It’s hard to believe I’m leaving Sydney already. It feels like I got here just yesterday, and on top of that the weather is so nice I’d rather stay a little longer and enjoy this end-of-summer vibe in the parks, on the beaches, in the sunny streets.

Instead, I’m in the train to the airport to go pick up my rental car. After the (slight) disappointments occurred in New-Zealand (understand the Toyota with holes in its seats and over 300 000km on the clock, or the stuttering van with no curtains), I’m worried about what fate has in store for me now. Imagine how happy I am to take possession of a pretty nice MG equipped with bluetooth, rearview camera and even a magnetic iPhone holder. It’s like a dream!

First thing first, I connect my phone to the car. God, that sound! I’m finally gonna be able to listen to my music veeeery loud again, and sing terribly (no I’m kidding, I sing super well). I hit the road for the Blue Mountains.

With only half a day to spare, I head straight to Katoomba, where you can catch a glimpse of the iconic Three Sisters. The creaky, dusty ambience of the town is not really appealing at all. But it’s home to the Tempus cafe, a little gem which was kind enough to take me in at 1:57pm when they were closing at 2pm. And it was de-li-cious.

Once on the belvedere overlooking the Blue Mountains, I must admit the view is breathtaking. Yes, I’d seen pictures, but the feeling of vastness, the misty, iridescent green and dark blue hills can only be experienced when contemplating them. From here, a path weaves up the mountainside to Katoomba falls. I stroll along, all my senses alert in case of a tarantula drops from a branch as I pass. It makes absolutely no sense, most of these disgusting creatures living in the Bush, but my paranoia knows no bound. I’m anxious just knowing they exist on this land.

After a quick stop in Leura, a small village much nicer than its neighbor Katoom, I hit the road again, heading for the coast. I thought I’d sleep in the Blue Mountains, but as I’m not thrilled by the atmosphere and it’s still early. I’ve got time to move on. I drive to Wollongong, find the lighthouse car park and settle here for dinner. I’m not the only one who’s come to admire the grey sky catching fire on the horizon: there are groups of people sitting on the grass, sitting in open car trunks. There’s even a rat. 

I’m popping rice crackers and a ready-to-eat salad from Woolworths, looking at the large grayish turquoise waves that come entertain the last brave swimmers. Night falls, I retire to my chambers. I take place on the passenger seat with my notebook, my small lamp and some music on. It’s not even 9pm, it’s gonna be a long evening.
Cars come and go around me in an unceasing ballet. I don’t know what people do. They listen to the sea sound in the dark, they buy some drugs, maybe. I try to observe them and guess whose ones seems to be settled in for the night. Because I, I’m gonna spend the night here. And I’d like some people to do the same. It’s not that I’m particularly scared, but I’m not serene either. I feel like I’m doing something illegal, but well, no one ever said it was forbidden to sleep on the back seat of your car. 

Now the parking lot is almost empty, there’s just me left. I’ve switched from the back seat to the front seat fully folded back, it’s not that bad but it’s not great either. I get in behind again. It’s 2am, maybe 3am. I fall asleep eventually, but needless to say it wasn’t the night of the year. On top of that, I’ve set my alarm for 6am because I though that passed that time I’d be charged for the parking. But it turned out that absolutely not. At least I’m awake to witness the sunrise by the lighthouse, and that’s the best consolation ever. 

I drive to Bombo Headland for breakfast. Sun is shining. I pick a spot facing the sea, alone, with chocolate crossed buns, a banana and cold mint tea. Life.

A short walk away is the well-known Bombo Headland geological site. It unfolds its vertical rock formations, as if the cirque has been created with Kapla blocks. The ocean throws its foam patches against the high dark bluffs, the wind stirs the long grasses, and that’s all. It raw, beautiful. 

I set off for Jervis Bay and as I drive on, the weather grows dangerously gloomy. And I don’t even have the pretty New-Zealand roadsides to compensate for the sadness of the sky. It’s all the more unfortunate because, despite the leaden grey that has sunk to the horizon, the water in the bay is still of an unreal blue color, sublimely crystal-clear, the sand of a dazzling whiteness. I’d indeed planned to spend part of the day here, but if I can’t play pretend being in the Caribbean, there’s no point. 

My next stop is Pebbly beach, known to be the residence of wild kangaroos. My excitement is at its climax. The road to access the beach is lined with a forest of tall eucalyptus trees, their thin and clear trunks letting the smooth sunlight pass through, as the fellow seems to make his way back (really?). With absolutely nobody to bother me, I stop in the very middle to capture the peaceful atmosphere, the organic geometry of this piece of nature.

I’m not even 50 meters away from the parking lot that I spot three kangaroos nonchalantly lying in the shade, just to the left of the path. I’m exhilarated like a kid. They have black lined eyes with long lashes, they seem so quiet. There’s a dozen more by a tree just a little further on. Some of them are eating, some others are scratching with almost human gestures. I’m waiting for the moment one is gonna jump. My patience is rewarded a few minutes later.

Apart from a young American girl, solo traveler as I am, there’s no one to disturb my rendez-vous with these native animals.  

I’m not one to do things just to tick boxes (though I’m one to have a life to-do list) but seeing kangaroos roaming free is something I’m more than happy to have added to my experiences record. 

When a little later I stop in Batemans Bay, reputed to be a charming fishing village, I notice we definitely don’t have the same definition of charming. I think I miss Europe sometimes (ok, often). It doesn’t stop me for embarking on a harsh search for the best fish and chips in town, under a grey sky (again) and a fresh wind from who knows where. I think I’ve found it, at Innes Boatshed. 

On the way to Bermagui, supposed to be my stopover for the night, I stop at Narooma beach. Its torn orange rocks. The violent sea, again.

From here on, the road becomes picturesque, winding, crossing forests and vales resting in bluish shade, spanning sparkling lakes. I arrive in Bermagui, a place I like straight away. Here reigns an unexplainable softness. But perhaps it’s nothing but the angle of the sun initiating his journey towards the horizon, happy to disappear unfurling his topaz veil behind him. People are bathing in the small arched bay. I watch them for a while. I think about taking a pitch at the local campsite, so much for the budget. At least I’ll be able to swim too, and enjoy a nice shower afterwards.

The campsite is full. 

No more dilemma then, and still, I waffle. For form’s sake. I know I’ll have to leave Bermagui. But there’s one more thing I need to see: the Blue Pools.

I drive up a hill, go down the road, pull off, take a few steps and then… Then I’m left speechless. I’ve never seen anything like this before. Water so smooth, hues of blue so intense, rocks so sharp and magnificent, such a perfect harmony between movement and immobility, between the feverishness of the ocean and the placid stretch of the basins. 

Passed the moment of amazement at the fabulous beauty of this decor, I rush back to the car to pick up my bath suit. The water is cold. I have to try twice to get my whole body into the pool. But there’s no way I’m leaving without having swum in this eden. 

As a bonus, I treat myself with a real shower (cold and outdoors, but still better than wipes, eh).

I decided to push on to Merimbula for the night. In case I hadn’t heard it enough already, distances in this country are gigantic. So half an hour saved on the next day’s itinerary is always something. And I don’t regret my choice. Firstly because the road goes through Mimosa National Park, and at sunset time, the star sets the forest ablaze with a marvelous orangey aura. I drive slowly, windows open, intermittently catching sight of the sun glowing red like an incandescent ember between branches and trunks. Secondly because the small town of Merimbula is also pleasant and welcoming at first sight.

I eat dinner by the water (a Woolworths salad, how surprising!), wander through the quiet streets spotting shops and cafés I’ll come visit the next day, and this rich day ends with a fresh glass of Riesling I sip at the counter of Bar Superette, a cosy wine bar with candlelight and good music.

I change places twice before finding THE good spot to settle down for the night. Easy: the small car park by the marina. I’m a little less nervous than the evening before. The neighborhood is peaceful, there’s even a van parked next to me. I can sleep tight.

[To read the next episode of this Sydney to Melbourne adventure, click here!]

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