Bombala

We arrived at Bombala (derived from the Aboriginal word for ‘meeting of the waters’) around lunchtime after a shortish ride from Delegate.

The sun was shining as we stopped to walk our bikes along the Main Street and get our bearings.

We planned to stop for two nights and based ourselves at the small council run Caravan Park on the edge of the town by the Bombala River. We booked a hut, which was tiny with a bed, small shower and toilet closet and a kitchenette. We also managed to squeeze our bikes inside to safely store them.

A chance for a quick break in our journey after what felt like several days going uphill and rest our legs a bit. Bombala town grew as industries such as grazing, timber, lavender, herb and wool production developed in the surrounding region, supported by a train line that ran through town.

As we pondered what to do, we were approached by a nice lady. She shouted to us as she crossed the road, wondering if we needed any help? How friendly! She wore a t-shirt with a platypus on! An opening for Amanda to ask her if we could see them in the river which ran alongside the town. The answer was YES! The area is known for and possibly has the largest population of Platypus in New South Wales and is promoted as “Platypus Country”. She explained that she used to work at the Visitor Information Centre and spent her days assisting people and providing info, and still had a natural willingness to help and proceeded to tell us all about platypus with a joyful enthusiasm. We chatted to her for a while. Her name was Sandy. She told us how she had moved around Australia post break up of her marriage. She originally lived way up in the north of Queensland. After upping sticks, taking her van and all her possessions, she travelled around for a while, spent time in Western Australia, before finally landing in Bombala. She happened to find out about an old cottage for sale in the town whilst visiting one of her kids who lives in Canberra.. She noted that it felt like the place for her. Both job and new house arrived serendipitously, enabling her to put down roots and be not too far from her son and grand kids. She recommended a cafe and said to get a move on as it closed at 2pm (as many places seem to do, in small town Australia).

We said our farewells and quickly wheeled the bikes over the road to a cafe called Kitchen Eightyate. We sat outside and people watched. A keen wind whipped up dust along the curiously named Maybe Street and people busied themselves, arriving and departing in a flurry of utes. Large trucks rolled along the main street, accompanied by a low deep coughing rumble, and people greeted each other in that small town way, familiar and jovial.

An older gent came out of the cafe and paused, smiling and saying “G’day”. He asked us if we were passing through and we ended up having a good chinwag with him too. Gary, seemed to be a regular at the cafe by his familiar exchange with the ladies behind the counter, with much joking and frivolity. He was a farmer (we guessed in his late 60’s). He lived on a farm outside town and had what we would coin as a ‘lot of land and a lot of sheep’, but not by his, or Australian standards (he only had 6000 sheep!) He chatted away, telling us how he had travelled with his wife, before she sadly died and explained how he loved it and how it opened his mind and changed his perspective as well as how he was glad to be able to do so in a time of good health. His former job as a construction supervisor, building bridges took him to places all over the country, some quite remote. His face lit up at recalling this, breaking into a smile, lines forming in happy creases around his eyes, in what was a weathered, ruddy face. It turned out he had been to the UK. He spent several months during the 1980s playing Rugby League for Barrow-in-Furness (of all places). A nice encounter with a friendly man, he smiled as he climbed into his ute, saying goodbye to the staff and wishing us safe travels.

We cycled over the river to the Caravan Park, a large patch of grass, by the river with pitches marked out. A couple of caravans, looking like they may belong to annual or long term residents hugged the outside of the site, whilst a large bus with blacked out windows occupied a central spot. The bus came complete with a couple of cars, some furniture set outside under a shaded lean-to, and a small fenced off enclosure, corralling a miniature dog, that was going mental, running back and forth, yapping its head off!

Our hut was one of two and we unpacked and loaded our bikes inside. After a quick shower we headed back into town. Sandys tip was to look out near the road bridge for platypus as the sun set, as she knew that one was resident and the road bridge provided a good vantage point. As we crossed we looked out and managed a brief glimpse of one in the failing light. Calling into the local store, we picked up some provisions and returned to the cabin to make and eat dinner.

The next day was bright and warm and we took a walk around town, firstly along the river path, spotting another platypus which slid across the water. With its dark profile we could just make out a tail and its bill and watch it dive for food and then return to the surface to munch and grind it. We called in at the visitors centre located in a group of heritage buildings, including the red brick St. Joseph’s Convent, former railway buildings and a train turntable, along with some early settlers houses. We walked along the disused track to the old railway station with its station, sitting quietly, like an old Hornby accessory waiting to be played with. It still has its wooden foot bridge joining the two sides of the track, its timber cracking, warped and ageing. Information boards showed the station in its hey day, crowds of people welcoming the first train, connecting the town ‘to the world’, and the modernised ability to bring household goods in and ship produce out.

Circling back to town we passed many heritage buildings including the former guest house, Olympic Theatre and Imperial Hotel with its grand first floor balcony, common in many of the older buildings in Australia. We called in to browse in some of the towns Op shops. An "op shop" in Australia is an informal term for an opportunity shop, a type of charity shop that sells pre-loved, secondhand donated items like clothing, furniture, books, and homewares. Bigger on the inside, the stores were choc full of everything, from off-cuts of material to jewellery and the odd spoon (Amanda found a lovely one, of course, with a platypus on it (!). Spoons are one of her favourite household items and small enough to warrant transport by bicycle). We met another elderly man in one Op- shop. Dressed in denim dungarees, he sat in a chair, quietly cutting bits of old material into squares. A large man with white hair, he spoke softly and had a warm smile despite missing some front teeth. He asked us how we had come to be in Bombala and we told him about our journey. He revealed that he had travelled too, initially to Vietnam during the war. His face didn’t give much away but we guessed that he had seen much, being a veteran of the conflict but he spoke kindly of the people there and went onto to visit many countries in Asia and further afield with his job as a drilling rig supervisor. He recalled that meeting people was one of the things he liked the most about visiting different places and we agreed that we enjoyed that too.

Visiting the river one final time, we saw a platypus again, this time it was closer and hung around a bit longer. One final lucky encounter which cheered us as we headed back to the hut for our final night in Bombala.

Tomorrow we head onto what we hope is mostly a downhill, from the high elevations in the Snowy River and the Monaro region, down to the NSW Coast. The Sapphire Coast awaits.

LilzRead more