A beautiful, sunny Winter's day.

The kind of day that's good for everything, from baking scones to cleaning gutters to making a letterbox and for going for a blat around the neighbourhood in the recently purchased 1975 Mini Clubman.

I only had a few worries before making the move to the country. They started with the actual, physical move and cleaning up or our Collingwood apartment afterwards, and continued with the expected failure to manage to wake up early enough each morning to catch the express train into Melbourne, where I still work. I worried a little bit about the potential isolation, the prospect of buying a car and then of driving as I haven't driven at all whilst living in Australia. I worried about keeping warm because, due to camping at Chopped in Newstead each year, I know how bloody cold it gets out here. And while it's still a few months away, I worried about the prospect of bushfires as, according to Willo's dad, this area is prone to them.

This is the third *actual* weekend I've lived at Faraway (last weekend I went to the Clare Valley in South Australia) and the weekend before that I moved here - so this weekend is the first real weekend I've spent in my new home. I still don't have the internets, so if you're reading this it's because I've transposed my handwritten post into the blog.

First things first

I knew that the travel into the city each day would be challenging. Even if that thought hadn't occured to me, every man and his dog reminded me of it pre-move. I had already decided that weekdayss would be all about commuting, working, eating and sleeping especially during these Winter months as it's so dark when I leave the house and the same when I return. The sun still actually hasn't risen long by the time I get into Melbourne and it sinks below the horizon not long after departing Platform 4A.

Coming home - or more to the point, leaving work - has rapidly become something I look forward to each day. Now you may argue everyone does that, but I'm suggesting I get excited at the prospect of flying out the door to catch my train. I've had to change my hours a little bit to suit the train schedule so now I have to leave at 4:30pm to get down to Southern Cross Station and my 4:56pm express service to Castlemaine.

This is wonderful. No ifs. No buts. No "Michelle, a quick chat?" No. Nope - gotta go. Can't stay. See you tomorrow.

This shift in times at work, sandwiched between two train journeys has also meant that I feel as if I don't have much time. It might also highlight how much extra work I used to do before and after my official starting time. Now I can't stay later, I have to get my work done in the day I'm paid for - so now I have zero time to muck about. I have always had a full plate during the day, and now I'm doing it in an *actual* work day I feel jammed most of the time. While it's not great to be 'jammed' it is a very eye opening situation.

When I leave work, it has left my mind before I hit the pavement outside. For the first time in my life, my work life is staying at work. It's brilliant!

Me time

The tram trundles me down Bourke Street to the train station. I generally arrive with about 8 minutes to spare, plenty of time to find a pair of seats and to text Willo in case he wants to sit with. He's managing to snag this service more often than not too - though his life is far my full than mine will ever be. He works on the train, hooking up his laptop to his iPhone and continuing to work sometimes. Other times he's learning German which is a whole 'nother story.

I spend my time on the train with an assortment of books, audiobooks and podcasts. My iPhone and iPod are loaded up with goodly goodness and my headphones take me away with podcasts that are often about the length of my trip. I try very hard not to doze off so I don't muck up my sleeping feng shui. I would hate to not be able to sleep at 10pm later that evening because I caught some delightful zzzs on the train trip home.

My, that's a big body clock you've got there!

Before moving to the country, I had already figured out I would need to be rising at 5am each weekday morning.

This early routine would be, I imagined, my biggest challenge. I am not, nor have I ever been, a morning person. I am the quintessential Night Owl (hoot). Staying up all hours, feeling energised at 1am, 2am etc then having to drag my sleep-deprived arse out of bed in the morning - often without a moment to spare for breakfast or anything sensible like that - to get to work on time.

On days I didn't have to meet a work deadline like "showing up", a Saturday or Sunday for instance, I would sleep late. Normally not seen before noon which, in turn, meant I could stay up even later that night.

My disfunctional (to a modern, workerbee lifestyle) has meant that I have functioned as a sleep-deprived person for most of my life and have the physique to prove it!

Hopefully, you're getting a sense of why this change in my body-clock and sleeping habits was deemed my most daunting challenge with the decision to move into the country.

To my absolute bewiderment, this has seemed to be the easiest transition. Each morning I wake up, not with my alarm which is set for 5am, but a clean ten minutes beforehand. While I would be quite happy to note the time, and stay in bed - which I do in the weekends - during the week I am awake and up and in the shower right on time. I'm even having breakfast most mornings - unheard of! Even when we dawdle, Willo and I are at Castlemaine Train Station at 5:55am for our 6:12am service into the city.

I'm still looking at that last sentence - astonishment still abounds. I never knew I had it in me.

I've been a little astonished at how quickly my body clock has adjusted to the new time it must keep. To commute into Melbourne for work I need to rise at 5am and catch the 6:12am train from Castlemaine which is 15 minutes drive from the house.

I've have never been known as an early riser, nor particularly well known for going to bed at a sensible hour. While the desire to be an early riser has been with me for some time, my efforts have been rather less than spectacular seeing me struggle to leave the warmth of my nest anytime before 7:15am to this point. Now there is something about the country air or the quality of sleep I'm getting these days which has resulted in me waking a full ten minutes before my alarm and managing this new and previously impossible regime with very suprisingly little effort.

I hope I am not speaking too soon. It is, after all, still early days.

While I've been in Australia for over 4 years, I haven't traveled outside Melbourne very often: a couple of trips to Newstead and Rutherglen, a number of times to Sydney but that's all. That was one of the opportunities I imagined I'd have by moving to the country - the chance to see a different side of Victorian life outside the city.

This weekend I went clean out of the State of Victoria into South Australia to Adelaide (I think Adelaide is to Melbourne, as Hamilton is to Auckland) and the Clare Valley.

Getting to and from anywhere from my new home in the country takes a little longer than when I lived in Melbourne. That's not to say it's too arduous, it's all particularly comfortaby actually, it just takes a bit longer to get to a central point of departure, such as an airport.

The beginning of this trip found me at the train station awaiting the early Friday morning express into the city. Instead of my normal work day though, I was on my way to a weekend of wonderful friends, possibly great food and fine wine in the Clare Valley, South Australia.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

I'd packed for the trip as if it would be as cold as Victoria is rapidly becoming at the moment. Rubbing my bare hands together, realising just how much is was snowing somewhere in this State of Extremes, and wishing I had bought gloves a week ago, the 6:12am to Melbourne's Southern Cross Station came around and into view slowing to stop and pick up all of the passengers taking the same trip into the city.

Bundling and trundling my small purple carry-on bag, I settled into my seat beside the cold, dark window and plugged my earphones into place to find out if Proust really could save my life via an audio book, and drifted off into the land of charming English accents and accounts of particular French writers for the 70 minute trip into town.

Arriving at the central train station in Melbourne is an efficient affair. I can turn left or right from my carriage to end up either travelling up either Collins or Bourke Streets, respectively, to get to work. But this morning I had the day off and a plane ticket to Adelaide so instead of a tram up and into the city, I caught the SkyBus which barrelled along the highway for the 20 minutes it takes to get out to Tullamarine Airport and meet with the rest of the crew who were trucking in from various locals in the city.

Our plan for the weekend ran according to a schedule of a few cornerstone events and the rest to be decided as we went. We picked up a mini van after landing at Adelaide airport and then the 8 of us were on our way. Getting to where we were going only took a dozen or so previously researched directions and a 90 minute drive to arrive at Mars' Aunt's beautifully restored Stanley Grammar School in Watervale.

Stanley Grammar School, Watervale, SA

This restored building is so gorgeous and deceptively huge. I'd seen a floorplan several weeks before the trip, but it failed to capture the size of the place. Between the Billard Room, Library, Dining and Lounge rooms - not to mention the 14 foot ceilings, verandahs and plentiful pantry, this place is punching well above its weight. As there were eight of us, we had the whole place to ourselves and we were pretty gleeful at the prospect.

After our tour of the place, and dibs on rooms, we met Lill. She lives next door to the School and had offered her services as our driver so we could all drink wine and not worry about transport. Sweet!

99 bottles of wine on the wall, 99 bottles of wine...

Our first order of business was food, and we were off with Lill to our reservation at Skillogalee. This had been booked weeks before on recommendations from - well, everybody who has ever been to Clare Valley, actually. "You *must* eat at Skillogalee!" they all said so we did: eventually. They were expecting us; not sure why it took so long to order everything! but hey, we weren't in a rush, but we were also really hungry!

The star of most people's weekend started at this lunch. The Gewurztraminer was a big hit with most of the group, and a carton was purchased on leaving to go back to the warmth of our accommodation. After such a large, late lunch, we opted for dips, breads and crackers rather than a full dinner later that evening. We talked and giggled and drank our way into our first evening in the Valley.

I faded first and fast. Seems these early starts work mostly because I'm in bed and asleep by 10pm and that night was no exception though there were a few surprised comments of people more used to me staying til the last. I took myself off to my crisply laundered bed on the ground floor and fell asleep to the distant hoots of Gewurztraminer-fueled laughter and billiard ball clatter.

I woke early - 4:50am - it's crazy isn't it? I've only had this routine for about a week, I had no idea that's all it took to change a lifetime of sleeping late. Don't panic, though. I didn't get up - I'm not crazy. I dozed until about 8am then got up, dressed, and made myself breakfast to bring back to my room.

Turning the fan heater on (one of those ones with fake flames) I settled down on the French-style settee and got stuck into my porridge, tea and new book.

Slowly, through the morning, I heard other people wake and come downstairs, and at about 10am I left the sanctuary of my cosy room to see what was happening. Great timing, as there had been a community effort and a cooked breakfast was about to be served on the long table in the Billiard Room. Not too many places can have eight people sit down to share a meal, but this wonderful place had two such long tables. This table was the more rustic of the two, and we all tucked in to our perfectly poached eggs, grilled tomatoes, bacon and toast.

Two breakfasts is not the shabbiest way to start a day, you know.

After cleaning up, it was time to climb aboard Lil's tour of The Clare, and our first and only non-alcohol stop at the local craft store. They didn't have much in the way of anything, which is a shame given they called themselves something like Craft and Clutter. But I did buy a charming dish and a small quilted rug which I am very happy with. See? even when I'm not sleeping it's all about the sleeping!

Hitting the road, hard

Now on the business proper, and off to the Knappstein Brewery.

I find it a bit hard to know what to do on tasting tours. Yes, I know that I'm sposed to taste wine, but I'm very unsure of the etiquitte, of what is expected, and the fact that it seemed that - apart from Claymore and Annie's Lane - the hosts weren't all that welcoming. Not that they're unwelcoming, exactly, everyone was friendly enought but, they all acted like a) we ought to know what to do and b) they're really rather be doing something other than this 'front of house' stuff.

We milled about Knappstien and wondered if we'd be invited in, then made our way in on our own and looked at jars of chutney and bottles of olive oil, then to kind of gravitate towards the bar - kinda stiddled up on it - and the woman behind it who let us know what was up for free tasting and what required a $5 charge (redeemable on any bottles purchased so yay). She was a perfectly nice woman, and it was a perfectly nice brewery - but I can't help wanting someone to be more welcoming with information about what to do and how to do it and maybe even offer a tour of the plant or something. This wasn't just a comment for the Knappstein Brewery, but for nearly all the cellar doors we darkened.

Maybe I'm asking too much. Maybe I should have done some research. Maybe I'm just too much of a townie and a tourist.

Lill suggested our next stop could be Sevenhills, or "The Church" as she said no trip to The Clare was complete without it. This vineyard was one of the oldest in the Valley. I don't think any of us were expected "the church" as we drove up the sweeping driveway to the cellar door. No wonder it was known as The Church. A tall, brick Catholic Church emerged from the trees and it was as if we had been transported to Tuscany or Bordeau or some other place with a f*ck off church in the middle of it with paddocks of thick, bare vines, a statue of the Virgin Mary enshrined near the fields and this towering house of God nestled in between.

Stomachs were starting to rumble or rather: gurgle, as they had more liquid in them than anything. So it was off to O'leary Walker Wines for some late lunching. Many places in the Clare offer food, but from what I saw they really preferred small groups and didn't cater for large numbers of people - generally requiring a booking not just rocking up. We hadn't booked anywhere and O'leary's would be big enough to cope with the eight of us. Plus, Lill said, they were known for their "bubbles". So we arrived, ordered one each of their platters and a few bottles of wine.

view from OLeary Walker Wines

Now I don't know if they had some sort of crisis in the kitchen, but it took over an hour and a half for them to get four platters out to us. We didn't much care except a) we were hungry b) we were drinking on very empty stomachs and c) Lill was sitting in the van waiting for us! (we did invite her to join us but she preferred her own company)

Eventually the platters arrived and while they contained some nice tasting nibbles, they weren't as big as we were expecting for the price. But that said, it was good to eat, and we passed the platters up and down the table so everyone got a bit of everything.

Eventually we ate and left, taking in one more vineyard, Claymore where I bought a very nice bottle of chardonney (or two, ahem), and then picking up another case of the Gewertz from Skillogalee on the way back to the School. Our evening was pretty special, with a full three course meal served on the main, gorgeous dinning room by a personal chef and waiter who did such a grand job of looking after us: very spoilt. Dinner company was sterling and we all had a very relaxing, delicious evening.

Sunday morning we ate, said our goodbyes to Aunt Denise and Uncle Frank (not mine but you know, they were so lovely) and made our way a few meters up the road to the Crabetree Vineyard to begin our wine tasting journey back to the airport in Adelaide.

Crabtree is a boutique vineyard, and by far the most pleasurable of our cellar door visits. Richard Woods, owner and manager of the vineyard, looked after us wonderfully. He has just the right touch of humour and knowledge (in fact he has tons of knowledge) and was warm, welcoming and extremely helpful. Makes a good drop of wine too plus looks after retired show chooks, or turkeys, or whatever those birds were.

Then it was off to Annie's Lane. Super wines and wonderful hosts, we had a blast at our very last Clare Valley winery.

One thing to remember when touring wine country and purchasing wines, is that the vineyards will ship bottles for you so you don't have to limit your spending based on boot space. Most of the vineyards we visited offered this service, and for a moderate fee in some cases, and free when we purchsed by the case in other places. They would even let us stash other vineyard's bottles to make up a dozen to ship, though they all noted they wouldn't replace any broken bottles if they weren't their own. Good to know, and made the shopping all the more invisible!

"You off to the Barossa? The land of the snitz? The Clare is about lamb, the Barossa about the schnitzel. There are very few creatures that have walked this earth that haven't been schnitzel'd in the Barossa." Richard from Crabtree Vineyard

Maggie Beer and the Barossa

A great and wonderful surprise to me was that Maggie Beer's Farm Shop in the Barossa was on our way back to Adelaide! I provide an exclamation point because I am still pleased as punch with this news today as I was squeally excited at the time.

Amazing staff, excellent prices on Maggie's range - I bought a nice olive oil and dukkah, along with a couple of bottles of verjuice. Honestly, I could have bought the entire shop!

I ordered the pheasent terreine for lunch and, because it was going to take 15 minutes to prepare, I was given a pottle of my favourite Maggie Beer pate to tide me over. You know, in case I faded away from starvation in the time it took to get my meal. Delicious deliciousness!

And then we went back to Adelaide, to return the van, to board the plane, to fly back to Melbourne and leave our lovely weekend behind.

It was glorious and lovely and such a wonderful way to spend a Winter weekend. Don't let any of my niggles about vineyards and cellar doors put you off - they're mine and I own them all - just go, relax, and enjoy the stunning beauty of the Clare Valley. It's such an easy trip and so worth it.

Can You Hear Me Now?

Faraway, Green Gully