Hello my dear reader, yes, I am back travelling again, but I fear what you are about to read might shock you. Nay it will shock you. However, I am getting ahead of myself. Let's reflect on where we've been recently: hmmm, the kitchen mostly and Centennial Park, riding endless laps until I'm dizzy. Or in Jayne's case, work. Well, someone needs to keep me in the manner to which I've become most accustomed. Where was I?
With international travel still not an option and Australian state borders open the choice was obvious: stay at home. Last time the state borders opened and I booked a holiday everything went to hell in a handbasket. The borders were closed (slammed shut, according to mainstream media) more quickly than they were opened and I had the joy of cancelling another holiday. Yay. So this time we stayed within the lines of our state border. Excited? Intrigued? Of course you are ... we went to Oberon. No, not the king of the fairies in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Oberon. The town in NSW. Close to Blayney and Bathurst and other destinations not normally on the holiday list. Hey, Rona has a lot to answer for.
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| Corona virus grows on trees up here |
Before you switch off dear reader, you need to understand that the destination was not Oberon itself. We headed to Mayfield Gardens for a glamping adventure. What is glamping I hear you ask? Well, according to Google it is "a form of camping involving accommodation and facilities more luxurious than those associated with traditional camping". Well, that is their definition. Naive perhaps. Apparently the 'gl' at the front of glamping refers to 'glamorous'. Really?
The gardens from the top of the hill
One Sunday evening, watching Sydney Weekender, as one does, a reporter, not Mike Whitney, revealed the beauty and splendour that is Mayfield Gardens. A quick search revealed the possibility of glamping and viewing the gardens. Given my most exciting recent trip was to the fish markets at Pyrmont, this was next level. Never one to rush anything I booked immediately. Act in haste, repent in leisure. Or in this case, our tent.
Creating a holiday around the Oberon experience proved something of a challenge. We thought we might explore the Bathurst area, but were unable to secure accommodation that would balance the glamping experience. But, I'm getting ahead of myself again.
We set out for Oberon mid-morning and, despite the road closures following the recent floods, we arrived to explore the town and secure a late lunch. Made it 10 minutes before the kitchen closed. There are a surprising number of cafés in this small country town. The one we visited was lovely, home-made everything and very tasty. While there, I read the information about Mayfield Garden. Probably should have done that earlier, or at least, remembered the stuff I read. The Gardens had a closing time that would make the next part of the journey a little tight.
In the end, it was all good. We arrived, checked in, scored the key to our tent (no really), picked up a map of the expansive gardens and were booked in for dinner. Back to the car. the main car park is not for glampers, we parked near our tents.
The glamping area looked like some sort of, well, inappropriate as this may be, an American Indian reserve - without poles coming from the top of the tents. The tents were tepee style, but with straight sides toward the ground and one central pole. Apparently, this concept of glamping means a queen size bed in a tent. Seriously? We were doing that in 2000 when we couldn't afford to stay in real accommodation. To be fair, the bed was comfortable and the linen and doona were top notch, but ... it's still a tent. The facilities are still shared, caravan park style, and you can hear every word and breath of every other glamping-tent occupant. hardly glamorous.
Home sweet home
And then we could talk about the number of children. Who shares a tent with 2 or 3 children? Well, at least three families as it turns out. Who lets their children play chasings in a tent? Yep. It happened. Dad was way too busy on a work call to be interested and mum? Well, who knows. It was well after 10pm before the last of the kids in someone's tent were bedded down. And then, parent chat, snoring, coughing ... let's not go there. I've shared bushwalking huts more closely with people who were more respectful and understanding.
There is so much more to say, but, I'm tired and need to sleep ... much like the song, we've only just begun. The original? The Carpenters, 1970.
Until tomorrow dear reader when there will be many, many more photos of the gardens.
For now I'm retiring to my hotel bed. There is neither a child nor an indolent, disinterested parent in my vicinity.
Sweet dreams.
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