Rose Garden (Mayfield Gardens, Oberon, New South Wales)

Hello dear reader, so nice of you to join me again. It's fair to say I have received some off-line commentary about the "glamping" event. Not all of it justified; it was not as if I make vacation decisions in isolation. It is true, I was desperate to get away, having my last attempt, a low-level trip to South Australia, cancelled through a border closing, by a politician whose name I can't recall. If I ever knew at all. 

Regardless, the last post was not the complete story. Not that the details I am about to add might sway your opinion of glamping. The title today is courtesy of Lynn Anderson, circa 1967, and contains the memorable line, "I never promised you a rose garden". And this is true. although we did have a wonderful rose garden when we lived in the suburbs. I digress.

The vacation period was approaching and we had not booked a break anywhere. What is that you smirk, dear reader? Every day is a holiday for me? Well, perhaps that's true but I have Jayne's well-being to consider and she works in a thankless industry that consumes your energy, so she needed a break.

The Mayfield Gardens looked quite spectacular. Neither of us had been to Oberon previously so I consulted Dr Google and the website mentioned the glamping experience. It sounded quite delightful. Peace. Quiet. Country side. Warm doona. Three course meal. Wine. It certainly ticked my boxes. What it didn't mention, caveat emptor, and I should have noticed, was any reference to en suite facilities. We have glamped before, see the Marramarra post, but they were safari tents with their own bathroom. Initially, I expected something similar. It wasn't until I began preparations for the trip that I realised. Probably something best left  as a surprise, thought I.

As an interlude to the glamping fiasco, may I point out that the gardens are picturesque? It is quite a marvel what they have achieved, not just horticulturally, but also the hydro-engineering to move water around the gardens and make the best use of what is available. The gardens were well visited both days we were there. They also host festivals and weddings; there is a chapel at the top of the property. It was stunningly beautiful and I'm not sure my pictures have captured it adequately.

The colour in the leaves was beautiful, but nothing compared to what I've seen in Canada. Oberon can't compete with those temperatures. The garden is also planted out with bulbs and I would like to return in spring to see it in flower. The difficulty there is distance. It was about a 3 hour drive from home and there is precious little accommodation in the area - which is why we ended up glamping.

The meal in the restaurant on site was very good. They had a small selection of wines from the Orange/Mudgee area and much of the produce was grown in the gardens. The wait staff were very friendly and helpful and, in general, it was a great experience - except for the glamping bit. We enjoyed a peaceful pre-dinner wine in the restaurant, with nobody but the staff. There needed to be more space between the tents. I didn't really wish to hear the midnight discussion of one couple after their children had gone to sleep. Any more than I needed to hear the man in another tent snoring and being woken by his wife at regular intervals. Or the continual zipping and unzipping of the tent flaps as people responded to the call of nature or to meander across the field to star gaze.

And so, confession time. While the toilet blocks were all new and reasonably well looked after, the block designated for the glampers was also for public use during the day. The showers you ask? Would it be sufficient to say that neither Jayne nor I availed ourselves of their use? It was a semi-portable block of some description that contained 4 showers. A rough guest count had maybe 36 adults and 8 or more children. We decided to wait until Canberra. Although our duelling GPS systems made the drive interesting. One thought we should take the 5 hour scenic drive, the other the 3 hour direct drive via Goulburn. Given our state of hygiene, we unsurprisingly opted for the direct route.

Interestingly, the reason we ended up in Canberra was a lack of adequate accommodation in Bathurst. Anywhere we were interested in booking was already gone when I started preparing for this trip. The intention had been to stay in Bathurst and explore Sofala and Hill End then drive over to Orange and drop into a few wineries. Not this time.

The only other noteworthy point is that after a life-time of driving from Sydney to Dubbo we drove through places that had been little more than signposts in our past. I can now proudly boast that I have been to Sodwalls and Tarana. The latter was only ever of interest because of a race horse in the '80s named Anarattadetoor. You might need to read that backwards.

Well dear reader, that is all for this post. 

Until next time and the charms of the country's capital.

We've only just begun (Oberon, New South Wales)

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.

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.