J and I both felt like we needed to have a break from our lives, so we set out for a long weekend in the sleepy depths of August. We wanted to go to Barrington tops, but some twist of fate led us to Murrurundi..
Setting out one sunny morning, we stopped in Newcastle for lunch at the excellent One Penny Black. This place was so hipster that there wasn't even a sign outside!
Top: Beetroot, roast pumpkin and quinoa salad.
Bottom: Roasted field mushrooms, leek & chive hash brown, a couple of perfectly poached eggs and goat cheese on sourdough.
After such a virtuous healthy lunch, I thought we could have chips for dinner! Before that we had to pop into Doughheads for a chocolate smores doughnut.
Driving up north, we planned to stop in Morpeth for some sourdough. Alas the store had just closed, and we ended up wandering into the teapot festival instead. What an incredible selection of teapots! We happened to be there on one of the three annual days set aside for tea drinking, and J acquired a beautiful Japanese sakura-patterned teapot.
When we got back into the car, we had a real fright when we put Murrurundi into the GPS and saw that it would be another 2 hours. The sun dipped low, burnt brilliant orange, and eventually went to sleep behind the horizon.
It was dark after Muswellbrook, and when finally managed to find our accommodation, we were completely floored by the incredible starry sky.
We went out to the White Hart Hotel, apparently the place to have dinner in town. A wedding was on, and plenty of guests were jolly drunk. A live music band came to play, and they weren't half bad. I asked if any of the handful of carnivorous menu could be made vegetarian, and the lady replied she could take the chicken out of the pasta.
Hence I was served pasta with bacon and mushrooms... Evidently bacon is not real meat!
The next day we woke to heavy clouds in the valley, which soon turned into rain. We visited the geriatric horse Rumba in her paddock before retreating inside to a rustic breakfast of homemade bread and a selection of preserves. I particularly adored the ginger jam, and the cute Turkish saucers.
We drank tea and played the antique piano, which was a fascinating experience. The piano was in reasonable tune, but everything was shifted one tone down. Playing something in E major shifted it to D.. C became B flat etc. If I closed my eyes and relied on muscle memory, or if I looked at my hands very closely, I could play just as usual and experience the music in a completely different light. However, the auditory dissonance became unbearable if I tried to match my fingers to the music.. Tchaikovsky's October in C minor? June in F minor? Chopin's A minor waltz in G minor? It was like eating all my favourite dishes in a different flavour. Incredible.
We got distracted by this baby cow which was on a paddock with a herd of horses. The thunder and lightning were causing the horses to behave somewhat erratically, but they stood around the calf and seemed to be protecting it. The dairy cows on the other side of the fence didn't seem to pay any attention to a baby of its own kind at all, so we wondered if that farm had bought just a cow.. or whether its mother had come to ill health.
By the time we got to town, it was pouring. In fact, the rain timing itself with any time we went walking became a recurrent theme. We poked around the pink house shop with all sorts of interesting knickknacks, including over 3000 salt & pepper shaker sets. The man who owns the shop travelled all over Oz with his wife before settling down in Murrurundi - they had a map of Australia covered in black squiggles detailing their route, a true sight of envy!
Then we sat down to have a lazy long lunch at Telegraph Cafe, and were surprised by how tasty the food was.
Top: Baked camembert with walnuts, figs and honey. Perfectly gooey, the sweetness balanced the richness of the cheese.
Left: Eggplant ragu on a bed of polenta. More goats cheese!
Right: Chocolate cherry pot, with a sprig of wildflowers from the garden.
These buildings were incredibly old - the telegraph office was over 100 years old, and the white hart has been there for 150 years. Everywhere we went in Murrurundi, we met interesting people - lots of seachangers, grey nomads, people with stories to tell.
The Michael Reid gallery had a lush garden full of flowers and vine leaves. Inside was an exhibition of pencil print animals with strangely disturbing black dots signifying their blood(?) and slaughter. Outside a cuddly brown lab wandered the puddles and we marvelled at how such a place can be.. well, in the middle of nowhere.
Sunday dinner at the White Hart was even more quiet. The barman explained that pasta & pizza night on Sundays comes from the busy trade of the weekend leaving the pub with relatively few ingredients before the next week's delivery. Now that's the stuff us city folk never even think of. On our way to dinner, we managed to get bogged down in the grass as it had rained so much. Never felt like such city girls before!
Rain is different in the country. One can hear it approaching even before you feel the raindrops, like the sound of a wave. Raindrops on the tin roof of the shed were almost musical. After the rain came a brilliant patch of sunshine, which saw us squelching outside in the mud to take some glorious photos of the shed.
We stopped in Scone on our way home for lunch at the super popular Kerv Cafe.
Though the corn fritters were too doughy, the frittata was perfectly light and wobbly. Then it was a long rainy drive home, and our weekend getaway seemed so quick all of a sudden.
Finally, a few more photos from Gilly's amazing shed.
She has lovingly restored Runnymeade as a residence, and completely renovated the shed into a B&B style accommodation. The shed is decorated with a quirky collection of eclectic finds, and it feels like one has walked straight into a treasure trove (or an antique shop!)
Of course my favourite piece was the 115yo Berlin piano, complete with candlestick holders.. just imagine how that piano started life..
Setting out one sunny morning, we stopped in Newcastle for lunch at the excellent One Penny Black. This place was so hipster that there wasn't even a sign outside!
Top: Beetroot, roast pumpkin and quinoa salad.
Bottom: Roasted field mushrooms, leek & chive hash brown, a couple of perfectly poached eggs and goat cheese on sourdough.
After such a virtuous healthy lunch, I thought we could have chips for dinner! Before that we had to pop into Doughheads for a chocolate smores doughnut.
Driving up north, we planned to stop in Morpeth for some sourdough. Alas the store had just closed, and we ended up wandering into the teapot festival instead. What an incredible selection of teapots! We happened to be there on one of the three annual days set aside for tea drinking, and J acquired a beautiful Japanese sakura-patterned teapot.
When we got back into the car, we had a real fright when we put Murrurundi into the GPS and saw that it would be another 2 hours. The sun dipped low, burnt brilliant orange, and eventually went to sleep behind the horizon.
It was dark after Muswellbrook, and when finally managed to find our accommodation, we were completely floored by the incredible starry sky.
We went out to the White Hart Hotel, apparently the place to have dinner in town. A wedding was on, and plenty of guests were jolly drunk. A live music band came to play, and they weren't half bad. I asked if any of the handful of carnivorous menu could be made vegetarian, and the lady replied she could take the chicken out of the pasta.
Hence I was served pasta with bacon and mushrooms... Evidently bacon is not real meat!
The next day we woke to heavy clouds in the valley, which soon turned into rain. We visited the geriatric horse Rumba in her paddock before retreating inside to a rustic breakfast of homemade bread and a selection of preserves. I particularly adored the ginger jam, and the cute Turkish saucers.
Rumba
We drank tea and played the antique piano, which was a fascinating experience. The piano was in reasonable tune, but everything was shifted one tone down. Playing something in E major shifted it to D.. C became B flat etc. If I closed my eyes and relied on muscle memory, or if I looked at my hands very closely, I could play just as usual and experience the music in a completely different light. However, the auditory dissonance became unbearable if I tried to match my fingers to the music.. Tchaikovsky's October in C minor? June in F minor? Chopin's A minor waltz in G minor? It was like eating all my favourite dishes in a different flavour. Incredible.
So many horsies!
We got distracted by this baby cow which was on a paddock with a herd of horses. The thunder and lightning were causing the horses to behave somewhat erratically, but they stood around the calf and seemed to be protecting it. The dairy cows on the other side of the fence didn't seem to pay any attention to a baby of its own kind at all, so we wondered if that farm had bought just a cow.. or whether its mother had come to ill health.
By the time we got to town, it was pouring. In fact, the rain timing itself with any time we went walking became a recurrent theme. We poked around the pink house shop with all sorts of interesting knickknacks, including over 3000 salt & pepper shaker sets. The man who owns the shop travelled all over Oz with his wife before settling down in Murrurundi - they had a map of Australia covered in black squiggles detailing their route, a true sight of envy!
Then we sat down to have a lazy long lunch at Telegraph Cafe, and were surprised by how tasty the food was.
Left: Eggplant ragu on a bed of polenta. More goats cheese!
Right: Chocolate cherry pot, with a sprig of wildflowers from the garden.
Inside Cafe Telegraph
These buildings were incredibly old - the telegraph office was over 100 years old, and the white hart has been there for 150 years. Everywhere we went in Murrurundi, we met interesting people - lots of seachangers, grey nomads, people with stories to tell.
Random images of town
Michael Reid gallery
The Michael Reid gallery had a lush garden full of flowers and vine leaves. Inside was an exhibition of pencil print animals with strangely disturbing black dots signifying their blood(?) and slaughter. Outside a cuddly brown lab wandered the puddles and we marvelled at how such a place can be.. well, in the middle of nowhere.
Sunday dinner at the White Hart was even more quiet. The barman explained that pasta & pizza night on Sundays comes from the busy trade of the weekend leaving the pub with relatively few ingredients before the next week's delivery. Now that's the stuff us city folk never even think of. On our way to dinner, we managed to get bogged down in the grass as it had rained so much. Never felt like such city girls before!
Rain is different in the country. One can hear it approaching even before you feel the raindrops, like the sound of a wave. Raindrops on the tin roof of the shed were almost musical. After the rain came a brilliant patch of sunshine, which saw us squelching outside in the mud to take some glorious photos of the shed.
Though the corn fritters were too doughy, the frittata was perfectly light and wobbly. Then it was a long rainy drive home, and our weekend getaway seemed so quick all of a sudden.
Finally, a few more photos from Gilly's amazing shed.
Of course my favourite piece was the 115yo Berlin piano, complete with candlestick holders.. just imagine how that piano started life..
No comments:
Post a Comment