There's only one thing left to do when you've got a road map, an ugly van, stale cruskits and seventeen bottles of over priced water; hit the road. It just feels so good. Spending weeks pottering around Sydney would have been easy to do, but the open road was calling.
We really only crawled out of Sydney, since we headed to the northern most tip of the Sydney beaches, oooing and aaahing over the drive towards Avalon and Newport, where we spent the night at the foot of the Newport Arms Hotel. It was the sort of overnight van camping spot that is so good, you can't help but look around, waiting for someone to jump out of the bushes when you're doing a wee saying, 'piss off, bloody tourists'.
Thankfully, that didn't happen. Instead we were greeted by a friendly
local with his weathered hand, dangerously reaching brown bag rippage, around his third long neck. Come on Aussie, come on.
If you've ever been to the northern beaches of Sydney, the far end, you'll know that on both sides of the road there is water. One for the view of cliff side mansions facing the Pacific, the other for their boats on the Pittwater Estuary side.
So when a local market holder told us about this great little pub over looking the water in Newport we thought he must have known what he was talking about. Instead of small and old we got big and new, not good for the traveller in a dying van.
What is good for the traveller in a dying van is a bottle shop, a big, wide bottle shop that has rows and rows of cask wine assortments.
When the food is just not cutting it, the kind of food Sydney weekenders flock for, and you're laying back in your faithful heap of crap with million dollar views, one can only make the assumption to crack the goon bag, pour, than watch the sun fall from the noisy sky.
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