Fairyland

Oink...oink......I felt so terribly sinful because I woke up at 12 noon today. Must have been the cocktail of wines that precipitated the delayed hangover.

Hunter Valley was lovely. It was surprisingly HUGE. It spanned hundreds of hectares with a wide selection of wineries that boasted some of the finest wines in Australia. It would have taken me just another one hour to drive from one end of the road to another. We did not have the time for that though. After an hour's pleasant journey from the city (ME :) as the proud driver of my sturdy 3L Toyota Camry), we reached our destination at approximately lunch time. I was recommended the restaurant called Hungerford Hill and decided to give it a shot there. No regrets at all. The food was succulent with the superb culinary, the ambience was classy, and the scenery beyond was simply mesmerising. I had the best tenderloin steak that I had ever tasted, though it did cost me a bomb. The assortment of ice-cream as my dessert was most unforgetable.

I went with 2 lovely gal friends, one from Sydney who had just arrived in the morning, and my ED colleague who would have beaten any man on earth with her navigation gift. We made a wonderful travelling triosome, bravely sipping the various wines in display and testing our hepatic enzymes tolerance. I bought the Semillon dessert wine at the first go. It was one of the best I had tasted, amongst the few which I had tried at Yarra Valley and Virginia. My friends however were more into white and red wines.

I was disappointed that we did not go to the Hunter Valley Gardens. It was supposed to be the highlight of the place with colourful displays of international flora. We nevertheless snapped some pictures before making an early exit, not before making a silent pact to return some other day.

Newcastle is beginning to fascinate me. After a heavy Chinese dinner at a popular restaurant at Darby Street, we strolled along the quiet beach during the night, leaving dellible footprints on the sand, studying the mystical astrology in the sky, contemplating our lives and decisions. As we tread our bare feet against the softness of the tender land, the waves rolled musically forming an orchestra, and our souls successfully seeking the peace of mind that we earthly creatures had so often yearned for.

As we drove along the long narrow roads which parallelled the beach, stretches of fanciful cars were parked along the side, with their drivers and their friends sprinkled in between. They were mainly youngsters barely in their late teens, dressed fashionably and provocatively, grouped in foursome and above, their eyes roving with each passing vehicle on the road. We wondered what they were doing there. Nothing. A few were sitting on the car roofs, some cliches chatting merrily among themselves, but majority just staring. At nothing. Imagine Hollywood in the 1940s or 50s, like the West Side Story, and you get the picture. We began to sense the (wide) generation gap which we had always imagined to be so subtle.

I never realised that there was a miniature of "The Rocks" (Circular Quay in Sydney) here as well. Or perhaps more like our Boat or Clarke Quay in Singapore. At the Honeysuckle, adjacent to the Wharf Point, there were rows of modern-designed holiday resorts as well as high-end restaurants where we might just catch our consultants dining away in the evenings. Christmas parties were held at the Harbourview, punctuating the silence of the lakes with laughter and merry-making. It was also a popular fishing outlet, with half of the contenders being young (dashing and athletic) chaps. I had the great honour of tasting the very famous Harry's Pies which was unique to New South Wales, since there was one parked along the streets. Hmmm......simply mouth-watering.....

After a warm heart-to-heart conversation by the lake, we bade farewell to the fairyland and retired back to our respective homes. I was amazed how much we had done in a day and realised what a precious commodity time could be. It had indeed been fulfilling for me.