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How well do you know Cabernet Sauvignon?

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In our last chat we discussed everything Chardonnay. And I am curious, have you been exploring with new expressions of this very versatile grape? I would love to hear what you experimented with and what you discovered about your palate.

Today, our palate shifts focus. From the green grape to the black grape. Yes, red wine is made from black grapes. What may surprise you is to learn that both grapes, the green and the black both contain clear pulp and juice inside. This begs the question of how do wines become different colours if the juice in the grapes is the same colour?

The magic is in the skins. And the skin on a Cabernet Sauvignon grape has a thick skin. Which is your first clue. It is the thick skin on the Cabernet Sauvignon grape that contains high levels of colour. But, how does that colour get into the wine? It is through skin contact.

The making of red wine follows a process. After the crushing of the grapes, there is a period of fermentation. With the skins in contact with the juice. The colour is absorbed by the grape juice and the result is a red liquid. The skins of the Cabernet Sauvignon grape also contain high levels of something called tannins.

Have you ever noticed that when you take a sip of red wine your mouth feels as though it is drying out? Your gums feel like they are attaching to the insides of your mouth. This is the effect of the tannins. Present in the grape stem and the thick skins of the Cabernet Sauvignon grape. Tannins in a young Cabernet Sauvignon are very high and if a wine is to be drunk young, it may well be blended with a grape like Merlot. The effect of this is to soften the tannins and make the wine eminently more drinkable, without the need to age it.

As Cabernet Sauvignon wine ages, often in oak barrels, the tannins soften and the wine takes on secondary and tertiary flavours of cedar, vanilla, and dried fruits, amongst others. Having flavours of “forest floor” may not sound appealing and this is a possible aroma of an aged Cabernet Sauvignon.

Now you know a little bit about the grape, how about a little of where it is grown. France is the homeland of Cabernet Sauvignon and the most famous region is in Bordeaux, widely regarded as one of the world’s finest wine regions. Needing a moderate to warm climate to allow it to ripen, the Left Bank of Bordeaux is well known for gravelly soils that allow for excellent drainage and heat retention which aids the ripening. Across the Gironde river, on the Right Bank, Merlot is the dominant grape, with Cabernet Sauvignon still playing a large role. 

From our previous discussion on wine labels, you will remember that “Old World” wine regions, of which France is one, rarely put the name of the grape on the wine label. This is where a little knowledge goes a long way. Now you know that if you are drinking a red Bordeaux, you are drinking Cabernet Sauvignon. Whether that is the dominant grape, or whether it is Merlot, depends on which side of the river the wine is from. Left Bank and you can be confident it is led by Cabernet Sauvignon. Right Bank, you are probably drinking a Merlot dominated wine.

Whichever side of the Gironde your wine is from, Bordeaux reds are a very distinctive wine, copied across many of the world’s wine regions. One excellent location to grow Cabernet Sauvignon is Margaret River, three hours south of Perth. With a unique maritime climate, similar to Bordeaux and with the Indian Ocean providing cooling sea breezes, Margaret River Cabernet Sauvignon has excellent balance, powerful tannins and wines that display aromas of blackcurrant and bay leaf notes.

For such a bold, full bodied, fruity wine, what would be a good food pairing? Before we explore that let’s just clear something up. The very best pairing is the one that you want. The one that you enjoy. Yes, some wines pair better with food than others. This is because of the flavour profiles in wine. Sweet wines pair better with sweet food. Crisp white acidic wines pair well with oily and fatty foods. This is why Champagne with fish and chips is a classic pairing.

And yes, there is a lot to be said by the maxim, “what grows together, goes together.” Anything Italian goes well with a Chianti Classico or an easy drinking Valpolicella. White wines do tend to pair better with fish and light dishes. You wouldn’t want your full bodied Cabernet Sauvignon with your delicately flavoured scallops.

What you would want with your Cabernet Sauvignon are grilled steaks. Hearty lamb dishes. Hard cheeses. The tannins that we mentioned earlier, that are high in a Cabernet Sauvignon bind to the proteins in red meat, providing a refreshing contrast.

All this talk is making me both thirsty, and hungry. I think I will head out for a glass of wine.

Cin cin.

Some of the perils of living overseas

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As I countdown to my next trip “home”, the first in two years, I have been thinking about some of the perils of living overseas.  Now, when I say perils, fear not.  I am not intimating that living in Sydney puts me at risk of anything more dangerous that a high phone bill, but there are a number of things that you learn to adapt to when living overseas.

Keeping in touch with friends and family ‘back home’

Technology is a wonderful thing. How wonderful, most of the younger generation will not really appreciate. When I first came travelling to Australia, in June of 1994, there was no internet. Well, there was, but it wasn’t widely available, and thus not widely used. No mobile phones. No fancy little laptops and tablets to blog about your trip. Just a smattering of Internet cafes, where you could purchase a block of time, join the queue, then furiously type as fast as you could once seated so you didn’t run out of allotted minutes, mid email.

Picture of an old internet cafe
Ever used one of these?

If traditional pen and paper was more your thing, and it was, and remains mine, we had “poste restante”. Yeah, I had never heard of it either, before that first trip to Australia in 1994. A quaint little idea, that served me perfectly well. And has resulted in me having a comprehensive, written, documentary record of my trip, and a collection of letters that I treasure. Who knows, some of the words you sent me may one day end up in my magnus opus.  My memoir.  But don’t worry, I will change the names to protect the innocent.

“Poste Restante” was (maybe still is?) a service offered by the post offices. You let your friends and family know which town, or city, you were hoping to be in, at a certain time, and they could send a letter addressed to you, care of the said post office. All I had to do was, firstly make sure I was actually in that town, then take my ID and go queue up, with all the other backpackers, and collect my letters. Simple as that.  Left town before you got your letter? Then I am afraid you never got to know what important musings you were destined to read. When you think of it, this could actually change the direction of peoples lives.  Peril alert. You could have left a loved one, on the other side of the world wondering why you never returned their proclamations of love.  We will never know.

Telephoning home was possible, but not from one of those nifty little smart phones that we all now have difficulty in lifting our heads up from.  We were some years from that.  The iPhone was still 13 years away.  You had to use a public phone box, (do we still have them?), and usually through the use of a pre-paid telephone card. Due to the time difference between Australia and the UK, this usually meant that calls were made late at night, on a weekend, after one too many schooners. Drunkenly struggling in a payphone cubicle, scratching off the “PIN” code required to enter into the phone, chatting away as fast as you can before your credit ran out. Which wasn’t very long. I later found out that most of these calls I made consisted of me blathering away incoherently, with my parents just happy that I was obviously alive, in good health, and enjoying life.  Hardly in any kind of peril.

Life now for the traveller, or expat, is much easier.  I think we often forget how far we have come in terms of technology, allowing us to bridge the gap across countries, and continents. This is the changing face of travel.  There are a plethora of instant messaging apps. To the point that it is confusing at times working out which ones people have, what devices support which apps, and whether to do just audio, or video too. Skype. Facetime. Google Duo. What’s App video call. And Google Hangouts.  The paradox of choice.

That said, I probably communicated a lot more in the “old days”.  Letters and calls were done weekly. And now, I instant message a lot, but only probably speak to family and friends once every few months. Hardly makes sense does it? But I think that because the world now seems so small, I have less of a divide to cross. Less of a bridge to gap. I feel that everybody is right there, at the touch of a button.

All this is making me think that maybe I should make more of an effort. Write more letters. And definitely make more calls. Hmm, I have a new objective.

Language “difficulties”

Apart from deciphering the local lingo, and trying to understand why everything in Australia is suffixed with an “o” (Dave-o, Serv-o, Amb-o, Fire-o, please don’t ask!), I don’t have many language issues in Sydney.

Granted, the Aussies can not work out where different UK accents originate from, as a result of them not having many regional accents themselves. This always results in being asked, “right mate, I’m good at this usually. Irish or Scottish?“.  Simply that.  When I say English, I get a very disbelieving look. “Nah mate, you can’t be.  You don’t sound very English.  Not like the lads from Earl’s Court, or Fulham, where I lived for a while.” When I ask how many Irish and Scottish people they have met, I get a blank look.

Cue, me eye rolling.  Again.  Almost without exception, the question about the accent is the first thing I am asked when meeting people. Apart from the local waiter at The Bather’s Pavilion, who complimented us on our very good English, after previously observing us over lunch chatting away in French to each other.  What?  French?  Mon dieu. Two Yorkshire folk, happily chatting away, in English.

“England”, I say, which results in further blank looks.

“You don’t sound English”.  Here we go again, I thought.

“Don’t I? That is odd. I lived there for first 40 years of my life, so I kind of assumed I did”.

“No. Not English, English. You know. Like other English people.”

Yes, it gets weary. Having to explain to almost everyone you meet, that I am indeed English.

Sport (well, football), (REAL football)

In many respects, Australia is much like its colder cousin.  But, the longer you live here you start to feel some of the very marked differences in culture.  A big one that continues to impact my life is football. And this brings one of the biggest cultural differences. Football was a part of my life in the UK. Not just something I chose to do. But was intrinsically woven through the fabric of my life. From playing in the school football team, and captaining it, through to playing regularly at weekends as an adult. Both full 11 aside, and lots of weekly 5 aside games. It was an ever present.

I had hoped it would be even more. As a school child I had been put forward for trials at county level, for Yorkshire. And in the trials, I was played out of what I thought were my best positions, and I didn’t make the cut. This was hard for a 10 year old. Even more so when I saw local lads from that same weekend going on to become professional footballers, even enjoying stints in the Premier League. Oh what might have been.

And then there was following my own club. Every lover of football has their own team. Something that never changes. Through good times, and bad. And I was lucky enough to have a season ticket for my team, Manchester United. Going to my first game at the age of 7, and then continuing the tradition as I grew older, to the point when I could afford a car, and a season ticket.

Football in England is ingrained in the national culture. In much the same was it is in European, and South American countries. It is a religion. And the stadia are the churches. Here in Australia, I have to adapt to the fact that football is a minority sport. It plays second fiddle to the various codes of rugby, and even bloody cricket.  Does a more boring game exist?

I do miss the banter that comes from having a beer with mates, all supporting different teams. It can get quite serious, but then, it is football. Here, I can go through a cup final, a local derby, or even, the height of rivalry, a game against Liverpool, and yet it wouldn’t even make a blip on the radars of my colleagues. Well, there are a few from the UK, and even Europe, who do understand, but to everybody else, football might as well not exist.

The tyranny of distance

Yes, I could live somewhere a lot closer than a 24 hour flight away.  Or 17 hours should I move to Perth.  But where would the fun in that be?  I get amused that some family members still struggle with the time difference, some 7 years after I got here.  The other day I awoke to a message that asked, “how happy are you now that it is Friday?“.  OK, I was tired.  I hadn’t got through my first coffee of the day yet.  I was still rubbing sleep from my eyes.  But, I was sure that after Wednesday, comes Thursday.  Unless I had slept for over 24 hours, which would be welcome, but a first, it was not Friday until tomorrow.

One benefit of being this side of the world though is the opportunity to spend time in places like Ubud in Bali, which is only a 6 hour flight away.  Half that if I move to Perth.  And Thailand becomes a regular destination, which for those of you that have been there, is the definition of paradise.  Fancy a wine tasting trip to New Zealand?  Maybe a long weekend in Queenstown?  Only a 3 hour flight away.  And it has to be said, I do love to travel.

From peril, to positive

For every negative, there is a positive. And with Australia, these positives are massive, and many.  Enough to keep me here for what is my 7th year.  I often get asked why I moved here, alone. Making what most people see as a big step. Firstly, I didn’t, and don’t see it as big. For me, it was just choosing to live somewhere else for a bit. See how it was. Have a little adventure.  Write a new chapter. But also, one of the biggest reasons, was to enjoy a warmer climate. I am not a fan of the harsh European winters. In fact, I am forgetting how harsh they can be, not having endured one for over 6 years now.  We are currently one week away from winter, and even at 18 degrees, I am wondering whether I need a light jacket as I walk about the village.

With the weather brings an outdoor lifestyle that is hard not to enjoy. I love cafes, and cafe culture, and most of all, I love coffee. And the coffee here in Australia is amongst the best in the world. Weekends are all about finding your favourite spot, and settling in for an amazing brunch, with sublime coffee. Take a book, do some writing, or just watch the world go by, but this is something I just couldn’t do regularly enough in the UK. The weather is often too cold and unpredictable.

Perils of living overseas. To the positives.
One of life’s pleasures.

The weather also determines your wardrobe for most of the year. And outside of July, which is the coldest winter month, flip flops are de-rigeur. I like that, in Australia, there are no airs and graces when it comes to dress code for all but the most formal occasions. How I hate the stuffiness of formal events. Having to dress a certain way just to go for dinner. Well here in Australia, oftentimes you just wear what you are comfortable in. Shorts at dinner?  No problem.  Want to head out in your Stan Smiths?  Go ahead. That said, I still find it odd that will see many people in the streets with no shoes on. And not just in the beach suburbs like Manly, or Bondi Beach, but also around your local village. Don’t their feet get dirty? Are they not worried about walking in dog poo? (there is enough of it).  That is one peril I want to avoid.

For those of you that live overseas, or have in the past, what were your perils?  How did you keep in touch with friends and family? What did you miss the most?  Let me know in the comments.

Hobart: A love affair

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A love affair with Tasmania

Regular readers of this blog, and if you aren’t one of them, why not?, will recall I wrote a piece about my goals for 2013.
Amongst these was the objective of continuing to travel to new places.  I’ve started achieving this already with my recent trip to Hobart.
This was my first visit to Tasmania and now means that I have been to all the Australian states.  Hobart itself is the southernmost and second oldest capital in Australia.  Once a place teeming with convicts, Hobart has transformed itself since the 1970s into a thriving, dynamic, bustling cosmopolitan city.

Domestic travel in Australia

Like train travel, which I adore, flying domestic in Australia is a breeze.  Just turn up, board, and go.  But one thing I can’t quite understand is why there are no restrictions on liquids on the plane.  There I was, like a good little, well travelled passenger, and had all my liquids, in little 100ml bottles, in a see through bag.  And I get to security.  Nothing.  Bag goes straight through the scanner.  It transpires that the only restrictions are on aerosols and laptops.  Who knew.
My carriage awaits
Security cleared, obligatory airport drink drunk, it was time to make my way to the plane.  I was flying Jetstar, one of Australia’s budget carriers.  This is like a posh Easyjet.  Or like flying business class if compared to a Ryanair flight.  This was my second time flying with Jetstar this year, and despite slight delays both times, the experience was a very pleasant one.  I even had my own seat, with a number assigned and everything.

The Pickled Frog – Hobart

After a short flight, under an hour and half, I was touching down and on my way to town via the airport shuttle.  I was at the Pickled Frog backpackers some 30 mins later.  The Pickled Frog is a large, rambling backpackers converted from an old pub.  Upon checking in I soon found out that the friendliness I had experienced so far in my very short time here was genuine.  Everybody talks to you like an old friend you haven’t seen for a while.  A theme that continued throughout my whole stay.
I had a very fluid plan whilst in Hobart, which entailed eating, drinking and aimlessly wandering the old colonial streets.  A plan that I carried off with aplomb.
I ate well.  Contrary to popular belief, more than just fish and chips as well.  And I drank well.  Hobart is renowned for it’s beers.  And tasty they are too.
Tasmania’s finest food and drink

Historic Hobart

Hobart is a great place to just wander about.  I strolled the historic streets of Battery Point, having coffee at Jackman & Ross.  If you are ever there, check out the cake selection.  I wandered along the shore to Wrest Point, home of Australia’s first (legal) casino.  It looked like Australia’s emptiest casino the day I was there.  And reminiscent of what I imagine Las Vegas casinos to have looked like in the 50s.  My walk then brought me back, along Salamanca Place and into Salamanca Square where an old quarry has been transformed into plush bars, restaurants and cafes.
Sandy Bay

MONA – a first visit

But the best was saved until last.  MONA.  The Museum of Old and New out at Moorilla Estate, 12 kms north of Hobart’s city centre by the dedicated MONA ferry.  Recommended to me by a couple of colleagues who were somewhat taken by the knowledge of the soap you could buy there.
“You will see”, was all they would offer.  And I did see.  But not before having my mind blown by perhaps the best gallery I have ever visited.  Described by the estate owner David Walsh as a “subversive adult Disneyland”, I did wonder what was in store at the $75 million museum.  Let me tell you, it is spectacular.  A feast for the senses, visually demanding.  Stunning.
And the soaps?  Judge for yourself.
Apparently, belongs to Veronique
You can also buy Bianca’s, just in case you were in any doubt!

An Australia I once knew

Hobart, a beautiful place.  Refreshing antidote to the pretensions of Sydney trying a little too hard to be all grown up, a big city on the world’s stage.Hobart reminds me of an Australia I once knew as a backpacker, many years ago.  You can’t halt progress, but it is nice spending time with a city comfortable in its own skin, knows its beauty, and showcases it perfectly.

Hobart, hasta la vista.

Adelaide – The City of Churches

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Named after the wife of King William IV, Adelaide sits on the bottom coast of Australia.  In the state of South Australia, some 2 hours flight from Sydney, it has the unusual quirk of being half an hour behind Sydney.  Where else in the world do we get increments of 30 minutes between time zones?  Just for clarity, this is rhetoric. I’m sure it happens elsewhere in the globe, I just didn’t have the time to Google it.  My free 30 minutes wifi allowance was quickly running out.

If you are wondering, as I was, how the city gained the nickname “ city of churches”, it may be linked to that fact that there are over 700 of them, in a small, very compact city. Only outnumbered by pubs, it feels as though there are multiple churches on every street.  Well, thinking about it, there probably are.


Europeans first settled in Adelaide in 1836 as a place for ships that were sailing around the coast of Australia to stop and replenish their stocks of food and grog. Over 200 years later it is still an excellent place to do the very same.  Interestingly, Adelaide was different to Sydney, and Melbourne, in that no convicts were shipped here. It was a place for free immigrants to settle, and work.

Beautiful cottages of Adelaide
Adelaide is the capital of South Australia, and the 5th most populous city in Australia. With a population of only some 1.3million. The city straddles the River Torrens, with the very impressive (now that it has had a multi million dollar facelift) Adelaide Oval on the north side, and the CBD on the other. And all across the city remain pristine examples of the architecture dating back to the first settlements. The cottages you see everywhere are very distinctive, and very Adelaide.


On the banks of the River Torrens

Our Jetstar flight from Sydney landed on time at 11.40am, after accounting for that spurious 30 minutes, and being only about 6kms from the city centre, we were in our cosy, no frills Air BnB a short time later.

Nothing much is far from anything in Adelaide, and although our accommodation was on the outskirts of the CBD (city centre for readers from the UK) we were still only a flat 20 minute walk away.  The city is bounded by North Terrace and South Terrace, the latter of which is where we are staying for the 3 nights we were there.


The first thing that you notice when in Adelaide, when you come from Sydney at least, is the lack of traffic.  Then you notice how wide and expansive the roads are. Set out by Colonel Light, one of Adelaide’s founding fathers, in a perfect grid pattern, there are five squares in the city centre, and a ring of parks surrounding it. This gives Adelaide a very green, leafy feel. Not something you immediately associate with cities.



Looking down the roads, east to west, you feel you can see all the way to the horizon. In the distance loom the Adelaide Hills and McLaren Vale.  And despite the lack of traffic, people appear to not be in a rush, actually waiting for the green man. How very novel. It took some getting used to. Slowing down to this place of life. But when you do, you feel a sense of calm, and a wish that only every day could be like this.

Talking to people from Sydney you would think that Adelaide was some long forgotten backwater.  
That could not be further from the truth.  You may be aware I have an obsession with quality coffee. Maybe I have mentioned it in previous blogs. Or perhaps you have seen my Instagram posts. Adelaide maintains the very high standards you can rely on in Australia, and that I have become accustomed to in Sydney.


Keeping the coffee warm at Fawn cafe

The same goes for breakfast and brunch.  And it is not all smashed avo and vegemite. Two highly recommended options are “Coffylosophy” on Hutt Street, and “Fawn” on nearby Gilles Street.  Great food continues into the evening.  I would give a nod to “The Greek” on Halifax Street, where else for a boy from Halifax?, and the many options around Leigh Street and Peel Street.  I would highly recommend pre dinner drinks at “Clever Little Tailor”.   Or an afternoon sharpener at “Proof”. Both great bars.

In the Barossa

I have got all this way without mentioning one of the main draws of a visit to Adelaide.  The world class wineries.  We took a full day trip to one of them, the Barossa Valley, with Taste the Barossa. The full day trip starts from your pick up in the city and ends approx 5pm back in the same place. The drive takes you up through hills, and into the valley, where you visit some great wineries, and have a fabulous antipasto board lunch. All in, a wonderful day.


And what is a place in Australia without a beach?  Well, Adelaide has you covered on this front too, with a long, wide beach at Glenelg, which you can easily reach in less than 30 minutes, on one of the many trams trundling between the city and the beach.

Although it wasn’t beach weather the day we were there, we still had a wind blown walk along the front, before decamping to the very imposing “Grand” pub fish and chips.  Some traditions just refuse to die.



Adelaide is a small city with a big personality. It has everything you need for either a visit, or for those looking to settle somewhere a little more personable than one of the bigger cities in Australia.

I’m looking forward to returning already.

We continue to explore Western Australia

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A land of contrasts

Good day to you all. How have we been keeping since we last spoke? I suppose much of this depends on where in the world you are reading from. Our Southern Hemisphere readers have been warming up nicely as we count down to the festive season. And “oop North”? A lot chillier, I imagine. Seeing all the bobble hats and gloves at the Premier League just gives me the shivers.

To escape the thoughts of any shivers, we have been exploring more of WA. Somewhere that is a firm favourite for us (and thousands of others), and somewhere new for us. Last time we spoke I was writing about The Wheatbelt and Margaret River.

Rottnest Island

Today, we explore Rottnest Island and Ferguson Valley, two places that could not be much different to each other. Our visit to “Rotto” was to celebrate Mrs C’s birthday. Everybody who knows the island will not be able to think of it without bringing to mind small, little, furry marsupials. Quokkas have become world famous as everyone from me and Victoria, to Rafael Nadal attempt to get a selfie with them. Here is a shot from a trip a few years ago…

Family portrait, circa 2017

The Land of the Quokkas

When we first started visting Rottnest the quokkas were quite elusive and we had to cycle deep into the island to catch a glimpse. Over the years, this has changed a lot and now they meet you off the ferry and offer to carry your bags for you. OK, maybe that is stretching the truth a bit, but they are now ubiqitous and are very relaxed around humans. I did honestly see one eating a fried chicken drumstick. I am not sure what that will be doing to her tiny insides.

With the only traffic on Rottnest being the tourist bus, and having no natural predators on the island, quokkas are free to roam and basically do as they please. Which usually means running around your feet as you munch on your fish and chips in the pub.

Rottnest by (e)Bike

To burn off lunch, the absolute best way to see Rottnest is by bicycle. But not any old bicycle. On Victoria’s first visit to the island I told her, (which I thought was true from memory), that the island is relatively flat, and a normal push iron would do the trick. Well, it did. Until the first hill. And then the second. And third, fourth, and…

There is power in thoe bikes

You get the picture. It wasn’t as flat as I remembered, and learning from that experience, we always hire electric bikes now. What a difference. Effortlessly gliding up the hills, and free wheeling down, the whole island is now your oyster.

An island that has to be seen to be believed. Imagine beaches and a sea that would only look real in a painting. Even that does not really do it justice. It is breathtaking. Perfect bays, secluded beaches, and a cobalt blue sea that looks very inviting. Inviting that is until you dip your toes in it. Even as warm as the day was, I was not ready to start experimenting with the Wim Hof method.

Sundowners on the Island

What I was happy to experiment with was the Happy Hour. There are not many things in life better than sat on a comfortabe seat, on the beach, sand in your toes, cold drink in hand as the sun sets. It is a gift that never gets old. A gift that gives you a pause for thought, to remind yourself to be grateful for this amazing planet.

We had two nights on Rottnest, once again staying at the exquisite Hotel Samphire. Two nights is never enough, but we can console ourselves that we are only a 30 minute ferry ride away. An island on our doorstep that always leaves you feeling you have been on an actual holiday. We will be back over in early 2024, showcasing the island to our visitors from the UK. When did you last ride a bike, Jane?

From Sand to the South West

In a land of contrasts, there is no contrast quiet as big as the island life of Rottnest, and the rural life of South West Australia. We were headed somewhere new for us. Described by a friend as a “small Margaret River”, we were very excisted to explore. Once again, Victoria hit the jackpot in finding us accommodation. We had two nights in “Minnie”, an off grid cabin on Skating Goose Farm.

I would have been happy just to sit on the deck with a bottle of wine, and follow the arc of the sun across the summer sky.

Wine Tasting in the Ferguson Valley

The bottle of wine would have to wait, we had wine tastings to explore. And we had some great wine tastings. The vineyards and wineries we visited were excellent. And busy. Driving around the quiet roads of Ferguson Valley, through towns such as Dardanup, you could be excused for thinking you were the only ones there. Where is everyone, you ask yourself? And then you arrive at a cellar door.

Ah, this is where everyone is. We braced ourselves for the inevitable question, “have you got a booking?” And we weren’t disppointed. We had no booking, but at Green Door wines we managed to get the only unreserved table for a lunch platter and a wine tasting.

Our second tasting was at Willow Bridge, just up the road. This was quieter, with us being the only visitors. I think Jules on the cellar door was just glad to have someone to talk to. We tasted the whole range of wines, with me being the designated “spitter”, as I was the skipper for the day.

In wine country, you will see signs asking “who is the skipper?”, conscious that when wine tasting it is all too easy to drink more than you should when driving. So, using the spitton, I was able to fully taste all the wines, without drinking them. Victoria seemed to be enjoying herself, and one hour turned into two as we were supplied with wine, and regaled with stories from Jules. She was hilarious.

Back for BBQ

Maybe it was a ploy by Jules, to ply Victoria with wine, so she purchased a few bottles. What Jules did not know was, Victoria will buy wines, regardless of whether she has been drinking, and we subsequently left with a box of 6 excellent wines.

On the way back to the cabin we called in at Wild Bull brewery and had a middy of craft beer each. I love these local breweries that you find in the country. Always so rustic. So welcoming. And a great range of craft beers. Wild Bull was no exception. But, one beer was all we could allow ourselves as we had a t-bone at home, waiting to be barbecued.

Gnomesville, Seriously

Can you imagine a tourist attraction that is just thousands of gnomes by the side of the road? In Ferguson Valley, Gnomesville is an actual place, signposted all over the valley for tourists. What started out as a bit of fun, and one gnome, has become one of Australia’s top 100 tourist attractions. I am not sure whether this is weird for Australia, or weird for the tourists. It has to be seen to be believed. Thousands of gnomes, brought from all over the world, all keeping themselves company in the forest. Some even have their own homes!

Farewell to Ferguson Valley

Like all good trips, this one was over way too soon. Two nights were a great taster of what the Valley has to offer and we are sure to be back. Before heading home we called into St Aidan’s winery for a tasting. That we got there at 10.59am, before they were even open, turned out to be a master stroke. Again, without a booking, there were few tables left. We sat by the window and as we waited for our wines, the cellar door soon filled up. Where do all these people come from?

The drive back to Perth was via Brugan Brewery, another new one for us, for a classic pub lunch of chicken parmi for me and chicken schnitty for Victoria. A great way to round out a great weekend.

Australia’s Changing Seasons

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Smell the Eucalyptus

Strolling through the park, as we started our usual weekend walk, the smell of eucalyptus was strong. There had been overnight rain. Heavy rain. The kind of rain that signals the changing of the seasons. The grass becomes a lot greener. The lake rises a little. The pelicans head north for warmer weather. Mating frogs call out to each other. A sound we haven’t heard in over a year. And the temperature has dropped. Oh yes, summer is slowly becoming a distant memory. 

Lake Monger

When it rains, it rains

At home there has been a wardrobe change. Gone are the oppresive days of 40 degree heat. There is less need for shorts and an increased demand for the jumpers and hoodies that hibernate through the oppressive Perth summer. The flip flops get little use. It is time for boots. Long trousers. And a rain jacket.

When it rains in Perth, it rains. Torrential. Our apartment is on the upper level of two and is the first line of defence against the downpour. The sound is deafening. So much that we can’t hear the TV. It becomes a sound track all of its own. 

Makuru in Perth

This morning’s soundtrack is dominated by the cockatoos, congregating on the edge of Lake Monger. Squawking. It sounds like they are making great demands of each other. It sounds almost violent. Perhaps it is, in the bird world. They could learn a lot from their friends, the pelicans. Majestically gliding across the lake.

As we continue walking around the lake, we can feel the dampness in the air. We can smell it. The “white fellas” would call this Autumn. Arriving on boats from England, the colonists tried to replicate what they had at home. Forcing nature into the four seasons they called Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. Tried to grow the same crops. Perturbed as to why they didn’t take. Not considering that they were in a whole new world. A new land. A land that has been home to people for over 60,000 years.

And over those thousands of years, these First Nations people had worked out how to partner with the land. Work symbiotically. In harmony. They weren’t “in nature”, they were nature. Not for them the imposed four seasons of the colonists. The indigenous people of Australia align to a six season calendar. The changing weather, and changing landscape tells them that we are now in the season of Makuru. Represented by the colour blue, symbolising rain and cold weather. 

Makuru runs through June and July, at which point we will have Djilba, in August, symbolising the growth of wildflowers and plants. Our “winter”, or Makuru, will be spent in the Northern Hemisphere, hopefully enjoying a traditional summer. Although, from what I am hearing from up there, summer has yet to arrive. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hasty in thinking I will be living in shorts and t-shirts.

Exploring the Back Yard

Before embarking on our bi-annual trip to the UK and Europe, we have been doing more exploring in our own part of the world. I got to spend 4 days in Sydney. Unfortunately, not as a tourist. I was over for some coach training and spent most of the time in a classroom with a passionate group of coaches from across Australia. That said, our training was over at Manly Beach so each day I had the pleasure of the world’s best commute, crossing over on the iconic green and gold ferry.

Exploring Australia’s South West

A little closer to home we spent a long public holiday weekend in the South West. For once, we didn’t get as far as our beloved Margaret River. Home for the weekend was an eco cabin at Southcamp, a large brewery located just 30 minutes north of Margaret River. This was our first stay in Dunsborough, as we usually just pass through. And we got to see a lot more of this small town. Scratch the surface and there is a lot to enjoy.

Being lovers of good food, we thoroughly enjoyed our dinner at Blue Manna bistro, which I now know is named after a crab. Makes sense, for a seafood restaurant. Victoria had a delicious blue swimmer crab linguine. I also had linguine, with fresh seafood. After a period of 5 weeks of sobriety, this weekend we allowed ourselves a couple of glasses of wine. The chardonnay was a perfect accompaniment. 

Morning walks along the oceanfront, trying to spot the migrating humpback whales, in vain. Breakfast in one of the many excellent cafes dotted around town. Afternoons were spent in the cabin, reading. Isn’t this what long weekends are for?

Football comes to Perth

We also got to, finally, visit Optus Stadium in Perth. And I was underwhelmed. We were there for the football. An Italian extravaganza with AC Milan taking on AS Roma. Sadly, Optus Stadium was built for Aussie Rules so it is a round stadium. Not ideal for football as you are so far from the pitch. An Italian dinner was the obvious choice pre-match, and probably one of the only times I have had a night out, and gone to the football, without having an alcoholic drink. Our holiday health kick continued, with us indulging in non alcoholic Peroni.

Looking after body and mind

Part of the health kick has included reigniting our love for reformer pilates, something we did for a few years in Sydney. Having a studio so close to the apartment here in Perth was the perfect excuse and we have really loved getting back into it. I had forgotten quite how hard it is. But, great for my aging body. Regular gym sessions, weekly pilates, weekend walks, and the best part of 8 weeks of no alcohol and I’m feeling in fine fettle.

How long the fine fettle will continue is up for debate. Next week sees us head overseas to escape winter. Some long overdue family time, and then a few weeks exploring the best of Puglia and Sicily. I can almost taste the pasta and wine already. Apart from a long weekend in Bali, this will be our first overseas holiday in over a year. We are ready.

Ciao, ragazzi!