You Will Go To The Hunter Valley

About a year ago at a dinner party I cracked open a fortune cookie that said

"You will go to the Hunter Valley".

Run Rabbit, Run Rabbit, Run! Run! Run!!

Day 1

Back on the bloody CAN=SYD express. Ignoring seat belt warning as usual. Funny tourist in over-sized jacket beside me overtakes arm rest and I'm too scared to push him off. He checks his "tour schedule"from the travel agent once every 20 minutes, and records town-passed/distance-travelled/distance-to-sydney every other 20 minutes with a neat pencil from his front pocket. Checks his airport hired mobile phone for messaged every other other 20 minutes. He is a spy.

Stumble into Sushi Train on George Street post-poning toilet break just to get my fix. Shocked to not find special plate with the raw salmon wrapped giant roe platter, panics a little. Asks one to be made and the chef looks up at me. Look, its been 6 months.

I pay $8 to get into the last week of Archibald Prize. I loved it you should go. Its sad that I go to the NSW Gallery more often than the NGA, but since visiting Australia for the first time in 2000 I have decided it was probably one of the best spaces there is.

Coffee with ex bosses.

Chai Latte at the Hilton with BF and his workmates on conference. Back to Templeton's grandfather's house for dinner. He is a fab cook and entertains us with crazy stories about people's fingers getting cut off, jumping into rivers, and a man who wears his wife's undies, and the Opera House. And muslims. Falls asleep after 1 champagne.

Day 2

The highway, symbolised by the big green line that wiggles through the coast, looks like it'll never end, but I have just realised that I can look at maps in a car and not omit all content of my stomach onto the driver's lap. And that Templeton and I share the ability to confuse left and right.

Car guy from New Castle is in deep shit, as its not ready for us to look at and "we drove 500Ks". But I've never been to this ancient port town and must endeavour to understand its historic, social, political, economic, cultural and environmental significance in 1.5 hours. But also must have fish'n chips when you're in NC!! while avoiding being attacked by gulls. T tells me about shipyard protesting in the early 90s. I see one Chinese person.

There's like only one way to get the Maitland, symbolised by the red line with the shield with a number in it, and we get there just before we thought we were lost. Side bar says it has the best preserved high street in Australia but neither of us could agree. Very quiet but I can see the appeal. Walked around the river and this place really reminds me of Wanganui.

The hills are incredibly huge above us. So we do feel some what far away from the valley. Its late autum and the hills are almost grey. Hazy, distant. Yearning.

Wineries... symbolised by 6 dots suggesting a vine of grapes on an empty space. T and I do a bit of strategising and decides that TranquilVale is the closest to Greta and we should get to it before 5pm so we have time to get pissed. The drive in down a narrow dust road felt like we were in the Anne of Green Gables TV show - the sides were clad with pink tails of tussock grass in the setting sun and passing the rows of aging fence wood on each side with the sound of wheels over pebbles beside you. The owner emerges with a full pink flushed smile. He used to be a finance broker in London but decided that the wine making life in rural New South Wales was for him. 156 dollars later we were back on the dust road racing the round red sinking sun into the hills.

Managed to get lost again and drive past signs. We arrive at our guesthouse in Greta just as darkness sweeps across the earth. No neon lights, just a green beam outside the local pub. It is soooooooo cute!! http://www.thetable.com.au/. Giant intimidating cat greets us and promptly makes his way into the car for a bit of a poke around. Obviously never seen a VW Beetle before. Malcolm the plump chef/owner is a lovely man but probably feels sorry for himself for having to work on a saturday night. Cat (introduced as "Pud") now sitting on top of the car, too scared to jump off. Templeton helps him off and scratches his chin. Sometimes I think Templeton is too patiently generous. Thats why I'm still around... After Templeton's compulsory daily nap, Malcome served us a fantastic dinner. 1) Olives and duck liver pate - matched with PUKKA ....... 2) Hearty Beechroot Soup - he obviously spent a lot of time on the stock, it really is the most creamiest thing I've had 3) Paella - which both of us have been trying to perfect so its great to taste some one else's - he has various topping like chicken drumsticks and cherry sausages, and the tip is probably not to cook the mussel right through so that it obtains a bit of rawness and has an oyster likeness to it. 4) bread and butter pudding with minced fig and hot custard - figs are so in fashion these days and I have no reason to doubt why it shouldn't be. The texture of the fig and the way which the pips break in your teeth just melts in with the soft bread and subtle sauce.

It makes sense to go to bed now but it was probably a better idea to go for a walk. Its cold, and its really dark. The moon is full and lights the path all by itself and we dance in our shadows. Run Rabbit Run Rabbit Run Run Run. It was through a bit of arm twisting that Templeton dragged me into the local pub. I had the pleasure last year, on the way down to Melbourne , to walk into a country pub to use the toilets at 7pm on a Friday night. You'd think they've never seen an Asian before and you are probably right. 30 pairs of eyes followed me from the light pushing of the bar door right around the pokey machines and the marlboro posters and into the ladies' toilets, then all the way back around the blue skatty carpet till I ran out screaming. We still got starred at. (DID YOU KNOW, that 14.5% of NSW opposes interracial marriages?) but they were a bit more occupied with the cover band. I steal a Rodeo poster on the way out, Templeton collects the coaster. heh heh. No that wasn't too bad, but still.

Day 3

I wake up in the hugest bed I've ever slept in and wonder why I am not sore today. Oh wait, I'm hung over. Templeton and I procrastinate too much and are 15 minutes late for breakfast. But Malcolm understands~~

Breakfast was 1) Freshly squeezed OJ & coffee 2) Porridge topped with toasted pine nuts drizzled in cream then topped with honey and brown sugar melt 3) Sweet potato frittata w zucchini and home made grilled tomato sauce. The one i'll be taking home is the T sauce. The flavours were literally dancing in my mouth and all the way up my nose. Winter in the Hunter is just that warm and enriching.

Clinkadee clonk goes the box of wine we carry down stairs and off we go to hunt out more. However Templeton still manages to score a few records at the garage sale at the old church hall down the road. Taiwanese Music from the 50s too. I feel like Dorothy. We head towards Polkobin and stop at Emma's Cottage first. We were going to stay there at one stage but The Table gave us a better deal. Some colourfully dressed but admittedly freaky scarecrows sit in the vineyard, and then more of them line the drive way. The couple that runs it were from Sydney's northern beaches. They too could not resist the rural romantic winery lifestyle. The lady is a painter/artist and she is the mother of the scarecrows. Her paintings were displayed in the cellar door with big price tags, they were interesting but perhaps a little bit too hauntingly bright for me. The wine was disappointing as well, the flavours were quite bland and just didn't quite do anything for me. Except the rose. To add to the queerness of the place there's a cemetery in the middle of the garden. We were told that the local Anglican Church owns that plot and they have right of access to it. Its mainly buried early settlers in the Hunter area, dating from about 1860s. We asked to go in and take a look. It was quite unique actually, the tomb stones tell a lot about lives of white settlers back then. Many died young, many of the dead were between 4 days old and 16. Quite a few women, I would assume, died at child birth as well. The most recent one was November 2005. Some of the bigger names such as the Terrys and the Campbells featured prominently and we later saw some of their vineyards along the road. Absolutely fascinating. We tip toed out as to not disturb the dead or the scarecrow.
We pass some bush camps with wide-eyed children waving out at us. Along ?? Road there's a smorgasboard of wineries and each has an inviting door. We eenie-meenied into Rothvale - Hunter Habit. Its a big barn in the middle of the field. High ceilings houses large barrels and large tables for big gatherings. A group of German-American-Canadian people are in there listening to this Aussie dude talk bull crap about drinking. The showman asks us what we do and gives us his perspective of everything-in-the-world, and a not very convincing argument FOR the AWB for giving bribes to the Iraqi government - "you gotta do what you gotta do in business you know, or else other people will do it anyway. Get in before you, you know. But hey, I don't know about politics." Bite your tongue. He then introduces the ideal matching meals to each of the wine as we swiggle away (Templeton spits and I swallow), weirdly all of the food he mentions is Japanese or Thai. Is it cos of me?? We sweep up the $5 bottles of seconds, making a list in our heads who out of our friends should be given a bottle. I can't stop laughing at the sight of Templeton loading up our little car with boxes full of bottles.

I think this is the road of no return to tourist trap. The cheese shop Malcolm recommended is in a resort type place where silver and red four wheel drives line the car park and the waiters are all punks. Cheese... cheese... cheese.... We drive into the pink and yellow part of the map, and we are gobsmacked. Before this we had largely been travelling on a bushy road littered with dead kangaroos, not particularly well sealed (which T calls it a road with acne), and we see a few hundred acres of developed suburb like space, with hundreds of well dressed weekend holiday makers walking around with their dogs in and out of small groups

I think the point is to pretend that you know what you are talking about, eased by the fact that you have chosen to swallow than to spit. The showroom people probably know nothing either. Its like the Emperor's clothes, what counts is how big your mouth or wallet or imagination is.

Luckily the day was saved by discovering Pepper Tree Wines in the late afternoon, a well groomed posh cellar in the grounds of a former convent. The garden is absolutely gorgeous and there are catering staff buzzing in and out for a function they are about to hold in the evening. This was by far the best place we've been to -- and I am a little embarrassed to say that we came out with almost two dozen bottles and a huge dent in both of our wallets... look, Christmas is only 7 months away after all.

Apart from the very very excruciating traffic hold up between Gosford and Sydney on the way home, I could pretty much say the weekend was one of the most enjoyable adventures I've had in NSW.