We continue to follow NRMA Marketing Manager, Lucy and her young family on their 4,900km road trip from Sydney to Kangaroo Island via the Flinders Ranges.

Final destination – Kangaroo Island

Finally arriving at Kangaroo Island

Arriving in Adelaide we set up camp at a city beach near Glenelg, which felt like New York City compared to the outback. It was the first week of January and the campground was fully booked so even though we had an allocated site, we had to peg one corner of our tent into the bark chips of the playground. At least one of us enjoyed this location, darting off his lilo at first light to stake his claim as king of the slippery dip!

City campers are a different breed to those we encountered in remote areas. The majority appeared to have set up shop for the entire Christmas holidays and had more gadgetry than I have at home. We were one of the few families that forgot the Christmas tree and flashing icicle lights.

Next we headed to the final and perhaps most anticipated destination of the holiday, Kangaroo Island. We stayed in a cute limestone beach house at Vivonne Bay, judged as “Australia’s best beach”, according to researchers at Sydney University. I don’t know how they decided. There are dozens of breathtaking beaches on the island that could have easily taken the title. For miles there’s nothing but pristine white sand and the glistening aquamarine of the cool Southern Ocean. Remarkably, despite being peak season, it was still possible to enjoy Australia’s best beach alone.

Some other highlights on the Island were the New Zealand Fur Seals that live and play at Admiral’s Arch, the stunning and precariously stacked Remarkable Rocks and the Flinders Chase coastline.

As we packed the family wagon and bade farewell to the stunning island I dug out the maps once again and planned our way home. Keen to get back to familiar surrounds, we chose the most direct route from Adelaide to Sydney via the Sturt Hwy (1400kms). It was a pleasant journey, much of which follows the Murray River (or what remained of it after a long hot summer). Sadly the Murray was so dry in spots it looked more like a salt plain than a river.

When I said the route was pleasant, I hadn’t accounted for stepping out of the car. On a January day with catastrophic bushfire warning it was not so pleasant. As incentive to keep quiet just a bit longer, Jasper had been promised an ice cream at the next town after Mildura. When the town finally appeared on the horizon he was champing at the bit. Never have I seen a chocolate Paddle Pop run down a chubby 3 year old’s arm faster than this! Meanwhile, as I stood under a gum tree by the Murrumbidgee, the heat on my legs felt like I was standing next to a campfire. Miraculously the region managed to avoid major bush fires during this extremely hot summer.

Eventually we arrived home – exhausted but satisfied. With the infinite optimism and selective memory of a three-year-old, Jasper announced that it was the best holiday ever and asked when we could do it again. Would I do it again? I’m sure my inner adventurer will conjure up plans to explore other remote locations in the future, but in the meantime we’ll probably stay close to home.  Central Coast anyone?

What tips do you have for surviving a long family road trip with your sanity intact?

Sydney to Kangaroo Island via Wilpena Pound

Broken Hill - on the way to Wilpena Pound

As the mother of a 3-year-old, I currently consider a trip to the supermarket a long haul.  These days even a short outing requires a supply of food reserves, not to mention emotional reserves. Then there are the toys, hats, sunscreen and spare underpants! So you can imagine my surprise when I found myself suggesting to my husband we go on a 4,900km round trip from Sydney to Kangaroo Island via the Flinders Ranges.

At an aerial photography exhibition many years ago I became intrigued by a photograph of a massive crater-like valley surrounded by jagged mountains. It looked completely surreal rising from the red dust of the Australian outback. This looked as spectacular as Uluru, yet I had never heard of it, had no idea where it was or how it came to be there. This was Wilpena Pound in the Flinders Ranges. But getting there from Sydney was no easy task.

To access the Flinders Ranges we took the northern most route from Sydney to South Australia, which takes you over the Blue Mountains, past Orange and Dubbo on the Mitchell Highway, then on the Barrier Highway for many relentless hours west through Broken Hill. This route was three or four hundred kilometres more than the direct route from Sydney to Adelaide on the Sturt Highway, but in a moment of ambitious naivety, I decided the detour would be worth it to see Wilpena Pound.

Previously ambitious travellers – but now first time parents with another on the way – we quickly learnt that our holidays would have to be tailored to suit “the family”.

The rough plan was to drive around 400 to 500 kilometres each day, assuming that this would be the limit of a three-year old’s ability to sit still in a confined space. And with 1,620 kilometres between Sydney and Wilpena, we had 4 days’ driving and 3 sleeps’ til we got there.

All went well on day one, as we made it quite comfortably to Narromine (450kms west of Sydney). Day two however, wasn’t quite as smooth. The further west you travel in this wide brown land, the fewer inhabitants there are. On more than one occasion towns on my map failed to materialise, or, as I seriously began to wonder, perhaps we missed them in a state of hypnotic delirium.

Why is it that hours in a confined space with loved ones can test your sanity so severely?  After all sitting next to me, was the man I loved and had vowed to spend the rest of my life with, and sitting in the back was the product of this love; our son Jasper.  Despite this, I soon discovered – as I’m sure they did also – it’s possible to have too much of a good thing.

Some tell-tale signs that cabin fever might be setting in during your road trip:

• You leap out of the car at the first sign of civilisation to visit a “museum”, despite the fact that it is actually just a few trinkets on display at Nanna’s place.
• You stay for a cuppa because it’s nice to talk to someone different.
• In the car you consume excessive quantities of lollies, which inevitably perpetuates the madness.
• You then photograph a jelly baby at the request of a child who’s convinced it looks like a goat.

On the positive side, all this time together inevitably resulted in more conversations, an old fashioned activity which helped to pass the time and to strengthen the family bond. I have to believe this because it justifies our decision to turn down the optional extra DVD player that every other sane family has in their car.

During such a conversation we decided, somewhat regrettably, to introduce Jasper to his now favourite game, I Spy. Predictably, this was played to death for the remaining two week long journey. Sometimes we had to be quite creative.  En route from Cobar to Broken Hill, there were only five things to be spied – the road; the sky; red dirt; a feral goat; and a dead tree.  That’s one object per hundred kilometres.

Time can seem like a rare luxury for many these days. Yet on this road trip we had plenty of time to look out the window and just observe. The country courtesy wave for example, was a unique gesture used exclusively by local drivers for other local drivers passing in the opposite direction. After a little practice, my husband had it down pat – a very gentle raise of two fingers from the steering wheel to acknowledge a fellow traveller with the occasional additional head nod if feeling enthusiastic. At the conclusion of the day I thought may never end, we pulled into Broken Hill – a surprisingly lively city, where many were enjoying a meal alfresco late on this summer’s night. After perusing the tourist information we decided to spend another night to see some local art and visit the quintessential Aussie pubs made famous in the film Priscilla and Mad Max. As payback for the art galleries, the boys dragged me to a mining museum, followed by a railway museum, which proved a major highlight for one diehard Thomas fan.

Speaking of highlights, on our last night as I stood atop a hill in the desert watching the infinite horizon fill with colour, I understood why so many artists have been inspired by Broken Hill.

Next stop Wilpena Pound…

Do you take your family on long road trips or are they a thing of the past?