You know when you find that place, that place where time stops and preferably phone reception does too. The sort of place where you’re happy to lose track of time and where you left your shoes.
Where a walk along the beach can be the entire plan for the day, but there is still plenty of time for spontaneous decisions. It’s the sort of place where the simplest of things become magical; the sand feels softer, the waves clearer and the sun hitting your skin like a hug.
It’s the sort of place where as soon as you get there your body seems to switch. All you need is a weekend to feel completely refreshed. You find yourself retelling your stories and realising how little you actually did and how relaxed you were.
A place where you can find the most beautiful shells lining the waves as they lap up on the shore, and sting rays coasting the shallow bays. Where twisting your toes into the sand finds pipis, and throwing a line into the lake can provide dinner for six.
Everyone needs hidden secrets like this, so this one I’ll keep hidden. But jump in your car and head south to Shoalhaven and see what you can find.
Growing up sometimes means awful things like annual leave. But saying no to a summer in Europe doesn’t mean you’re sentenced to home detention. And if you’re clever enough to pick a keeper like I did, a surprise weekend away might even be on the cards.
In words I wish I’d written myself, it was boring in the most exquisite of ways. Located in the unused paddock of a farm in the Kangaroo Valley, the solar-powered, out-of-signal cabin is the perfect excuse to switch your emails to out-of-office. There’s nothing to do and it’s perfect. Hours spent staring at the fire that will later cook your dinner, flicking pages of your book like the light through the trees around you.
It had everything you needed and not a thing more. Luxurious linen, stunning scenery, torches to spot the wombats at night, and windows to reach the stars. You and me.
Waking up to a frost that sparkled in the morning light and stumbling my way through a yoga flow as the steam rose from the sloping valley around us. Utter nothingness.
A holiday where photos speak a thousand words, but those words could never quite capture it.