This is the fifth of a eight parts series. Check out the others Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 6, Day 7, Day 8.
Fifth day found us bound for Phillip Island. A long drive was ahead. It was another new experience for me to don the role of the GPS and carefully keep tracing the route with a finger. The downside was that I tended to stare more at the Street Directory than at the roads.
The countryside in Victoria gets monotonous after a while. It was exciting at first to see extremely fat cows, roly-poly sheep and stately horses grazing about amidst huge rolling meadows and large bales of hay. But soon, the familiarity bred not exactly contempt but a sort of smiling indulgence.
We finally reached Queenscliff from where a ferry was to carry us and our car to Sorrento, from where we would drive on to Phillip Island. After a comfortable but uneventful journey while the mercury was rising slowly but steadily, we reached the Penguin Parade.
It was here that we were to meet the world's smallest penguins coming back at dusk from their day-long forage into the sea to catch and eat fish. Their kids were waiting in the land in little burrows and these sweet parents regurgitate their food to feed their young. Translated into more understandable terms, that sentence reads 'the parents puke. children eat the puked contents.'
Wish I had confined myself to the euphemistic talk don't you?
These stomach-churnings aside, those penguins were one of the cutest
animals alive and their waddling was such a funny-cute sight to behold! They are about a feet high and about half a feet wide and it was so lovely to watch the dear little things emerging from the beach and pass unconcernedly the horde of humans seated in platforms.
Penguin parading over, we again went in search of a place to stay the night and came upon a Bed & Breakfast along the road. We took the turn and after a bumpy ride came upon a long low building in gloom. And without warning the lights came on, brightly lighting the yard. A short stocky man came out of the shadows with a hearty welcome.
It was too cinematic to be believed and I approached him with some trepidation. But nothing cinematic happened. After satisfactory negotiation of terms he invited us in to take a look at our room.
We entered the main entrance and came upon a living room so cluttered with articles that it was hard to see where the walls ended and where the furniture began.
It was a large, high ceilinged room, with two pianos, a computer in a corner, sofas arranged around the fireplace, a dining table, numerous chairs, cushions and knick knacks spread about and draperies, pictures, more knick knacks and books lining the walls. The christmas decorations hadn't been taken down yet. We passed on to our sleeping quarters which was a tiny bed room with a massive bed which had pillows and cushions and blankets piled on it.
The best thing about the room was a french window opening directly onto the backyard. It was this that made us choose this room over others shown by our enthusiastic host. Once we were settled our host, Graham Wells, asked us to join him in a drink and we sat around the fireplace 'getting acquainted'.
Maybe it was the combined effects of my overactive imagination and the previous night's Dahl, but thoughts of another, non-eatable Dahl and one his stories (The Landlady. Have you read it? 'tis a good one) kept popping up in my head all the time we were there. But do not fear, dear reader (assuming you are one of those who do so), my story had a different ending!
We were tired and we had another long drive ahead of us the next day. Sleep was the only thing we desired, or so we thought. We pushed away most of the cushions and switched off the lights....and saw the sky glittering with a billion diamonds through the french window. What price sleep now?
We went to the window and were amazed anew at the stellar display of the stars and nothing but stars in a clear sky. But the garage light was still on and hubby voiced our cumulative wish ' I wish he would switch off that light'. And at the next second, the lights were off!
Chuckling at our good luck, we settled down at the french window, forgetting sleep and fatigue. And the fifth day came to an end to find us watching the countless sparklers and shooting stars and holding whispered conversation since that night was too sacredly beautiful to be talked in normally. It was like another 'night to remember'.
The next day posed a stark contrast to such a romantic night and I'll tell you all about it in the next post.
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