Beds are becoming hard to find so we are taking a big step and booking ahead. Ominous clouds are gathered early to wish me well for another year, as we exit our night room where the bed touches all walls bar the door entrance. Getting out was an exercise that I have never done before and being on the inside, Corrie’s was even a greater gymnastic feat. But the best shower in the world was worth it all.
No cars but lots of cows, coming down the road, and my book said turn right. We’re on a roll early on wanting to get some quick kms behind us, and I spotted the turn, but the cows had seen it also. There was a chance of jumping the queue but when I noticed more than methane was escaping, changed my mind.
After getting the cows sorted it was up into the hills which we love so much, looking down on the gorgeous farming patterns below, the yellow canola, the green grains and the small humps of trees. Looking for a chair or even something that acts like one, at the village end there was a bus stop. The guide book said there was a village round the corner so a decision was made – check it out. It was however yet another cafe-free village, but never church-free, so what to do?
A soil paddock had an embankment and it was strong-wind-free with sun. The ploughed soil was barely noticed when walking, but when having this vista for dejeuner it was another thing. The shades of soils were so varied, the lighter ones had white stones, while the darker ones may have had millions of them removed. A fast train joined us for 20 seconds, the only sound other than the wind.
A long paddock path near the river Hem was our town entrance. No better welcome than a gurgling river beneath an ancient bridge or so we thought. In this town there was one cafe. The gorgeous happy owner welcomed us, laughed, joked and helped us with our French. She produced a visitors book and there we saw two Aussie walkers, friends of ours who had been there on this exact date last year, so a special birthday present.