There’s Not Much Gold Left in Maldon

Hello there,

I‘m finding it harder and harder to go down to the village these days without someone stopping me to ask me for my travel tips. I can’t walk more than about 10 yards along Toorak Road before there’s a tap on the shoulder -. “Winnie, can you recommend such and such” or “Winnie, we’re off in the car on the weekend, where should we go”.

Look, to be honest, I don’t really mind. All the girls know I’ve become quite the travelista these days. The Old Merc and I have seen quite some sights I can tell you!

It was only last Thursday when I was having my roots done at Sylvio’s that an old pal, Jean asked me for my advice. Bless her. Poor Jean’s only got a year or two to go and I suppose she wants to make the most of things. Poor Jean. Well what could I say? Of course I was happy to help.

“Maldon” I said, quick as a flash. “Gorgeous”

Now what I love best about Maldon is that it really hasn’t changed in about 150 years. Honestly, it’s just as it was during the Gold Rush – in every respect.
It was a hot day the last time I pointed the old Merc along the Calder. Now that’s something interesting – the old Calder. Do you know that it’s a freeway all the way through to Bendigo now – fabulous. You can leave the city and not stop at a traffic light until you’re outside Myer’s in the middle of Bendigo. Well almost. And the signs along the freeway say you can do 110 kilometres an hour which I, of course think is totally excessive. I prefer to cruise along at about 70 – you get to see so much more. And from the outside lane, the views are even better. That’s one of my big tips, pets. Travel is not always about the destination. No, no, no – it’s the getting there that’s the most fun.

Well, fun? Maybe. I know I could have stayed on the freeway thing for the entire trip but I decided to live by my own lesson and explore a bit. I just love being intrepid.

After a few hours, I coaxed the old Merc off the highway and found myself in a quaint little place called Malmsbury which, of course is named after the Malmsbury in dear old England (well, I presumed so anyway). Quite a nice little town but nothing more than a few shops along the old highway. Peckish, I swooped on the bakery which I’d heard about from a couple of the girls at my Bridge club. Now I have to be honest with you here, pets. Although Harold provided well for me before, and after, he passed, I’m a careful woman. Oh yes, I love a bargain as much as the next girl but I won’t throw money away on ‘un-necessaries’ as I like to call them. I asked the woman behind the bakery counter all about her gorgeous looking muffins and all of her scrummy looking breads and cakes. “Oh, I’ll have that, that and that” I said, pointing to the pretty array of delectables and comestibles in the cabinet. We’ll you could have buttered me on both sides when she told me the price. “No, no, no. Too dear, too dear” I said sharply, gathering my bag and throwing my favourite turquoise scarf over my left shoulder. I left without so much as a crumb. Outrageous prices!

It was another thirty or so miles on to Maldon so after another hour or two, there I was driving up the main street of this sweet little town. Honestly pets, it was like stepping back in time. It’s just so quaint. Of course, the first thing to catch my eye was a gorgeous shop on the left hand side of the road. I marched straight from the old Merc into this little oasis and honestly, I thought I was in heaven – what do you think the shop was called? I’ll tell you. Lavender and Lace. That’s right, an entire shop stuffed and brimming with the most gorgeous bits of tatting I’ve ever seen, and you know I just adore tat. Beds draped with tulle, shelves festooned with all sorts of divine shrouds and lace, lace, lace! Sublime. I could have perched myself happily on a bentwood with a little cup of Earl Grey and let the lace take me, but, being the adventurous traveller that I am, I had to move on. Reluctantly, I left the shop after I’d fingered just about every piece of fabric, put my nails through every beautifully formed eyelet and opened every bottle of lavender fragrance for a quick sniff. I could have bought so much there but no, I restrained myself and walked out empty handed.

I was starting to get one of my ‘heads’ – sitting in the car from several hours can do that to me (the old Merc’s starting to collect quite a few petrol fumes inside these days) so I just needed to pop into the chemist for a Panadol. Oh dash it – closed! It was 1.00pm on a Saturday afternoon and the only chemist in town – a tourist town at that, was closed. And that’s when it dawned on me. Oh that’s right – nothing here’s changed in 150 years! Of course, ancient shopping hours. A quick walk around the town might clear my head.

It’s a cute, quaint, kempt and pleasant little town, if not a little, well, grey. They really could have called the town Fowlers Vacola as it all had a lovely preserved quality to it. All the shop awnings and verandas match in a grey arrangement of iron and timber and as the main street gently bends in the middle of the shops it’s every amateur photographer’s dream. Gorgeous! At the bottom of the main street the road forks and of course, my eye told me immediately what was needed. A big bubbly fountain in the middle of a roundabout - just perfect. But that’s just me. I have the gift of imagination and the eye of a trained artist. There’s plenty of room here for a fountain and I do believe this little town needs a boost – a landmark.

Not far from where the possible roundabout with a fountain is missing is an olde worlde pub. Now I’m not one to normally frequent pubs but this one looked different – ‘olde worlde’ covers a multitude of sins – even an old girl like me entering a public bar. It was quaint and I was sure I’d be able to get a little ploughman’s there to tide me over until dinner. I walked in to the public bar which had a beaut red Axminster on the floor (which smelt a bit like beer, I hasten to add). There was a nice wooden bar with leadlight panelling where I could see myself returning for a snifter at around 5.00. I also noticed a couple of bottles of Gilby’s which was an encouraging sign.

I didn’t much appreciate being ignored by the bartender so I let out a little “Ahem, cough” to gain her attention. She looked my way, passed me a menu and said “ What can I get you?”

“A Bitters, Lime and Lemonade, please dear. With a straw. I’m parched” I said following my golden rule of never being tempted before five. I took my menu to one of the laminex tables in the dining room while I waited for her to make my drink. After several minutes she appeared beside my table and politely said “Your drink’s on the bar”. She actually walked from the bar to my table to tell me that my drink was sitting on the bar. Wasn’t that sweet of her? There were three other patrons in the hotel eating lunch so I presumed she was just very busy.

I perused the menu and looked at the meal that was being delivered to the other couple. One had what looked like the roast of the day (still in the grey theme that the town enjoys) and other one had a meal that looked like a cheese capped mountain range – perhaps the Dolomites. Oh that’s so funny. I leaned over and asked the young girl what the meal was and she told me it was a Chicken Parma (whatever that is). Honestly pets, it was enormous – bigger than my overnight bag! How anyone could possibly eat all that and not require an entire bottle of Mylanta is beyond me. I felt sick. I looked at the menu again and it left me cold. And then it also occurred to me. (This is marvellous – I’m having all these incredible insights today) The menu is probably themed to match the town too– all these things on the menu are food they probably ate during the Gold Rush. How quaint to have such an old fashioned menu. Huge meals that miners would appreciate. Such a darling little culinary time warp.

I left the pub, walked back up the street and passed another pub that was painted in the most unattractive shade of grey. “Oh that won’t do” I said to myself. “ugly, ugly” Casting my eyes around I noticed yet another bakery at the top end of the street and thought I’d see if the practice of charging like a wounded bull extends from Malmsbury right up to Maldon. Pleasantly surprised, I left the cute little bakery with two gorgeous little saussie rolls, an apple cake and a little bottle of soft drink with a straw. I sat on a bench in the main street with my hankie draped over my knees and pretended to be on a picnic. Lovely, just lovely.

Groups of elderly people walked by me all totally enthralled with the charm and quaintness of the village. They poked their noses into the antique and bric-a-brack shops. No one bought anything but they were enjoying the experience. So many times I heard people say “Remember these?” or “That’s just like the one Mum used to use” referring to some of the curios in the shop windows.

I started to feel just a little sad. Maldon was making me feel this way. And I just couldn’t put my finger on the reason. Perhaps it was that all the shops looked the same as they did so many years ago. Perhaps it was because the street was a bit grubby. It could have been the dozens of cigarette butts on the footpath outside the pub or maybe it was just that I really wanted a nice little lunch but had to settle for a saussie roll on my lap. Now, I know it’s a tourist town, but there just wasn’t the zing that I’d seen in other parts. Take Berrima for example. You know, up in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales – just gorgeous – absolutely gorgeous.

I picked up a little brochure in Maldon that told me it is Australia’s “First Notable Town” Well, will someone please tell me what that means? The only thing I thought that was notable about Maldon was that it was dry, a bit grubby, the service in the pub a bit snooty, and for goodness sake – more foreign imports in the shops – probably from China. If I wanted Chinese imports I could always just cross the river and pop into one of those dreadful shops in Richmond.

The other notable thing about Maldon of course, is that in every respect it hasn’t changed in 150 years. And nor has the food. Gorgeous.


My Travel Diary

Maldon’s supposed to be about 1.5 hours from Melbourne now that the freeway has been completed. I decided not to stay the night there although apparently there are several B&Bs that probably would have been just the ticket.

Look, for my money, the place needs a bit of a scrub. I know it’s old; in fact, it’s so old, it’s ‘notable’. But that doesn’t mean that it can’t be pretty, does it pets? That’s it! Maldon’s just not pretty.

Note to self. Remember that stunning little Lavender and Lace shop for the future – gorgeous.