This morning we drove out of town and up to the lookout at Mount Canobolas; 3,000 feet above sea level, which is high enough to see the curve of the earth and cold enough to require a good heavy coat.
The drive out to Canobolas takes you through the farmland on the outskirts of town, where they grow olives and vines and all sorts of fruit from strawberries to mangoes. There are whole stretches of road out here that look so much like country roads in Britain that your mind is completely confused by the surroundings and you begin to imagine there will be a pub around the next corner; a Fox and Hounds or a Dog and Partridge, and perhaps next door to that, a farm selling fresh eggs with an honesty box at the front gate.
The odd thing is, unless you’re here for the farmers’ market on the second Saturday of the month, it’s quite hard to actually buy any of this local produce because they don’t seem to be selling it on the farms, just in selected local stores on a list you can get in the tourist information office in town, and who’s got the energy to go to those sorts of lengths for half a dozen eggs?
Anyway, we did find the Mountain Tearooms at the base, which turned out to be something of a religious experience. We might not have found any eggs, but we did find Jesus amongst the picnic benches and let’s face it, there’s nothing like a rousing chorus of abide with me at half ten in the morning to remind you you’re alive.
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