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I have been to the Vatican many times but have never done a tour. This time we did, and it was fantastic. We had an art history professor from the university, and it was worth every cent. I am probably the only person (and perhaps the vaguest) who has visited the Sistine Chapel and hasn’t processed that the side walls are The Life of Moses and The Life of Christ. It is incredible what an art historian can point out. 

I loved hearing the stories of the massive disagreements between Michelangelo and the very uptight men of the church. I thought it fabulous that Michelangelo cracked it on numerous occasions after being told he was immoral and obscene for painting naked figures. I am now totally intrigued by a man born near Arezzo where we had been, supposedly gay, but a devout catholic, who cracked it at cardinals, bishops, and popes somewhat regularly and stomped off to Florence. 

Once again, I never knew that the flayed skin being dragged down into hell in The Last Judgement is a self-portrait by the Florence stomping Master. 

The best bit, however, was the hilarity that ensued when someone (who will remain nameless) thought it would have been a breeze to paint the ceiling. “Surely, would have only taken a few hours”. “No, it took five years”. “What …. ???”. Turns out the nameless person thought Michelangelo painted on sheets of Gyprock and nailed it up. While more cry-laughing happened (out of the sacred space), we did learn about why frescoes last – all to do with wet plaster. The fact that the unnamed person thought the Gyprock would just get squirted down with a bit of water – oh dear, the cry-laughing was so bad, I had a pain in my side for hours.

After the quietness of Pozzo Della Chiana, the hour drive to Firenze on major motorways was an attack on the senses. Just because you can drive at 130km an hour or more doesn’t mean you should – although try telling my sons that. Europe was out in force in Firenze, but we hear everywhere that we are the first Aussies that they have seen. We constantly get told how much Australians have been missed – they have all been oohing and ahhing about our passports. The Asian borders are still problematic as we have largely only encountered people from the UK, Europe, and a few from the US. I have been so surprised by Covid travelling. It has all been so incredibly easy. We all dutifully filled out our European locator forms and have our vaccination certificates, but it is only in Greece that we were asked for them on a boat. Most people wear masks inside and almost all N95. They are required on trains but everyone just does it so there is no fuss at all. We have had no significant delays in Europe on planes, boats, and trains. Scott said the queues at Manchester Airport were pretty damn awful, but it was Easter and to me it seems slightly easier than pre-pandemic as the crowds are less. We are currently on the train from Arezzo to Roma and we have the carriage almost to ourselves. There is a national strike in Italy today with warnings everywhere about delays. The train protest seems to be confined to 5 minute delays on each train, so all pretty easy, really. The conductor checked our tickets and asked for Covid certificates but was very happy when I showed her one – she said no need to check any others as the Australian QR code doesn’t work – all OK Aussies, just enjoy the train. 

The tiny Tuscan roads have a slightly surreal quality about them. They wind past olive and fruit groves, but driving on the other side of the road seems to exacerbate how many turn there really are. Arezzo is only about 30 minutes away (where we picked up cars) and the very beautiful hilltop village of Cortona about the same in the other direction. When we arrive on mass to the next café or Trattoria we are always forgiven for the big group as the waiters all cluck over the bambinos. The bambinos are so funny. They are becoming locals quicker than anyone. We pointed out to Lexie Grace some chips on the menu at the beautiful Ristorante Accademia in Firenze. She was highly offended, and with the arms crossed and the impatient principessa face, she insisted on the biggest bowl of wild boar pappardelle – Vanessa has been wondering where she will buy wild boar at home. 

Looking out the window of Borgo69 are quintessential Tuscan roads. The same roads that were the movie set for Under the Tuscan Sun. Our villas are so beautiful. They were newly built as part of extensions to a Tuscan farmhouse. The owners have won both Italian and European architecture awards that we all thought were justly deserved. Borgo69 is in the small town of Pozzo Della Chiana. It reminded me a lot of Montcuq with a tiny supermarket, a butcher, and a pizzeria. The local stone lined the walls of our villa and so much thought had gone into every detail – clearly the awards were for the fantastic job that they had done in balancing Tuscan farmhouse architecture with gorgeous high-end luxury, modern living. There was a beautiful book in my room on staircase design and much thought had gone into every tread. Our terraces were surrounded by hundreds of old olive trees. Breakfast was served in a lovely small ristorante, but the villas were fully equipped with everything you would ever need, and we cooked massive bowls of pasta. Al and the bambinos braved the coolish water of the infinity pool sitting right on the edge of the postcard view. We largely get ignored by all and sundry – it is the blue eyed, blond haired bellissima, principessa, bambinos that attract attention wherever we go. 

I think I made the biggest travel faux pas ever – asking an older Greek woman whether everything would be closed today (Good Friday) ‘Pftttt that is Catholic Easter – Greek Easter is the important Easter, and that is next week. You are in Greece’.

Getting to the stunning beautiful Stella Roccamare hotel is definitely not for the fainthearted. We are sleeping on the edge of the steepest cliff I have ever been. No taxis pulling up here. You get dropped off on the top road, and then a lovely man comes to find you along narrow alleys with steps that go up and down forever. 

Santorini or Thira feels like the closest I have ever been to heaven. The town, which is half an hour’s walk away, is full of glitzy tourist shops, and I could imagine it would be pretty awful in the summer (if you are not 18). We are hidden away right on the caldera’s edge with the most indescribable view ever. 

Compared to the UK, Greece is very cheap, but there is a massive difference between Santorini and Naxos – clearly, Santorini is directed at the well cashed up tourist market. Al is measuring the cost of living by the price of gyros and guess the marker for serious tourist luring – yes, there is a Maccas in the main street.

It is understated elegance where we are hidden – except for the view. There is definitely nothing understated about that! 

We have all gone in different directions: to visit leprechauns, to munch on pain au chocolat

along The Avenue des Champs-Élysées, and to Greece so Al could stuff his mouth full of gyro and sea creatures. Our flight out of London to Athens was super easy but could have been different worlds – England – what pandemic? Greece – vaccination certificate please, and face masks everywhere. Thankfully, we followed directions and had paper copies of vaccinations. The Greeks knew we were Aussies as the Australian QR code is the only one in the world that doesn’t work. 

The ferry from Athens to the beautiful Island of Naxos was long but so enjoyable. It was nice to stop with a trashy novel on a fantastic ferry. It was such a long day of travelling, but I preferred the 5.30 pm ferry out of Piraeus rather than getting up at 4 am. A lovely man picked us up in the eerily quiet, midnight Port of Naxos. The moon was streaming through the unfinished Temple of Apollo.  It seems that even in 530 B.C, wars interrupted massive building projects. 

I started humming Abba songs amongst the pristine whitewashed walls, tiled room, lovely balcony, and sound of the sea. 

The Liana Beach Hotel is an easy 10 minutes by cab from the centre of Naxos, and it was so lovely to be here as the Island is just waking up. The streets were quiet, and I loved watching everyone scrubbing walls, painting the grout between paving, and bringing in the greenest of trees ready for the season-opening. 

No filters are needed here as the sky and sea are the bluest of blue. Stunning weather, and you have had to lather on the sunscreen. Drinking beer and eating dolmades and gyros on a Tuesday at lunchtime seemed a perfectly normal thing to do. Last night we wandered the eerily quiet streets near our hotel to a dinner of the most fabulous seafood at a very traditional taverna. The first question – English? No Aussies. Oh good, if Australian, very good – free Ouzo and free cake. 

An older Greek woman, in an awesome t-shirt telling us the world was amazing, bossed everyone around (including us), and it was worth having dinner just for the spectacle. The fact that it was the best calamari ever was a bonus. Alex said he could sum up the beautiful Greek Island of Naxos in a few words – ouzo that would blast your head off, meat, and millions of cats. Abba disappeared as I felt like I was caught in the middle of My Big Fat Greek Wedding – the sky is sunny, and the people are the friendliest you would ever encounter. 

I don’t think I have laughed so much for years. We had a side-splitting trip to Cornwall with a car that randomly disappeared into a Bermuda Triangle. Never trust a GPS on British roads. We drove down tracks not wide enough for goats. The streets were so narrow we all had to breathe in and went miles and miles with the GPS arrival time not changing. There was one hilarious moment when we realised we had passed through the village of West Camel numerous times. We decided it was some Bermuda Triangle vortex as we would disappear down exceptionally tiny goat tracks and reappear half an hour later, but the time hadn’t changed. The cry-laughing was something else.

Alex held his nerve the whole way, and even when a massive piece of farm machinery stared us down on a goat track, he held firm. It was, therefore, no surprise that he didn’t flinch at the St. Ives tiny lanes and signs that said no vehicle access. His constant comment was that years of burger truck driving had prepared him for that moment. 

Cornwall was still beautiful, and we had a fantastic time arguing whether the jam goes on first or the clotted cream (David was the heretic who said cream first), looking for giants at the beautiful St Michael’s Mount, and being regaled by Alex’s theories on how Stonehenge was built. Bored youth who had nothing else to do thought they would grab a few mates and drag a few tonnes of rocks a hundred km. According to Al – no Netflix, so they needed entertainment!

We thought Covid would be our most significant issue in finally leaving Australia’s shores. With the grandchildren in tow (who are too young to be vaccinated), we spent the last few weeks holding our breath that they would end up Covid free in the week before we left. That was all OK. It was Qantas who were appalling. 

The kids got a call in the early morning hours when we were supposed to leave, claiming that the plane was not flying due to major mechanical issues. This seemed odd as Alex and I looked like we were still all OK to fly. No one wants to hear the saga that ensued, but needless to say, I was very unimpressed when the truth came out (after a stream of Qantas untruths) that the plane was fine – they had overbooked the plane and thought they would turf off most of the kids and grandkids who weren’t sitting in the pointy end – hmmm. 

We were keen to all fly together, so we finally left a day later. It was a great flight over. Maybe that is very easy to say as Al and I were right at the front of the plane. Perhaps the kids might have a different take on it. However, the grandbebes were perfect and were very excited to arrive in London just as it was waking up. 

So far, the Covid travel experience has been super easy. The guards were still changing at Buckingham Palace, the lions were firmly entrenched in Trafalgar Square, and England was well and truly open. There were signs to wear masks on the Tube, but these were ignored by 99.9% of people. As far as Londoners were concerned – what pandemic?

The weather was a little chilly but not terrible, and when the sun peaked out, it was gorgeous. We stayed in the Paddington Basin, a newly developed and lovely part of London along the canal and only a few minutes’ stroll from Paddington and Edgware Stations. 

We walked tens of thousands of steps. The walk from Paddington down through Hyde Park to Kensington was beautiful, with almost no one around. Little and big kids had the most fabulous time at the Princess Diana memorial playground. We realised the best bit of travelling with small people is they let you in to sit on sheep, jump on music playthings on the ground, and be pirates on a pirate ship. Not sure who had the most fun – Evie and Lex or the ahoy me hearties, giant children. 

Left the Bay of Fires to start winding my way to Strahan and the stunning Franklin Gordon. My sister had mentioned delicious cheese at Pyengana but was a little over winding roads, so I thought I would miss it on this trip. I headed the Miriam mobile toward Cradle Mountain, but clearly, I was supposed to eat cheese. About 30km out the road, I saw the little sign to Pyengana, so the gods were obviously telling me something. The thing I have enjoyed most about the Miriam adventure is the fabulous people I have met along the way. There are the most interesting people hidden away in camping grounds. Last night I had the most fabulous guitarist who strummed Eagles songs late into the night. On the other side, I had lovely people from Nambour.
I stopped at the lovely Pyengana café in the middle of nowhere. Lots of happy looking cows that I took as a good sign for nice cheese. Ordered the beautiful looking cheese tasting plate and had what was arguably one of the best coffees anywhere. Guess happy cows also make delicious milk. I sat down to munch on cheese in the middle of gorgeous dairy farming country. My lovely neighbors from last night walked in and asked could they join me. Oh, this camping stuff is so social. After a massive drive through the Tasmanian Wilderness, I am holed up in Deloraine on the edge of a beautiful river. There are ducks everywhere. I sat in the glorious sunshine reading my latest novel and watched the platypus playing in front of me. Tonight’s chat was with a lovely couple from North of Launceston – berry farmers who were just away for the long weekend. By far, these chats with random strangers have been the best bit of my little Miriam soiree. It is so damn quiet tonight on the side of a river. No guitar tonight, but the wonderful solitude is also amazing. Tomorrow I head to one of my favorite places, Strahan. Tonight it is just me, fellow travelers, ducks, and platypus, and the world really feels like a fabulous place.

The drive around Binalong Bay to Eddystone Point was absolutely stunning. The fiery orange lichen on the rocks and km after km of white sandy beaches makes it clear why the Bay of Fires is one of the world’s best beaches. The water is the most vivid turquoise, and the rocks are covered with their orange, fiery splashes. I stopped on the way to Eddystone Point and set up a picnic on the beach. I had the beach totally to myself. After my whining about the weather in Port Arthur, today would have made Miriam reach for her hanky to do some serious flapping and fanning. It was 28C on the beach, and there was just me and the seagulls.
It got a wee bit windy, so I packed up and drove along a bit to the peaceful beach at Cozy Corner. Had a lovely couple of hours reading a gory crime novel. Between convicts and murderers, I will probably be awake all night, but I am sure a couple of glasses of lovely Tasmanian wine will help.