Parents Day 7

Thursday

Up at 0450 for…Hunter Valley! Dad took care of the arrangements for this one (thanks Dad!): bus to train to bus to Wine Rover shuttle, then the same thing in reverse at the end of the day, for a total of about 6-7 hours travel time. It was totally worth it, though. We hit two vineyards, then a place with olives and jams, then lunch (I had this amazing chicken bosciola—chicken bits and bacon and mushrooms in cream sauce over penne), two more vineyards. Pause here and I will describe the very best vineyard, the fourth one, called the Golden Grape. They offered us, not wine, but our first and only liquors of the day: a light and sweet sparkling strawberry alcohol called Coolatta, a coffee liqueur, butterscotch schnapps, and their infamous Chili schnapps, which tasted like taking a shot of fire.

We moved on to a chocolate/cheese shop and another vineyard—this one with sculptures for sale. I’m not sure if the last vineyard was really the best, or if it was only because the Golden Grape had filled us with liquor so fast that we were all staggering at this point—but I ended up buying not one, but two dessert wines, a Moscato and something called Mesila, brandy and fortified Semillon.

The Hunter Valley Resort was the last stop of the day.

While the tougher among us rounded off the day with beer, I wandered off into the Bush, green fields under an endless sky, discovered some friendly horses, and stepped in some big scary black ants. Mom and Dad jumped back in the Rover to go kangaroo-spotting (look on Facebook for their awesome kangaroo photos—they were incredibly successful). When they returned, Mom and I wandered across the street to a little cheese shop. We knocked until the cheese-seller heard us, from the back room, and hurried out—with his hair still up in a little plastic baggie, for hygiene—and unlocked the door, and he tried to get a word in edgewise while Mom explained to him how curds are made. Generous in our drunkenness, we bought at least thirty dollars’ worth of goat cheese and feta. I guess they’re used to it.

On the train ride home, we saw wallabies hopping beside the track, that is, for the few moments while we still had our eyes open.