The travel bug

We went on a road trip.  We left the night before Ginger’s birthday and stayed in Bengigo en route to Mildura, followed by a motoring segue (probably not entirely sensible from a mileage point of view) to Jerilderie to check out the sheep at our friends’ farm in southern New South Wales.

The motel at Bendigo was a basic set-up but Peta and Ginger were beyond gleeful.  I won’t forget the constant trampolining across the typical motel beds. Boing, boing, boing. Nothing special in the world of beds but they acted as if we had deprived them of bouncy beds.

Some intense investigation of the bedding brought up exclamtory wonder and awe: “There’s wool here, mamma!” upon discovering a fairly ordinary fleece blanket on each bed.  Ah, the little things obviously go a long way too. The clincher of course was the real find: “These beds have got wheels!!!!!!”  Joy.  Their squeals were set at full throttle.  Fleece, in a beige sort of tone, and dodgy castor wheels.  That’s all it took to get us into hyperreal motel excitement.

Mildura was low-key mostly by our choice.  We walked along the Murray with an an incredible amount of skylarking, played at the big playground, swam at the local pool, treated ourselves to scrumptious pastries while checking out the Botanical Gardens, ate at the pub with all its brewing machinery, breakfasted in the Chandelier Room at the Grand where we resided for a couple of nights, and checked out some second-hand shops.

Let's tangle up our legs

Jerilderie was a chance to see a working farm and spend time with our host who are long time friends.  There were horses and sheep and dogs and chooks.  The shearing shed and all its shearing pens was a wonderful adventure playground.

This road trip told us that Peta and Ginger will eat multiple courses at breakfast if they are seated in a grand environs and given buffet choices.  They will joyously submit to showers and hair-drying if they are allowed to fool around on hotel beds.  They will walk a fair distance without complaining if they can rustle up other kids they have never met at a playground kilometres and hours away from their own stomping gound.

Perfect.

We are now preparing for a holiday to Liverpool and Chester in England.  We follow it up with a week in Paris.  J will be working in a town between Liverpool and Chester so we will spend a week in each location. I will endeavour to preoccupy a three and five-year old with Beatles memorabilia and old Roman walls.

Hotels with dodgy beds and jaded buffets, here we come.  (And Paris.)

Don't mind me; just planning the next holiday