A beautiful, clear autumn dawn greeted us. It nearly always does on our morning of departure from our home at Crowdy Head, on the mid north coast of New South Wales. And it makes it achingly difficult to justify why we are leaving this peaceful bit of paradise.

A pencil of gold highlighting the ocean horizon, then reflecting along the long stretch of beach to Diamond Head, heralded the first dawn light. I love the colour of "wizard", a sort of mixture of malachite green, emerald blue and black. The distant stately Three Brother Mountains were wizard, as were the silent low moors in the hinterland of the Crowdy Beach. In the preceding months, we had experienced considerable cyclonic activity and a huge amount of rain, and for a change, the vegetation surrounding Crowdy was luxuriant.

I smiled at the old familiar sites of our beloved village. Thankfully, nothing much seems to change.

The Mullet fishermen were parked in their fishing trucks bracing the cold, chatting over a cup of tea and waiting endlessly for the next "run". These guys are licensed to net the schools of fish as they relentlessly make their way (or run) down the coastal rivers to spawn out at sea. The "Mullet Season" can last for several months and is deeply embedded in the social psyche of the local fishers and residents. The last years had been lean for the fisherman but this year was looking good.

And my old fishing friend Ronnie was there, as usual, perched hunched on "his rock" on the harbour wall fishing as he does every day for Black Fish. He had taught me how to fish for these elusive creatures some years ago. Black Fishing is quite an art and despite my rather enlongated learning curve, we have remained firm friends since.

I shook myself. We had to get moving and as usual, there were cats to feed and endless last minute chores to get done. And where are the passports, I panicked.

Friends Deb and Ian had kindly offered to cat and house sit while we were away. We were down to just three cats as our beloved black Siamese Kim Chi Pickle had died just three weeks beforehand. Terrible as it was to lose such a loving and magnificent friend, it was a great relief not to have to leave a sick cat while we were away.

We had rather a royal send off from Deb and Ian as we drove out. They are great travellers too and were almost as excited as we were. Needless to say, none of the cats were around to farewell us despite them having fresh salmon and fillet steak for breakfast...

Crowdy friends Peter and Roz had kindly offered to drive us to our nearest railway of Taree for our journey to Sydney. The complete lack of any public transport from our village to Taree is usually seen as a blessing for the reclusive thirty or so of us who live here but it can be a challenge if you are without a car - or are travelling. The taxi fare one-way is around AUS $200!

Taree township, our nearest regional centre is 312 kilometers north of Sydney and 40 kilometers south-west of Crowdy Head. Situated in the picturesque Manning Valley and cradled by gorgeous peaks of the Great Dividing Range, the town was once the administrative hub of a thriving dairy area. Today the town like the dairy industry, has sadly declined with high unemployment and generally low standards of living.

Taree Railway Station was opened in 1913 as an extension of the southern Dungog line. Later it was extended to the northern coastal towns of Grafton and Casino, and then onto Brisbane, Queensland. Gracious Taree Station is typical of coastal country railway buildings built from local red brick and featuring large curved steel frames, and a graceful sloping roof line. There is not much written about the station, nor is it widely promoted in tourist literature. A great shame as it is a truly magnificent old building.

Extensive flooding some weeks before had cut the rail line from Taree to Sydney near the major regional centre of Newcastle. The line was still under repair and to our disappointment, a coach service had replaced the trains. We always find the train travel to Sydney an integral part of our overseas travel experience. It is comfortable, convenient and very cost competitive - and the five hour journey is easy to enjoy with its scenic route and opportunity to sit and relax, and enjoy a glass or two of wine.

Sitting on the old bench seats of Taree railway platform awaiting our coach, a pair of the longest boots approached us. I had never seen boots quite like them. They extended up and over their owner's knees and half way up her thighs. Christine and her new boots came to join us. "Would you mind if I sit with you?" she asked. Of course we didn't mind.

A pale, gaunt woman perhaps in her mid forties, Christine was dressed in a thin brown velvet tie-around coat over a faded dusk pink shirt. A true country woman with an engaging simplicity and honesty, Christine chatted unhesitatingly to us about her family life in Taree. Her parents were farming people who had never been able to leave their farm and travel, despite her mother's longing to do so. Christine's mother had recently died and her father was having trouble coping. Her trip to her Auntie June in Sydney was a great treat and one she had saved for. Christine was very excited. The boots she told us, were bought especially for the occasion.

I felt a sharp pang of guilt when we told her we were heading off overseas. Christine's bus left before ours and on her farewell, she hugged me. "I hope you kick up your heels and and have a really WILD TIME". A generous comment from Christine who probably never had the opportunity to have a wild time, let alone a trip overseas.

We could not complain about the bus service to Sydney. It was comfortable and the driver was very pleasant and thoughtful of his passengers.

It was a pity however that not all of the the passengers were quite as thoughtful. A very self focussed woman upon finding her seat, just propped in the aisle and rummaged through all her bags for at least five minutes before it dawned on her than no-one else could enter the bus. What was worse, it she went through the same procedure after every stop. It was a blessing for her that the other passengers were so accommodating.

A very large and loudly spoken young woman sitting behind us had her mobile phone turned onto "speaker" mode for most of the trip. The entire bus was treated to a 20 minute account of her recent trip to a psychiatrist which she explained in graphic detail to some poor undeserving relative with whom she was staying in Sydney that night.

We shuddered. OMG! Save us from a frigg'n bus tour!!

In no time however we were heading south of Newcastle and alongside the attractive waterways of the Central Coast. Our route then took us down the familiar M1 Motorway, across the beautiful Hawkesbury River at Brooklyn and then over the Sydney Harbour Bridge to Sydney's Central Station where we would catch the private rail line to the International Airport Station.

We have travelled this trip on numerous occasions and for years worked in the centre of Sydney. It was however still a great pleasure to experience the scenic beauty of the rivers and the mostly forested surrounds for a lot of the journey - and being a "tourist" driving through our old home town city of Sydney.

We had booked the Mercure Airport Hotel for our stay that evening. It is only some five minutes by shuttle bus from the International Airport and close to the St George Rowing Club which has a friendly atmosphere and sells reasonable club style food. Anyway, it is all part of our overseas travel experience and has become "traditional" for Alan and I to dine there the evening before our flight.

The evenings before an overseas trip are always an exciting time and we thoroughly enjoyed our meal.