It’s official, the world or at least Australia, is flat. In the outback it was flat but it’s also flat everywhere else especially in Hay, where I heard a local on the radio saying it was even flatter than the Nullabor!
A short stopover in Mildura gave us a great venue (The Murray) to walk around an island it had circumnavigated. As usual we end up finding the best walks are where the people are not – the corona virus has changed our connection with others, but that’s okay because we can listen and look more. There were however a group of ‘all age people’ in yellow jackets who are being re-employed to walk round town sterilising all possible covid 19 catchment areas.
We lunched at a beautiful old homestead that is part of the Mildura arts centre. As we were exploring this homestead, there was a shocking revelation. The two Chaffey brothers, who were the pride and joy of Mildura, had introduced the first irrigation system into Australia. Without them, we wouldn’t have an allocation issue!!
In Balranald we found the Murray on its own and spent time keeping it company now that it had left its Darling. As you probably know the Darling is a Queenslander, and the Murray comes from Cooma way.
Now we’re in Hay, arriving a little late for an adventure along the Murrumbidgee, but that will happen. This river was also born in the Snowy Mountains, and never lost its Aboriginal identity, so no need for yet another name change.
The water here is used for many crops, but the highlight from north of Wentworth down to and past Mildura are oranges and grape vines. Wine is big here so visitors not being able to sample the wine because of Covid 19 have a bitter taste left in their mouths. This gives me a chance to introduce my Champagne poem from northern France. While these wineries don’t make this celebratory drop, wine itself is often a celebration.

It’s the extrovert that has to have its say
Exuberant, excitement unconstrained,
It’s not the taste alone that marks the day
The sounds and sights are also unashamed.
Was born in northern France, a bubbly child
Its childhood in Champagne it grew up fast,
With many friends and parties very wild
It gained a reputation and a past.
Now with its sense of place that is terroir
It knows that ground that guarantees survival,
It knows its base no longer just bourgeois
An adult now, completed its revival.
This drink of celebration and for sorrows
Will never die, there’ll always be tomorrows.