Our penultimate night away finds us back in Yackandandah. A small town situated amongst rolling hills about 288 km north east of Melbourne.
The origins of the towns name are not certain, with one author saying that could derive from two Aboriginal words for rock and waterhole.
We rolled into town right on lunchtime after a really pleasant drive along backroads from Bright. The countryside is so green right now and many of the farms have been set in stands of English trees that are a stark contrast to the bush feel of the Stringybark, broad-leaf peppermint, and blue gums that boarder the properties.
So tonight we take a little time to reflect on our trip. It has been a fantastic journey. Over 1,000 squiggly kilometres through northern Victoria.
From riding a paddle steamer down the Murray river, to turning the massive prayer wheel at the stupa of compassion, to sneaking into the prison in Castlemaine, to trying not to blow our cover as we stealth camped like drunken ninjas in, well wherever the heck we were at the time.
Plenty of great experiences and unexpected finds along the way.
We are staying at the Yackandandah holiday park tonight. Kelly is whipping up a celebratory salad which will be accompanied by large bolus doses of steaming hot pie. Beef for Kelly and curried pumpkin for me.
Just down the way from us a large clan of grey nomads have circled their rigs around a giant fire pit. It is just starting to get dark and they are already well lubricated into loud storytelling and frequent laughter.
There are snacks.
There is singing.
Naked elder dancing and ritual drumming late into the night may well ensue.
Or I could be in bed and unconscious by eight.