Sunday, September 20, 2009
Where the bloody hell is Bingara?
The trip out to Bingara took about 7 hours. My thoughts were more of what I left behind than where I was going, although the scenery when you cross the Great Dividing Range is stunning. Suddenly the landscape takes on a Norman Lindsay feel, as the Lantana and greenery of the coast is left behind, and a sense of Australiana takes over.
There something about road trips where you just want to get there. Whenever I observed my mind willing to get me there faster, I reminded myself that it was about the journey, not the destination. To get me to my destination, I listened to Radiohead, Regina Spector, Fleet Foxes, Fever Ray, Elliott Smith (which is torturing myself, as it reminds me of someone who stole my heart) and Sarah Blasko, in that order.
It was great arriving at my dear friend Glenn's house. Glenn is a fellow Mullumite, who two weeks ago traded in small town living for even smaller town living. We were out west about three months ago, when I was writing my novel and Glenn found the cutest little cottage, owned by a old fella called Bernie. It's amazing that just three months on, I'm sitting in the lounge room typing this. There is something I love about the simplicity of the bush, the unhurried lifestyle, the lack of pretension, the constant talk of rain and animals and adverts on the television about pink eye featuring a farmer with a pink scarf around his eyes.
I'm going to be writing travel stories all down the coast for the Escape section in the Sunday newspapers nationally such as the Sunday Telegraph, Herald Sun, etc. My first story is going to be on Bingara!
Here's some photos to get you going.
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