
With all that was happening before and during a spring road trip up the coast last year in 2025, I did not manage to capture the highlights, nor even the lowlights, in my blog diary. The memory has blurred a little since 2025, but the feelings and photos remain with me and need to be written about before too much more post-trip time elapses. Some already has, of course, and will colour the memories, but that’s true of all of life’s retrospectivity.
The click of the front gate, the closing of the car boot, the last look around to make sure we were not doing any serious senior forgetting (a daily occurrence). Water bottles, Google maps and audiobooks loaded as we backed out of the driveway and pointed the trusty Mazda to the northern sun.

A driving holiday is so much easier than flying to Europe as we have so many times and involves much less adrenaline. No panic about negotiating freeways in time to the airport, no fear of forgetting passports and documents, nor worry about booking details and weighing of luggage. I am fortunate or mad enough to have done seven trips to Europe and not having to steel myself for a long haul flight suddenly felt deliciously refreshing even before we turned out of our street. This was the great Aussie road trip!
Unlike the claustrophobic panic I feel when the exit doors are closed on a plane, I knew that I could stop the car and get out any time I wanted to. Peter had polished said car so that its ‘crystal soul’ red duco gleamed and was rearing to go. We were off and running!
We planned to head east, then north, over the border, hugging the coast, taking three days to get to Jervis Bay; then to take the trip back slowly.
I love country motels, with their beige decor and unpainted brick interiors. Often there is still a flap in the door where they used to insert an ordered breakfast. Once on the road it is all we need, and helps us to focus down and leave complex life demands behind.
Orbost was far enough from home for our first motel stay and by the time we were ready to find dinner, the main street was very quiet. Undaunted by the bad experiences we have sometimes had at Chinese takeaways in country towns, we were ever hopeful, and found Leon Palace, an Asian place where we were almost the only customers – should we have been worried?
Before we knew it, we were conversing in Indonesian with the surprised and friendly female cook from Timor and enjoying great food. In just a few hours, I already felt liberated from cooking and the unwinding had begun. We slept so well – far enough back from the main road not to hear the trucks thundering all night.
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