokie palace for pensioners please let me know.

Around NSW With Andrew: Aberdeen

2008-05-13T21:52:00.006+10:00

Chook Poo And a Bridge Over The Hunter

Mention the place name Aberdeen the mind immediately conjures up Celtic and tartan visions of kilts, caber tossers and bag pipes. The problem is, there are two Aberdeens. The one that has all the aforementioned Scots clichés is in Scotland. The second Aberdeen is a New South Wales town that straddles the Hunter River like a neglected tart on a semi-interested lover. Actually, that's unfair...it's actually not that sordid or ugly. Just a little frayed at the edges.

View Larger Map

As I have possibly alluded to in other entries in this blog, I have travelled north and south (and in the reverse direction) between the two points of Armidale and Sydney with a frequency only matched by Robert Downey going into rehab. And the Hunter Valley village of Aberdeen has always been part and parcel of the peregrinations. There's no great takeaway that has left its calorific imprint on my midriff. There's no 'Big Object' as per the more cosmopolitan offerings at Coffs Harbour or Tamworth. Aberdeen fails to get the tourist juices flowing because of some spectacular vista or iconic geographic feature. In fact, it could be argued the first and most powerful impact on your senses is the strong smell of chicken crap that drifts over the New England Highway as you pass the southern entrance to the town. Yet again I feel as if I am selling the good township of Aberdeen short...after all it does have a big bridge on the north side over the Hunter, and the RSL looks okay from the outside. Unfortunately Aberdeen is a bit like the arm pit of the Upper Hunter, with Scone to the north as the wrist (and quite a pretty wrist too) and Muswellbrook back to the south as a rather muscular shoulder. The big bend over the aforementioned bridge is arguably the physical emanation of this simile.

Actually, the bridge at Aberdeen figures quite strongly in my memory. One late evening, driving back to Armidale when the second span of the Fitzgerald bridge was opened I made the mistake of crossing to the wrong lane (it was a recent change then and I was in my Zen state of driving). Luckily I averted a collision with any oncoming traffic, but at the same time it arguably made my journey through Aberdeen far more interesting.

I wish I could give you one, let alone fifty reasons to stop and/or stay in Aberdeen. I understand that there has been some interesting antique stores in the area. The train line up to Tamworth, Moree and Armidale goes through Aberdeen and the station looks mildly intriguing as you whiz by. Then there is the excitement offered for anyone remotely interested in either the poultry or coal mining industries. But Aberdeen is ultimately a typical small New South wales town that sits on a regional highway and is too close to a larger regional centre (in this case, Muswellbrook). as has been said by travellers over the centuries, "Been there, done that".

Around NSW With Andrew: Blackheath

2007-12-01T17:45:00.003+11:00

I could, if I was being broader in my approach to the geographic niceties of my NSW towns blog, write a piece on the Blue Mountains as a whole, as opposed to focusing on just one constituent village. However, considering the disparate variety of townships that nestle on the Great Western Highway and the differing experiences in each place, then it is only fair to give due attention to the villages singularly, and not the Blue Mountains as a whole.

And so, to Blackheath. Where is it I hear you ask? Well, 'tis here:

Virtually the last civilized spot on the Great Western before you begin the descent down to Lithgow (sorry Mount Victoria...that's an undeserved sleight which I categorically withdraw...although there isn't as good a bakery in Mount Victoria as there is in Blackheath), my connections to this township are limited. Partly because of its location, Blackheath is a town I have usually driven through without stopping; a few extra clicks down the road is Lithgow (if heading west), or back towards Sydney there's Katoomba and Wentworth Falls. So keeping the engine running in mein auto is the status quo for most visits through Blackheath.

Yet there have been occasions to stop there, and they have invariably been based on the two most essential activities of life (i.e. eating and what may politely be called 'sleeping'...wink wink, nudge, nudge). In the former case, Blackheath has a brilliant collection of small eateries and food providores that wouldn't go astray in far larger towns (are you reading me Tamworth!). I haven't availed myself of the more expensive and critically lauded restaurants of Blackheath, but I can categorically state that the sour dough bread at the Blackheath Bakery & Patisserie is simply superb. Grabbing a slab of their rye sourdough is one of life's most beatific moments, or should that be the eating thereof? They also do a nice line of lamingtons, arguably one of the greatest contributions to global culture that Australia has ever made (up there with vegemite and Rodney Hogg). I've heard plenty of good things about the Blackheath fish & chip shop, and whilst I can't recall the name of the restaurant I and my good lady fiancé shared a meal at in May 2005, it was a ripper (pretty sure it was in Wentworth Street, behind the Great Western).

So, what else has Blackheath got for the traveler as I can recommend? Not too sure about the town pub (it looked fairly banal and uninteresting when I visited there a couple of years ago), and in general the shops are geared towards the chardonnay quaffers and the indigent locals who make up the town's populace. It's not unknown to see a homeless hippy walk out of the chemists on the main drag and have he or she followed by a polo playing Range Rover driving type. Like many of the Blue Mountain townships there is a distinct difference in climate during the colder months; you actually get archetypal winter weather. Govett's Leap is a reasonably interesting spot to look out into a valley of void (and I know for a fact that an old German woman from Saarbrucken thought it was 'sehr interessant'). And thankfully, Blackheath isn't a loony tourist trap a la Leura.

In summary, Blackheath epitomizes the best and perhaps the worst of the Blue Mountain towns. It is good at giving the visitor access to enjoyable and quality eateries, comfortable lodgings, deliciously cold winter days and intriguing vistas for the passer-by. Yet my gut feeling is you may not want to live there, as there is not enough energy within the town itself to keep you from slowly going ape with ennui.

Around NSW With Andrew: Berrima

2007-11-12T17:47:00.001+11:00

I've already gone through a lot of 'B' towns in NSW that have grasped me in their sinful delights (or in the case of Bega, cheese delights), and when it comes to finding a veritable purple patch or plethora of 'B' towns, the southern highlands comes up trumps. Latterly I'll be taking you on a magical mystery tour of Bowral (which nestles check by jowl with Burradoo & Bong Bong, but before the main course, the entree. And the entree on today's menu is Berrima.

Berrima has two main claims to fame; firstly, it is home to the 'oldest continuously licensed inn in Australia' (as claimed by their web site and the sign above the door). Secondly, Berrima has a rather neo-Romanesque jail esconsed right on across from the Old Hume Highway. So, you have the venue for sin neighboured by the reward for sin. But in all honesty, Berrima and sin don't really go together. Because it is one of those myriad of toy towns that has been taken over by the Tree Change/Olde Tea Shoppe/Antiques'R'Us brigade arguably to its detriment.

I've only stopped in Berrima a couple of times, with the first halt of any significance being during my late high school years during an excursion to Canberra. In those days (last century folks!) the Hume Highway actually took you through the heart of Berrima, whereas nowadays there is but the unfamiliar grumblings of four-wheel drives and other suburban tractors down from Sydney to remind one of the high traffic times. Out on the freeway/divided highway there are signposts directing you off on the Berrima exits, but my guess is not too many people decide to break their trip here. Anyway, when the school bus hurled us out onto the streets of Berrima all we had to occupy ourselves as the driver inhaled or micturated some noxious substance was the jail. And by crikey, talk about your hardened crims there way back then. Wooden kids toys seemed to be the main pursuit of the inmates of Berrima jail, so instead of watching murders, burglars, sex offenders and parliamentarians all we children saw was sorrowful men selling their carvings. We didn't even get to see ex-NSW minister for jails (and celebrity inmate) Rex Jackson there...bugger!

So; that's the jail. Now for some Ale (nice segue?!)

The Surveyor General looks nice on a sunny afternoon does it not? All very rural and olde style, making one think of creamy frothing glasses of ice cold beer, languid travelers supping on their refreshments whilst perhaps a horse and dray trot rustically down the street. Well, that's what you want to believe.

Unfortunately, as shown by the above image from the bistro the Surveyor General is reminiscent of too many country pubs that have had their innards stripped to turn it into some kind of utilitarian grog and guts venue. Drink the Guinness, have a hamburger with pub chips, and then be on with ya. Compared to other pubs I've been in with lesser claims to history (e.g. The Dromedary Inn at Tilba, the New England Hotel Walcha), the S-G is a bit of a disappointment. Functional without being engaging, historical without being memorable.

My last extended visit to Berrima was about 5 years ago, on a weekend away with my beloved. Whilst staying in Bowral we ventured down to Berrima to peruse the shops and sup at the Surveyor General. My immediate reaction to the former was a bit like listening to modern country music; second hand unenjoyable clutter that is over-valued by devotees and mostly junk. I can appreciate that local inhabitants both old and new need an income stream. But how many cut to buggery bread boards does your average tourist need? At least Sutton's Forrest down the road a-wee has its Scottish Shop. Perhaps a similarly ethic/Celtic shop could be established (The Berrima Britanny Experience comment ca va?).

In summary, I've seen plenty of more interesting or engaging smaller towns in NSW. Change the location to the Illawarra Uplands (and the spelling) and you could be in Berry. Or raise the altitude and increase the traffic and you could be in Leura. Berrima is a spot I'm probably not going to drop by again too soon which is in a way sad, because it needs to be visited not just by the 4WD chardonnay set.

Around NSW With Andrew: Berridale

2007-11-06T17:38:00.001+11:00

When you travel between Cooma and Jindabyne, perhaps getting yourself to the snowfields of Thredbo and/or Perisher, you pass through a town that lingers in the memory like amnesia. It's certainly not huge, and my guess would be that few travelers stop there. Be that as it may it still deserves a blog entry from moi as I take you round NSW, and this village of the damned (golfers) is Berridale.

The reason why I have fixed a link between this township and the ancient and noble game/torture of golf is that over 2 days in 2005 I played 18 holes at Berridale's version of St. Andrews, a.k.a. the Coolamatong Snowy Mountains Country Club course. I've played some Sydney suburban course with fairways that are more dusty (e.g. Tree Valley), or with water courses that are far more magnetic when it comes to attracting balls (e.g. RAE Ingleburn). But as daunting, problematic, tiring and four seasons in one day courses go you can't beat Berridale/Coolamatong.

I will admit that the setting as you start your travail with the big sticks and the small balls is reasonably picturesque. Trees provide substantial delineation between the holes themselves and the rough. The 9th possesses a rather pretty green situated in an amphitheatre near the club house. And as for the club house itself, it has the rudimentary charm of most country golf clubs:

But lurking beneath this innocuous image is a golf course that will make you feel like curling up in the fetal position and crying out 'Laughing Lee Trevino, please get me out of here!'. And why is this so dear reader? Let me explain...

First off, Berridale is less than 50 kms from the major NSW snow fields. Cold winds can and do come barrelling down the Jindabyne road hitting you like a ice block swathed in grass. And thanks to the exposed nature of the course it is no matter for you to be walking in brilliant sunshine yet feel like your testes have been absorbed into your upper thorax as your plus four trousers are assailed by the gales.

Of course wintery months (such as September) are prone to such providing such experiences. On the other hand, when the snowfield's winds are in abatement you can then get almost third degree sun burn thanks to the penetrating glare afforded to one in the highlands of the Snowy Mountains. So you can be driving your ball with your No.3 Wood, and in minutes be either blasted by icy winds or under imminent danger of immolation thanks to the sun's rays. I'm sure the man they call Tiger would have already gone back to the club house and ordered a bundy and coke before even getting to the 2nd tee.

Finally, Berridale's answer to Augusta serves up a devilish snare for those of wayward swing and short drives, thanks to the 15th. I can't recall the exact distance of this Par 5, but I was concerned when I saw that it had it's own GPS satellite beacon at the half way post. Seriously though, what can one say about a Par 5 which has as its fairway a dry creekbed that drops a good 20 feet below the rest of the course. One doesn't need a sand wedge to extricate a sliced drive or a hooked pitch and wedge...nope, the Mole from Thunderbird 2 would be the best club to play here.

Anyway, when push comes to shove playing a round of golf at Berridale is one of those moments in life which has to be experienced first hand, and not just read about from some hacker's blog. I can't say I'm mad to dash back to this village caught between Cooma's cosmopolitan hydro-powered conurbation and the apres-ski environment of the 'Byne. Yet next time I drive through I won't just stop and haul out the clubs, I might actually leave them in and strap on the snow boots and a thermos of single malt instead.

Around NSW With Andrew: Bermagui, Tilba & Wallaga Lake

2007-10-30T17:33:00.001+11:00

Let me take you back to the year 1991. April, 1991 to be precise. A certain newly married young man had arranged to take his blushing bride down to the so-called Sapphire Coast to enjoy the delights of connubial bliss. And what did he find when they arrived?

Actually, it wasn't just a pre-fabricated caravan park cabin...we (as in I and my now ex) had entered the Bermagui/Wallaga Lake/Tilba Zone...

Now as small coastal townships go, Bermagui back in 91 had a lot going for it. Unlike the tourist trap that was Merimbula, or the ACT traveler's destination of choice Narooma there were few villas, no hordes of Victorians on school holidays, and a gentle, calm air to the place. Back then there were no ATMs in Bermagui, which meant when I needed dosh I needed to wend my way to Bega (probably the best reason to travel down there); that's how rustic it felt. The fishing industry was obviously the elephant in the room in Bermagui; boats at rest in the harbour, charter trips out to Montague Island, the Fisho's Co-op on the jetty, seagulls diving for hot chips and flake bought from that same fisho's....even now I can remember the idyllic nature of the place. Of course, I was looking through rose-tinted romantic glasses (or were they UV Protected sunnies?), but hey...it was the right place at the right time.

Then, up the road from Bermagui was my home base...Wallaga Lake. I won't use words to describe this locale...take a geek at this pic:

This may not be the best pic (and if I had time I would have uploaded the view from the caravan park's jetty). But believe when I say this was a true bucolic delight.

The final member of this triple treat on the far south coast was Tilba (or more properly, Central Tilba). Home to the ABC Cheese Factory, the then Mount Dromedary Winery, and one of the best pubs in NSW, the Dromedary Hotel, Tilba was and I hope still is a jewel of a village. Unlike some of the tourist townships north of Sydney, or even on the southern highlands (yes, I'm looking at you Berrima) the ambiance was busy but not hurried, cosmopolitan without being snobby, rural without being backward and friendly without being in your back pocket pulling out your dollars and saying 'please come again'. I fell in love with Tilba Club back then, and I can still recall the ploughman's lunch at the Mt Dromedary Winery (although the wine itself was vin ordinaire at best). Of the three locales, Bermagui, Tilba and Wallaga Lake, Tilba was my fave spot.

So far in this blog I have gone from small villages, large rural cities and a few spots in-between. To be honest, of all I've written about so far, Bermagui/Tilba/Wallaga Lake is the first place I want to revisit, and if I could I'd be down there this coming weekend.

Around NSW With Andrew: Bendemeer

2007-10-18T17:22:00.001+10:00

Where the F is Bendemeer you ask?

Here 'tis...

I know...it's not much of a guide in the style of a Google Map but you'll probably see that Bendemeer is just to the north of Tamworth and a more considerable distance to the south of Armidale. And aside from the junction of the New England & Oxley Highways, there's little to catch the eye at Bendemeer. Be that as it may, it's a place I've been in and past plenty of times, and merits at least a cursory listing in my travelogue.

The first point of reference I will always have for Bendemeer is that it is located on the MacDonald River. Admittedly it's not the exact same spelling as my surname, but whenever there's a smidge of ma wee Scots heritage hoots mon och aye I do feel a twinge in me sporran (as made in China using the finest polyester/cotton blend). And crossing over the MacDonald River used to bestir my Celtic soul faintly.

Unfortunately, the actual river crossing at Bendemeer has changed since my first drives up and down the Newie, and simply put a bypass has taken much of the charm out of the experience. This is a photo of the old bridge over the MacDonald River at Bendemeer:

Yes, it's not exactly the Golden Gate or the Sydney Harbour Bridge. But there was a certain charm and sense of rural travelling when you crossed the bridge at Bendmeer and actually skirted the townships streets as the highway wended north/south. Now, much like in the movie 'Cars', a flash, fast and utterly efficient concrete bridge on a relatively new bypass takes you over the MacDonald River with no rattling, no wooden beams shaking and no real feeling. I miss that.

Now as for the township itself and its character, and my observations thereof, I have very few insights. I do recall one instance where an old fashioned one pump petrol station was located in the town, and when I had some probs with my over-inflated tyres the wizened and bucolic garage owner was all too ready to point out 'You got too much air in your tyres mate'. Some people have to travel to Tibet to get such insightful wisdom.

There was also the time when I was journeying to Tamworth from Armidale with my mother, visiting a friend's family for lunch in the so-called Country Music capital of Australia (a sobriquet Tamworth can keep). Somewhere north of Bendemeer we encountered a poor old bugger whose car had broken down, and I took the Good Samaritan approach and gave him a lift to Bendemeer. As he and I discussed his plight my mother sat behind him with a large steel wheel lock, ready to wield it with a Fury's vengeance if the unsuspecting hitch hiker turned out to be Ivan Milat with a flat tyre.

The New England/Oxley Hwy Junction at Bendemeer. The town is to the right of the picture. Not much to see eh?!

I guess the most memorable or affecting aspect of Bendemeer was it always made me feel like I'd made a very specific point in the dozens of trips I made to and from Armidale. Heading south it was the last township before I reached the Moonbi Hills and started the steep descent down onto the plains near Tamworth. Heading north it was the entry point to the New England/Northern Tablelands. The highway bends around the hills following the contours like a bloodhound on the scent of an escaped convict, whilst granite outcrops stick out like boiled eggs in their egg-cups. The air seems cooler and thinner, and the colours of the landscape round Bendemeer differ from lower level towns only 5-10km to the south.

Bendemeer may be only a small township that a highway now avoids, but whenever I see it from my car or see the sign for the MacDonald River, it resonates in a way that far larger places never will.

Around NSW With Andrew: Bega

2007-10-15T17:16:00.003+10:00

Cheesetown. Home of 2EC. Focal Point of the Sapphire Coast. West of Tathra, South of Candelo, Northwest of Merimbula. That's Bega.

Well, not entirely. Bega and I have a limited relationship, in that my only visit there was about 16 years ago, and it happened whilst I was in the throes of my first (and so far only) honeymoon. Of course, when you consider the romantic options on offer for a happily just married couple, Bega doesn't exactly scream "Get under the doona and wriggle". And to be honest, it wasn't Bega itself that served as the locus for my nuptial naughtiness...that happened further north at Wallaga Lake (now a site of continual environmental remediation since that fateful honeymoon).

Be that as it all may be, Bega was at the time arguably only of interest because it had an automatic teller for my then bank account. Harsh I know, but aside from fermented curds wrapped in plastic and then sold in supermarkets under the brand name 'Bega Cheese', there wasn't then and possibly even now is little to recommend the place from my perspective. I do recall the almost Taj Mahal-esque structure that was the Eurobodalla Shire Council Building, which for a town smaller than Deniliquin seemed utterly out of place.

But when push comes to shove, what can you say about a regional town that produces such fine products as 'cheese in a can':

Not much.

About the only other thing that sticks in my mind about Bega is their local ABC radio, and more specifically one announcer...Maurie Ferry. For some reason, even at the most dire and devastating moment in current society, straight after the crisis has been reported on ABC radio you'll get a story about mastitis affecting herds of Friesans in the Bega Valley from Maurie. He's like the Walter Winchell/Ray Martin or the Bega Valley.
One day I'll get back to Bega and perhaps they'll have more than just cheese to get excited about. But to be honest I'd suggest to the weary traveller keep going to Bermagui, or if heading south look out for Eden. Bega is a small NSW town that doesn't even have a decent 'Big Thing' to get excited about.

Around NSW With Andrew: Bathurst

2007-10-14T17:05:00.002+10:00

In another parallel universe, instead of Armidale being the locus vivendi for my early adult years, it would have been the Central Western Slopes & Tablelands powerhouse that is Bathurst. And if it wasn't for some now unknown academic or bureaucrat at what was Mitchell CAE but is now Bathurst campus of Charles Sturt University, I could be a gutter journalist reporting on sleazoid tabloid stories having spent the years 1984-1986 probably living in a cheap dive in Kelso, instead of going into the book trade after the same period was spent in campus college accommodation.

As you may surmise, I have a sorta love/hate/what the 'f...' feel about Bathurst.

I'm also probably one of the very few people who have gone to Bathurst on numerous occasions and yet not once have had a desire to watch the race cars hurtle round Mount Panorama. Watching the then Bathurst 500 in the 70s was the longest link I had with this town, as aside from that the only time I even came across the place was during the once every couple of years trips to Broken Hill when our family passed through as quickly as possible on the long journey westwards. Bathurst was a car race town and from watching the black and white coverage of the motor race on Mount Panorama it was obviously a cold, wet and grey place. Funnily enough, my pre-teen perceptions haven't changed too dramatically.

Fast forward to 1983. Looking to find a career after school, for some reason the world of journalism beckoned to me like a warm sausage roll does to a anorexic supermodel. And so, with Mitchell CAE as the first and foremost choice for the aspiring media mogul within when it came to tertiary training, I took a long hard geek at the place. This included a trip on the then-new XPT to Bathurst for an Open Day excursion. I had a pretty good look at the place and said it was for me. Unfortunately, Bathurst and the HSC looked back and said 'Piss off!'.

Fast forward again, but this time to the last 7 years. The relationship between me and Bathurst underwent a transformation. No longer was I visiting the place as a neophyte in search of career training. Nope, now it was going to Bathurst for work as a rep, or even to see friends who had moved there. The dynamic changed, and my perception had gone beyond V8s, Peter Brock and college rejections.

For example, I defy anyone to find a better place for a mixed grill brekky when you're a rep on the road in regional NSW. The snags, bacon, tomato, lamb chop, poached egg and toast I consumed one morning before trying to convince those same academics who didn't buy me to buy my books easily ranks in the top 10 meals I had when I was repping. And what a location; dead slap bang on the corner of the road to Oberon! Easy to find and as trucks whiz past at all hours your slumber will only be marginally disturbed.

Then there's the fun to be had the Gold Panner Motel. Whether I'm talking the potential for certain naughtiness or just getting a cabin for a place to sleep before a mate's 40th, then it's...well, mildly acceptable. And if you have read some of my earlier blogs you would have seen reference to 'Big Things'. Take a shufti at the Bathurst equivalent to the Statue of Liberty...

And Bathurst isn't just a hot spot of fine accommodation and monumental sculpture. Bathurst Panthers a.k.a. Bathurst Leagues has all the mod cons that its big sister Penriff Panthers has, without the crazy conglomeration of donut shops, greasy spoons and P-Plated hooligans. One trip to Bathurst I sampled the fine dining at Bathurst Panthers not once but twice, so enamored I was of the chicken Caesar salad. Ramsay's it ain't, but it filled my stomach without filling my corporate Amex.

However, if there is one reason and one alone I'd tell anyone to get yourself to Bathurst for, it's Zieglers. A cafe that I have been to several times now, they do a bloody good dinner and a better brekky. Sour dough toast big and thick enough to land a F-14 Tomcat fighter on, bacon that tastes good enough for even Babe to wanna eat, mushrooms, grilled toms, fresh eggs, real meat snags....as Homer Simspon would say......arghhhh (imagine at this point a saliva-wet drooling sound effect).

Another thing to recommend Bathurst; the Trots. About 3 years ago a local and very good friend 'The Seed' accompanied me to a night of harness racing at Bathurst Paceway. I could have been satisfied with his company. I could have been even more satisfied with the dinner of chicken schnitzel, chips and gravy in the Paceway cafeteria. I could have been even more exponentially satisfied with the Bathurst chill being dulled by the 44 gallon drum wood burners battling Jack Frost. But what made my night and made me 'une ami d'Bathurst' was winning $200 on a 40-1 long shot in the last race. Thank you Bathurst Paceway!

I don't think I could ever live in Bathurst and it still pales contrasted to my much beloved Armidale. The cold there is somewhat charmless, the lack of real sincere academia very apparent, and it is too close to Sydney (yet not close enough). I can understand why some of my friends live there, and I can even understand why Kelso is a growth area for the local property market. But when the underlying message of the place is 'come and see some big donked cars drive fast' then that's not going to get me driving past the flag poles of the Great Western Hwy.

Around NSW With Andrew: Avondale/Cooranbong

2007-10-13T16:54:00.005+10:00

The Vegetarian Seventh Day Adventist Higher Ed Adventure

Yes, I know...if I was waltzing you around New South Wales' regional towns and cities by alphabet, the next entry should be Armidale (following on from Adaminaby and Albury). Problem is, how do you use a blog column with about 200 words and perhaps a YouTube video to sum up a place you spent 12 years of your life in? Impossible, unless this was the Reader's Digest Condensed Version. Andrew in Armidale will be more appropriately dealt with in another space, at another time. It could be a blockbuster movie with me played by Matt Damon/Eric Bana/Daniel Craig/Geoffrey Rush, and my bevy of lovely female friends played by the Girls of the Playboy Mansion. Or maybe it'll be an animated film from Pixar ('Toy Story 3: Andy Goes To Uni, Has Sex, Gets Drunk and Marries Without Much Forethought').

But that's Armidale...this is Avondale!

Actually, truth be told Avondale isn't Avondale per se, Avondale is actually Cooranbong, or nestled cheek by Seventh Day Adventist jowl to the township of Cooranbong. Avondale is more properly Avondale College, and it is a private tertiary institution aimed at inculcating the next generation of Australasian Adventists in science, business, education, the arts and aviation.

View Larger Map

The question that then arises is, what the hell was I doing at this locale, Avondale-on-Cooranbong so to speak. Well, in my previous incarnation as a higher education textbook sales rep I visited Avondale a couple of times. And let me be the first (if not the only one) to say that Avondale reminded me of a small university, filtered through the lens that filmed 'Deliverance', with a cereal factory at the front gate.

The most peculiar aspect of Avondale is that unlike most institutions of learning, as you drive into its groves of academe, you are welcomed by the manufacturing processes that give us such delights as Skippy Cornflakes, Weetbix, Up'n'Go liquid breakfasts and of course that heady brew, D'vine Sparkling Grape Juice. I must confess that there was something decidedly odd about going into a college hoping to meet with lecturers and academics who may want to use my books for history, politics, chemistry or zoology, whilst at the same time vegetarian nut burgers and soy milk was being churned out within spitting distance of those same learned folk. And spitting being the operative verb in this context.

Even the drive in and out of Avondale gives one a certain time/space displacement feeling. Off the main expressway between Sydney and Newcastle, the rural pastures, small freshwater creeks and hillocks covered in gums and willows remind me of a half-recalled Disney animated version of 'Ichabod Crane & The Headless Horseman'. Perhaps Avondale and surrounds is really a secret health food base for Tim Burton's filmic odyssey?! I don't know...it just felt weird.

So, next time you feel the need for an Adventist education and vegan burgers, and you're somewhere on the open road between the Central Coast and the Hunter Valley, well why not stop off at Avondale/Cooranbong? I promise if you do you'll never forget it...no matter how many cold water catheters.

Around NSW With Andrew: Albury

2007-10-11T17:01:00.009+10:00

Boring On The Border

Hmmm....Albury. Or should I say Albury/Wodonga? Like Charles & Camilla, Bacon & Eggs, Coffee & Cigarettes, Unprotected intercourse & herpes...Albury & Wodonga form that same kind of filial bond. Well, in my warped imagination they do.

So, what can I say about Albury? To be honest, not much that wouldn't get me lynched if I wandered anywhere near the intersection of Deane & Olive Streets on a Saturday morning. To be blunt, I'm no fan of Albury (I'll reserve judgment on Wodonga...it's in 'Mexico', south of the Murray River and hence outside the scope of this blog).

View Larger Map

Don't get me wrong; I'm sure as regional centres go Albury has lots to appeal for its own inhabitants. It has a Myers. It has a bloody long railway station platform. It has a bridge over the Murray River. It even has the Ettamogah Pub...

Be that as it may (and actually I've never been to the Ettamogah Pub at Albury because it smacks of tokenized Aussie bush tourism crap), in my half dozen trips to Albury I can't say I've ever driven away saying to myself "Must see [insert local sight here] when I come back."

I will admit that I have enjoyed the alcoholic inducements of the Albury Soldier's Sailors & Airman's Club, when way back in 1990-something I went to a then mate's wedding reception there.

It was one of the occasions when the grog flowed fast and I went downstream along with it. I do recall both the intoxication of the beer and the helium balloons I took to inhaling as the reception progressed, and the next day as I was chaffeured away from the site of the debauchery along the Riverina Highway I left with an outer glow and and inner turmoil only free booze and Albury can inspire.

But, when push comes to shove my few visits to Albury in the first half of this decade (focused admittedly on my then job as a sales rep for an academic book publisher) left me as cold as a nudist on the South Pole. I travelled to the Albury campus of CSU and as tertiary institutions go it certainly has all the charm buildings with earthwork/enviro-friendly long-drop dunnies can muster. Far be it from me to cast aspersions on Albury's claims to being a seat of learning university-wise, but it doesn't have the same academic pretensions as Bathurst, Armidale or Wagga. Perhaps when Thurgoona grows and more of the old CAE heritage is put into the back pages of history, CSU Albury will feel more like the groves of academe, instead of a paddock of postgraduates.

My other whinge about Albury is the lack of budget accommodation and reasonable dining in the town. On a recent trip through Albury I couldn't find a single decent takeaway, and had to rely on the Golden Tits of America to give me a feed. Even that was substandard contrasted to the Maccas norm. The motels I've stayed at have been adequate at best, and again if I was to compare my accomodation experiences in Albury (which also includes a fitful cold night in a caravan) with the likes of Bathurst, Dubbo, Armidale and Wagga I'd be always leaning towards those townships first.

But look, it's not all bad in Albury. There's a cool lookout right behind the main drag. One of my best mates from my uni days came from there, and I still recall the excitement of crossing the Murray River for the first time on a road trip to the Australia Games in Melbourne, January 1985. My biggest gripe/suggestion about the place; move the border up to Tarcutta and then we can let Victoria have it.

Around NSW With Andrew: Adaminaby

2007-10-09T14:30:00.007+10:00

Of Big Trouts and Fish Fingers

Other travel blogs may talk about the best cafes on the left bank of the Seine in Paris. Or recount year long treks through the virgin jungle of Kalimantan. Or even delve into the dives and squalor of desperately impoverished Kolkata. This series of blog entries, first published in part on a now defunct MySpace page, takes the more mundane moments of my travails around New South Wales, and the country and regional towns that have dotted my routes.

View Larger Map

For those of you outside Australia, New South Wales is the oldest state, plus the most heavily populated. Yes, it is the state dominated by Sydney, but in about 40 years of living in NSW I've spent close to half of them in regional towns (Maitland, Narrabri, Armidale, Tumut to name but a few). I've also passed through, stopped at, slept in and weekended through dozens of other NSW locales. So sit back, pick up your touring atlas of Australia, switch on the car stereo and don't forget to go to the visitor centre and get me a fridge magnet.

There are two big things that stick in my mind about Adaminaby; the Big Trout and fish finger sandwiches. The former is fairly self explanatory, insofar as when the new township was built after Lake Eucumbene flooded the old town, there was a screaming need for a heritage value tourist attraction. Hence the construction of a great big fiberglass & concrete trout. Logical huh! Anyway, the last time I passed by the trout was on my first honeymoon, and when it came to highlights of that week long sojourn of conubial bliss the sight of an enlarged river fish in retrospect was one of the more enjoyable memories.

As for the allusion to fish finger sandwiches, in a previous decade (i.e. the early 70s) I lived for a while with my family in the Adaminaby caravan park. Okay, we weren't exactly partaking of the most fashionable living quarters, but that old Millard caravan kept the rain out and the food in. Which brings me to the fish finger sambo; one day as I toddled through the verdant landscape that was the caravan park my 6 year old nose smelt the delicious haute cuisine aromas of barbequing fish fingers. A friendly elderly couple took pity on me, and whilst warding me away from their camp fire with big sticks slapped a few just-cooked fish fingers on freshly buttered slabs of white bread. Hmmm...talk about al fresco dining at its best! Before you could say 'Birdseye' I was walking away from my new friends, my parents apologizing to them for my food scavenging ways, with a stomach full of bread crumbs, mock-cod, salt and monosodiumglutemate.

As mountain townships go, well I wouldn't say that Adaminaby is the St Moritz of the Snowy's. But it does have a big fish, a pub and a caravan park. What more can the intrepid traveller ask for? Aside from a beer, a portable DVD player in the car and the back seat filled with supermodels?