Dunkeld Highlights

You know pets, I always thought that little place down at the foot of the gorgeous Grampians was called Dunk Held – you know - as if someone kept someone else under water for much longer than is comfortable. Well, it’s not. No. It’s called Dunkeld and it’s gorgeous. There you are, you’ve learned something from me now.

Now, my very dear friends Pierre and Jana (that’s not their real names but they’re a teeny bit dull so I gave them a little French touch – really, my sense of style has made them what they are today) Anyway P and J have gone and done something radical.

The dear pets are trying desperately to superannuate themselves out of their dreary little lives so they scraped enough together to buy this darling little – what would you call it? - a farm? no, an orchard? – well , possibly. I don’t really know, but it’s a cute-as-a-button little cottage on the outskirts of town (they couldn’t afford anything closer – poor pets.) Their little farmchard or orchfarm is really very pretty, even if Jana’s taste for interior decorating doesn’t quite match mine – but then pets, really, whose does? With a good sprinkling of lace and some nice throw rugs the place will come up just beautifully, I’m sure.

But, it’s far from perfect - oh mark my words. Although the little place sits quite close to town it has those ghastly gum trees and animals – wild ones and ones that can eventually be cooked and eaten with a nice plate of vegies. But with animals comes animal poo. Oh dear, it’s such a shame that the country has to be littered with animal poo – especially cow poo. It’s such a blot on our landscape and really something needs to be done about it. I had to hold my nose the entire time and dab a little lavender oil on my hankie when I eventually had to breathe.

Look I’m sure Jana thinks it’s quite novel to pretend she’s Eva Gabor and swan around between the plum trees but she’ll soon come to learn the delights of the Great Indoors as I like to call them.

Now, Dunkeld. What a kempt little place that is. Of course, as soon as the old Merc pulled into the main street I was immediately drawn to the town’s two major attractions – the Royal Mail Hotel, which I had heard that man who swears review – you know the one – that nasty American fellow – Anthony Bourdain. Calls his show No Reservations, but I tell you I have reservations about him. Needs his mouth rinsed out with Omo if you ask me. The other major attraction of Dunkeld pets, is a fence. That’s right a beautiful stone fence that people come for miles around to see. Oh, it’s really the most exciting thing in town. I’ll tell you more about that little gem later.

Pierre and Jana treated me to dinner at the Royal Mail. Oh I was so looking forward to it. A beautiful little country pub with nooks and crannies, serving a lovely roast of the day. But as soon as I drew close I knew I was in for a shock. Oh dear -modern. I am really starting to think that this entire country is becoming modern and it’s such a shame. I blame that Rudd fellow. We used to have a lovely tone here but not these days. And like a cancer, this modern thing is spreading to the country. It’s simply not good enough!

I walked inside the establishment, sat at the modern bar on a stool of all things and ordered a peppy little G&T. My friends had wine which I thought was totally pretentious for a Saturday evening. The bar was expansive with beers on tap and a sitting area in front of an open fire which, of course, was not lit due to the fact that it was 35 degrees outside. Pleasant, very pleasant.

We moved from the bar to the bistro after I’d had five or six G&Ts and promptly read through the menu. Not a roast in sight! Instead there were all sorts of foreign sounding recipes that frankly, didn’t do much for me at all. And I was so looking forward to a nice plate of pork or beef. I settled for the chicken which came roasted (of sorts) and sitting in a little puddle of broth, which, for my liking should have been served before the main course, not under my chicken. Look, I struggled through and it was fine really. Just not what I expected.

We chatted and sipped and dined for a couple of hours and on the way out I looked at the menu for the restaurant, which really is just on the other side of the bistro. They have this thing called a degustation which is far too many courses served with matching wines. I was so pleased that Pierre and Jana elected for the Bistro as the prices for the restaurant were extreme to say the least. Look pets, I know they enjoy a little tipple butt to pay nearly $300 a head for a dinner with matching wines is just unspeakable, especially in a little spec of a place like Dunkeld. And not being a wine drinker myself, I wondered how many different gins they had behind the bar that could possible keep me amused through the marathon ‘degustation’ sitting.

We moved on and left the Royal Mail. It was not as I expected and not what I appreciate – modern indeed.

The following morning I had to see the other town attraction – the fence. I drove the old Merc down through town and made my own observations, needing no official information. The fence obviously encompasses a private park. It stands about eight feet high and is built of solid stone. Gorgeous and its cold stone face reminded me a little of my late mother in law. It encased several acres of God knows what – I couldn’t tell as the wretched thing was closed. I tried several gates but to no avail. Shut up like a drum! Over the tops of the fence I could see towering trees and the roofs of building that resembled conservatories, which obviously housed all sorts of beautiful orchids and petunias, but do you think I could get in? Oh no. I huffed away and decided to leave this little town. But it was clean.

I’d decided I’d had enough of Dunkeld and wanted to explore more of the Western District where my dear friend Tammy Fraser hailed from. Gorgeous Tammy, I wonder how they’re getting on these days. Along the road about fifteen miles or so towards South Yarra was a little place that I thought sounded like and Australian Cricket Team member – Glenthompson – isn’t that darling? Of course I’ve always had a soft spot for cricketers ever since that extremely virile Dennis Lillee boy unfastened at least four buttons on his whiter than white shirt, so I stopped at this curious little town. I needed a pick me up so I hopped into the general store and ordered myself a little cup of coffee. There were no cricketers in sight.

“A cafe latte if you would please pet” I asked the lady behind the counter who had a definite ‘country’ quality to her appearance. “With a napkin”

Well, if Glenthompson knows one thing, it’s how to make a good coffee – just the way I like it. My beverage arrived to me after about ten minutes and it was so hot pets, I could barely hold the large cardboard cup. Absolutely boiling and steaming. I waited almost half an hour before I took the first sip so as not to burn my lips. Oh the taste! It was deliciously weak and sweet as a first grade school girl, filled with generous scoops of white sugar. The two inches of froth on top had deflated and all that remained was the grey skim milk with just the slightest hint of coffee. I wondered how the lass behind the counter knew how I liked my coffee; maybe she made it like that for everyone. Just delicious.

Look pets, there’s not really much to see in this part of the Western District so after my coffee, I was feeling all fired up and believed I could make it all the way back to South Yarra in one day. I made a bee line for home arriving there somewhere about dinnertime. All in all, it was pleasant little escape but next time I’ll give Tammy a call and let her know I’m in her neck of the woods Then I can have some real fun.