David Whitley finds himself surprised by one of Australia’s unheralded journey-breakers.

A wrong turning takes us down a side road and into the driveway of a motel. Guarding it stands a kangaroo, who looks at us and clearly decides that our car is bigger than him. He bounds off through the grounds, acting as our guide towards the exit. Anywhere else, following a kangaroo through a motel would be a little odd. But in the Grampians it somehow fits. The area – named after the mountains in Scotland – is a green oasis in the sea of monotonous wheat-growing country that is western Victoria. Approximately three hours away from Melbourne by car, it acts as a breath of fresh air for city dwellers, a playground for walkers and climbers – and a haven for wildlife.

David Whitley discovers the importance of Australia’s longest river

I have to confess that, before I visited, I didn’t understand why Australians mythologized the Murray River so much. In Australia, the Murray is regarded as the blood that pumps through the nation’s veins. It is almost always known as the ‘Mighty Murray’ and its fortunes are a constant source of debate. But the river’s significance isn’t something you see – it’s something you hear. Stood amongst hundreds of red gum trees in a patch of forest along the Murray’s south bank, I finally understand as dusk falls. The sound of the birdsong is cacophonous. Cockatoos and galahs screech away as if they own the place, and it’s to a degree that I’ve never witnessed elsewhere in Australia. It’s the sound of life – and the Murray River is what provides it.

David Whitley discovers why Big Things are a big thing in Australian country towns – and stumbles across a new favourite.

Australian country towns can be comically magnificent. Most labour under the impression that they are comfortably the greatest place in the world. And, if by ‘greatest’ you mean ‘having the highest ratio of mullet hairdos’, then they’re usually spot on. The combination of big hearts and big hair tends to be a winning one, however.

Sisto Malaspina has seen a few changes in old Melbourne in the forty-five years he has been running Pellegrini’s espresso bar. “From time to time I try to make some minor changes inside too. I try to repaint, decorate a bit – maybe a bit of minor renovation you know?” he smiles. “But I get in so much trouble from the locals. They see this as their bar now – and in a sense it is. ‘Don’t you dare change a thing Sisto,’ they warn me!”