Woken up by a parrot in the apple tree outside my window, I look up and then down; three kangaroos are grazing in the garden. Methodically eating little bits of grass- casual, like they drop by all the time. As I watch them they hear an unknown sound and stand up on alert; the classic garden ornament pose. I can’t work out how they got in, but then I seem them elegantly slide through the gap under the gates.

It’s the middle of winter and cold in the country. Everything outside looks dry and a bit gnarled. You don’t notice the seasons so much in Sydney- they can kind of slide into each other. It’s interesting to think that under this hard & frost bitten ground things are growing and cooking away; ready to burst out in abundance in spring, just a month away now.

Heading to Sydney I detour through Lithgow, the old industrial town on the far side of the Blue Mountains. I’d recently heard that it was once a centre for textiles and pottery and that there were still a lot of artisans in the area. The aqueduct always looks impressive when you drive past on the highway.

Passing through town I end up at an old mining museum –a deserted outdoors junkyard of coal carts, machinery and strange vehicles. Loud hip hop comes from one of the sheds- there’s a few welders working. The museum is closed. but they don’t seem to care if I look around. It feels like more of an adventure this way, walking around, discovering things yourself.

Heading back to the highway- on the hill, behind some tract homes; what looks like a ruined gothic castle. A sign says it’s the old blast furnace- again- there is no one around. Like a children’s playground – a di Chirico painting. With this and the aqueduct Lithgow is starting to feel like Australia’s version of Ancient Rome. Weeds grow everywhere, & the paint’s peeling off, the winter sun with its deep shadows makes it feel like the stage is set- & a play’s about to start.

Back home I do some google searches on Lithgow. Multiple images of the actor John Lithgow pop up, but not much about the town. More to come on this…

Getting out of Sydney, hitting the road; four hours to the old schoolmasters’ house. Leaving behind the signs and car yards of Parramatta road, heading down the freeway, crossing the Blue Mountains. So liberating to just drive. No checking in, no waiting around, no one telling you where to go. It’s relaxing – you don’t have to do anything else. You can stop where you like- take random detours.


The deeper into the Blue Mountains the further back in time you go. The villages become older, quainter. There are more references to Australian history; a stump that has something to do with Wentworth, Blaxland and Lawson, now seemingly permanently covered in plastic garbage bags & tape. A restaurant advertising murder mystery nights in a creepy font. This is what I find fascinating about rural Australia – the more you get away from cities the more eccentricities are revealed; topiary animals, abandoned boats & cars, odd signs. A surreal edge starts to surface.

One time crossing I can’t resist jumping the fence into the abandoned Hydro Majestic. A once grand hotel on the edge of cliff- nothing much seems to be happening there now. A squat Italian colonnade guards the view out over a canyon. Today you can’t imagine anyone being allowed to approach it if not wearing a fluoro vest. A sandstone wall with castle like crenellated top borders a couple of tennis courts with stunning views. It’s the middle of the day and the light is hard and directly overhead. Peering into the interior there’s a lot of plastic 80s furniture stacked up. I hope that the eventual renovation can keep this mood of drama.

One of the highlights of the trip comes at the very end of the Blue Mountains. Through a parting in the trees your eye swoops down across a valley- it’s the country now. Sheep and paddocks and signs for crossing kangaroos. Like a 19th century landscape painting there it is: silence, nature and space.

It’s a great feeling leaving the last roundabout behind. Country music blasting -now its 100 km an hour. Trees close over the road, dappled light filters down. I’ve become very interested in country letterboxes & have started photographing them- I want to build up a collection. No trip to Bunning’s for a little neat box – these are big and wild and made out of old milk canisters, kegs, plastic containers – what ever’s around. I love their individuality.