I stayed at a ranch - How Exciting

Honestly, the traffic around Batemans Bay on the NSW south coast at Christmas is just impossible. Why can’t people stay in their own back yards at Christmas? The Princes Highway that cuts through the town was bumper to bumper and quite frankly, I felt like I was back in Melbourne. Shocking. Batemans Bay doesn’t really tickle my fancy either – it’s quite big now and busy, busy. Not for me I’m afraid – sort of like a Springvale with thongs.

Us two old girls were getting a bit tired. After all, I’d been pushing the old Merc to her limits all day and we’d both been on the road for about seven hours. We’d covered almost eighty five miles in that time and I only stopped once for a cup of tea at a sweet little bakery near some seaside town or other. Why can’t people use real tea? I am starting to develop a real aversion to those ghastly tea bags. I do miss my little pot of Earl Grey when I’m ‘on the road’. But that’s what travel is all about – a traveller must put up with missing out on some of life’s simple pleasures and experience different cultures.

Well, what an experience I was about to have. Let me tell you about it. I stayed on a ranch. Yes, that’s right. A ranch! How intrepid I’ve become.

I stopped at the local information office in Batemans Bay, dodging a group of young men in long bathers which honestly, looked like wet Bermuda shorts that Harold used to wear before he passed on. But these boys wore them without the socks. Or shoes for that matter! They were parading around town without shirts, carrying surf boards under their arms and looking like they owned the place. Quite good looking lads I must say though. Mmmm.

I digress. Margaret, in the Information Office was a pet. I explained to her that I was quite weary from my travels and l needed a nice little place to rest my head for the night and she was so kind. She tapped out a few things on her computer internet thing and said that because of the holidays there wasn’t too much accommodation available. “I’ve got one night available at a place out of town near Mossy Point” It’s $180 a night and they have a vacancy. I’ll give them a ring for you” she said. “Bless you dear” I responded.

“Now this place is a little different” she said. “It’s actually a ranch and has its own golf course. I haven’t seen it for some time but really, it’s all we have to offer”

A ranch. I thought. Isn’t that an American term?. A ranch. That would suggest horses and other animals like cows. And of course, where there’s cows there’s, well, cow poo. And I don’t like cow poo.

“That’s all we have to offer in the way of accommodation I’m afraid” Margaret said apologetically.

“I’ll take it” I said, quick as a flash, noticing that there was a queue of accommodation seekers starting to form behind me.

I asked Margaret a string of questions. Is it close to the beach, is breakfast served in the dining room, is there a tellie in the room, is it far for me to drive, how long will it take me to get there, will I be able to park my Merc close to my room, do you think there would be much cow droppings ( I didn’t like to use the word poo – I’d never met Margaret before and didn’t want her to get the wrong impression of me), can I pay you in cash, how long have you lived at Bateman’s Bay? I was enjoying the conversation but a couple of not-so-subtle coughs from the people in line behind me suggested I should speed up. Such impatience! Good will to all men, I thought. Especially at this time of year.

I surreptitiously reached in to my upper undergarment and retrieved a wad of fifty dollar notes, peeled off four and handed them to Margaret. “There you are dear, now if you’d just give me a map, I’ll be on my way”

I pointed the old Merc south and headed down the Princes Highway about 5 miles. Half an hour later I arrived at the turn off to Oaks Ranch and Country Club on the Old Mossy Point Road. I already had my indicator on as I always do, just to let people know that I might need to turn at any time and soon we were driving past the pretty little golf course towards what looked like a Spanish hacienda. This looks quite exotic, I thought.

I parked right outside the front door and took notice of the little sign that lead me under a white archway to reception. A pretty young thing introduced herself as Karen and asked if I was part of Jim’s group.

“No”. I said quizzically “my name is Mrs Baygo and I made a reservation for one night at the information office at Batemans Bay. What is Jim’s group?”

“Of course. Sorry, my mistake”, she said and asked me to complete the registration slip. I felt like a real guest checking on to a quaint little Spanish country hotel for the evening, even if it did look like something out of a Catalonian village.

Oh, now this is more like it. I thought as I walked around the foyer of the hotel, or ranch as they call it, after completing the formalities and collecting my room key. Yes, this is very comfortable indeed.

My powers of observation allowed me to take in everything in a matter of minutes. A huge open area with lovely generous couches and views over the countryside, a massive fireplace which, of course, given that the temperature was around 30 degrees, was not lit, a dear little bar which I noticed had several bottles of gin lined up against the glass and through the windows I saw a fine looking swimming pool that looked quite enticing. There were a couple of wooden bar stools perched in front of the bar, a dining room set for breakfast with a neat row of little salt and pepper shakers lined up like soldiers on the sideboard and in the distance, a further room that looked to me like a billiard table and ping pong table. How cute – a games room.

I walked past the bar again and counted the bottles of gin then out the door past an outside eating area towards my room.

I was aghast. Children!

Oh no. This can’t be. Never was it mentioned to me that this was a family hotel. I avoid family hotels as if they were terminal wards in an infectious diseases hospital. Oh good Lord. What have I done. Children – how ghastly.

I sped up as I walked down the outside corridor towards my room, dodging drying swimsuits, towels and things known as boogie boards which littered the pathway. Strangely, I could neither hear nor see one child. Just as well. I thought.

Quickly, I placed my tapestry overnight bag on top of the pretty floral bedspread and removed a few items, placing them appropriately in the room. I retrieved my swimsuit and prepared myself for a quick little trip to the beach – Mossy Point. The hotel room, by the way – gorgeous. Carpet on the floor, slightly worn, nice heavy curtains in another floral print, a window that opened, a neat little bathroom (no bath, but that can’t be helped) a few nice prints on the wall which I straightened and of course, a tellie with one of those DVD things attached to it. I still don’t know what DVD stands for but it sounds like some communicable disease. There was tea (not Earl Grey though unfortunately) and coffee in the room and even a spare bed. I was a little worried about the fly screen though – the silly thing kept falling off.

My little trip to the beach was as expected – wet and sandy. Give me a beach with lawn any day! I returned, showered, changed into my green floral sundress that is just perfect for cocktail hour at a resort and walked back down the corridor to the cute little bar, which I was sure would be open given that it was nearly five o’clock – the perfect time for a G&T.

“Hello” I said gently across the bar into an open door that led to the kitchen. A nice young man introduced himself as Andrew, wiped his hands and poured me a G&T. He used a little jigger to measure out the gin – a bit mean I thought ( I usually have at least a jigger and a half) and asked me to sign a chit for $5.50 which he’d charge to my room. I sat there, I don’t know really for how long, and enjoyed just a few drinks. Oh it was lovely.

“We’re not doing meals tonight but I can provide you with a barbeque pack if you’re interested” Andrew said. “No thank you dear. I’m quite happy here”

Barbeque? And cook it myself?

“May I have another G&T please dear”

As dusk settled and thousands of kangaroos jumped over the 600 acres on which the ranch sat, a few small and reasonable silent children ran on the lawn and jumped in and out of the sparkling pool. Why can’t children walk? Why must they always run? A young couple cooked meat at the barbeque while a group of young lads played pool or billiards in the distant room. All in all, it was a very peasant evening watching the comings and goings of a ranch.

There seems to be plenty of activity on a ranch too. For the sports minded, the nightly tariff, which I thought was quite reasonable given that it was Christmas, actually includes a round of golf for two people – quite nice but, of course I haven’t played in years and would be a little rusty. (I do keep a nine iron in the car thought just in case of emergencies like that time a young man tried to attack me while I was waiting at the stop lights in Castlemaine – quite an ugly scene). There are horses available for riding, canoeing, fishing, bushwalking and all sorts of other pursuits for the outdoorsie type. Me? I was happy in the ‘Great Indoors’ as my dear friend Oscar Wilde used to say. Or was it Noel Coward?

Next morning in brilliant sunshine and behind my prescription sunglasses, I checked out of Oaks Ranch and paid my bill for last night’s drinks. “That will be a total of$55.00 thank you” Karen said.

“Fifty five dollars? But they were only... Oh yes, of course it is. Thank you dear. $55.00 here you are. Thank you Goodbye”

And there you are. My first night staying at a ranch – how exciting!

My Diary Notes
A night on a ranch in Southern New South Wales is just lovely. I must remember to have the old Merc serviced when I get back to South Yarra. The one night cost me $180 and if I had have been a golfer, I would have had a free round of golf too for that price. The rate also includes quite a nice little continental breakfast which I find is all I really need. There are 15 rooms from memory, although I must admit, I tried to count them on the way back to my room after a couple of snifters in the bar. The ranch is reasonably close to the beach –a nice little lido called Mossy Point but I had to drive. Karen said the drive to the beach takes about 5 minutes but it took me more like 25. So much wildlife everywhere too – kangaroos all over the place and the birds – lust lovely. And not a whiff of cow poo anywhere!

Their internet computer thing is – www.oaksranch.com.au and the managers are Karen and Andrew – a lovely couple but I don’t know if they’re married – different surnames and that’s a little strange. Oh well.

The address is: The Oaks Ranch and Country Club, (oh that does sound nice), 238 Old Mossy Point Road, Mossy Point NSW phone 02 44 717 403.

Stars - three maybe four depends on so many silly things – who knows how stars are allocated
Note to self - remember to pack my own bottle of Gordons next time.