Break point

There are times when you need a break. And there are times when you need a break. After many planned breaks that didn’t become breaks for varying reasons, I think me, Avery and the car breathed a sigh of relief parking up at an Airbnb just outside of Merimbula. And what a breath to take in, among this understatedly spectacular corner of the world.

I have written many blog posts over twenty years and a good handful would involve clumsily trying to convey the beauty of this area. Some of the images used are likely duplicates, captured across time. Maybe a little variation in weather or background or light, but always beguiling enough to want to record and share.

The Pambula River is a case in point. A bucket list item on almost every visit. Today bright but breezy and some of the water around the river mouth plump with rust-coloured algae. But I was heartened to see the pure, sapphire waters winning out, forcefully demonstrating the self-healing strength of nature and offering the idyllic photo scenario.

Crystal waters backed by bushland

For all the familiarity there are still new pockets to discover. Like a good looking bakery in Pambula and a walk in the Panboola Wetlands. Here, an extensive and diverse patchwork of ponds and swamps and meadows and pasture. A few cows grazing, a few birds doing bird things, a few insects buzzing, unfortunately all too often competing with the sound of trucks trundling down the Princes Highway.

Noise of a different kind emanated from the ocean a few hours later. An epic conclusion to a short but exhilarating walk. At first sedate, offering wonderful overlooks of the coastline, taking in the smooth curve of Tura Beach. Avery likened it to Wineglass Bay and I can see what she means.

View over a curved sandy bay

On the other side meanwhile, the wind was more penetrating, to the extent that hats would be blown off and coats puffed up like the Michelin Man and someone would drop a tissue and it would sail off on an adventure. Avery stood back in the shelter, immersed in a phone call. I inched forward, allowing the wind to embrace me, to take over me. Deep breaths and arms stretched, sucking in the world. A bit of a release and a bit of feeling very small.

There were much larger things in the bay, splashing and snorting ocean and leaping to great fanfare. Their thrashing of water reverberating like the first firework. Sound you can feel. One whale sauntered along quite close to the headland, a few others farther out. And then a bit of chatter, the eerie wail of whales, to continue to make you feel small and overawed.

A whale breaching from the ocean

Perhaps after such invigoration it is wise to wind down. To chill in the shelter of Bar Beach. Particularly appealing as the lowering sun warms the face and glistens off the water. Even a couple of seals decided it was perfect for a paddle. Nothing new, but worth repeating time and again.

A sandy beach with the sun shimmering off the water

And that was a good day, on a very good break. It’s the kind of time that makes you think about moving here, where every day would probably remind you that it is a blessing. Friends have done such, and while routines and run-of-the-mill life will distract, there is always the view of the sea, and the whales, and the sea eagles from the pub in Tathra.

And so, whilst we enjoyed the freedom and release that came from nature, the land and the sea, there was nothing more soothing for the spirit than chats in the pub with good friends. Breaking the circuit. Feeling the love.

Two people looking smug on a beach
Australia Green Bogey Photography Walking

Up and down under

Yes it’s that time of the year again where I feel contractually obliged to say something, anything, about Australia. Have I been here so long that delightful sandy weekends and forays into that once mythical bush are so run-of-the-mill? Usurped by exotic escapes to Tavistock, ambles through brambles in Wiltshire, train station sandwiches in Preston?

I went to Sydney fairly recently and it hardly warrants a paragraph. To be fair it was a fleeting visit offering little new or enticing other than a convenient Gelato Messina. No ferry ride, no beach bums, just a quick visit to see the Opera House in the drizzle. And a sigh of relief farewelling the marching tentacles of Campbelltown.

a sandy beach with waves from the ocean

If Sydney seems all a bit of a chore these days there is sufficient antidote down on the south coast. Even if you do exactly the same things over and over again. The Braidwood coffee, the Tuross Boatshed, the Bodalla Dairy. Little appetite left to wander indecisively around Bermagui Woollies. Waiting to be inspired by a quick sale.

After all those stops on the way down I feel like the size of a whale but then I see a whale and it makes me feel better about myself. I see a lot of whales in fact, both out on the open water and from numerous outlooks on dry land. None of them breach Free Willy style but there are plenty of flapping fins and tails to keep things just the right side of awe-inspiring.

An image of a whale in a deep blue ocean

The best vantage came around the Blue Pools of Bermagui, further consolidating the town’s position as the most likely to make you say ah sod it let’s quit this place and run an Airbnb/mushroom farm/Chinese import business on the coast instead. Judging by the postcards on a board outside Honorbread, it seems others have done similar, though largely with a tantric meditation crystal hemp cleansing forest kind of ambition.

A man fishing with a mountain in the background

The board is well-read given the wait for coffee on a public holiday weekend. I fondly remember a quieter time here, when I managed to nab a very fine pain aux raisins to take onto the beach along with coffee and Dad. No such luck this time thanks to the irritating cliché of a man in front of me deliberating like a moron on which exotic unpronounceable pastry morsel to take away and then opting for that last “snail”. A disaster. I was bitter, resentful, hateful and I still haven’t found a decent pain aux raisins since.

This includes in the hometown of Canberra. For which I hear you ask, what of Canberra? Well, still infinitely liveable, mildly interesting, a little needy but well stocked with common browns. I have enjoyed a few Monday mornings at the Botanic Gardens, a pale imitation of my father in pursuit of butterflies. Peak rice flower action precipitated an attempt to grow one at home, but so far all I have observed upon it is a single, unaccompanied, inevitable common brown.

Butterflies on a pink flower

The tomato experiments are going better and – in recent days as we near the frightful weather outside of Christmas – are cheerily ripening. Fruits like plump baubles on a wilting wreath, waiting to be ransacked by a possum. The surreal juxtapositions of the festive season down under.

It is almost midsummer and I have pumped out a batch of cheesy marmites and about two million gingerbread men from the oven. One Christmas event at a winery was cooled by a slight breeze, another to come will require icy liquid relief. There is officially a heatwave, but what to make of such declarations in December. I just feel sorry for all the Westfield Santas, even with their air conditioned red satin thrones.

Sunset over forest and hills

Maybe the coast will offer relief. And prawns. Let’s hope so, for a few days prior to that 25th of December. So whether it’s in humdrum Australia or exotic England with your crazy storms and hype around minor celebrities ballroom dancing or eating kangaroo testicles on the Gold Coast, have a good one. 2025 promises much of something or other. Whether it makes the blog or not is another matter.

Merry Christmas!

A mountain with a tower reflected in a lake
Australia Food & Drink Green Bogey Photography