Middleton Beach, South Australia, between Goolwa and Port Elliot.

We went to Middleton on the Fleurieu Peninsula between Goolwa and Port Elliot. We took the Goolwa road from Mount Compass and then turned onto Flagstaff Hill Road for a direct route to Middleton.

James at Middleton Beach.

Wikipedia adds: “It also has two doctors’ surgeries, a pharmacy, general store, hotel, bakery, hairdresser, antique shop, manufacturing jeweller, beautician and a high quality restaurant. It has two playgrounds, tennis courts and an art and craft centre.”

We weren’t there for any of those things, just the surf beach. There are no waves to speak of on Adelaide beaches, which are sheltered in the Gulf St Vincent.

The South Coast is exposed to the Southern Ocean, so the waves are substantial and the water is colder.

Being 37 degrees today we weren’t worried about the water temperature, although plenty of sunscreen was needed to avoid baking in the heat.

The kids really loved the waves and had a lot of fun with their boogie boards.

The waves weren’t huge, just big enough for the kids to enjoy. The waves break several times before they reach shore, generating a strong undercurrent, which needs to be watched, and churning up a lot of seaweed.

It’s not great for swimming, as there isn’t really a swell, just a series of breakers. It’s not really safe for small children to go out any distance either.

We went equipped with an esky, some snacks and plenty of cool drinks.

The only negative comment I’ll make is in relation to amenities. We drove along a fair distance of foreshore before we found a toilet block, which is pretty much essential when children and women are in your group.

The toilets were old and smelly, had no hand basins or taps, and no shower to rinse. And they are the only toilets along that significant stretch of beach.

They’re the ones to the right on this map. The others in the village are away from the best surfing areas.

After leaving Middleton we explored briefly in Port Elliot before continuing to Victor Harbor for a picnic in a shady area on the foreshore.

Everyone had a good day.

In 1963, Banda was formally appointed as Nyasaland’s Prime Minister, and led the country to independence as Malawi a year later. Two years later, he proclaimed Malawi a republic with himself as president. He consolidated power and later declared Malawi a one-party state under the Malawi Congress Party (MCP). In 1970, the MCP made him the party’s President for Life and the next year he became President for Life of Malawi itself.

Banda remained friendly toward the West and was the only African ruler to establish diplomatic ties with South Africa during apartheid and the Portuguese regime in Mozambique.

Despite this, he was a virtual dictator and it doesn’t pay to mess with dictators.

Shire River Bridge, Mangochi, Lake Malawi.

I had to spend one night in Blantyre before flying back to Harare. The drive from Mangochi was just over two hours, but I had trouble finding my hotel. Maps were not common in Malawi at that time and, of course, GPS was unknown.

Blantyre is the commercial capital of the country and has a population today of about 750,000. I suspect it was considerably smaller in 1990, perhaps about half that, and the CBD itself was not very large.

I thought it simply a matter of driving around for a while and I would find the hotel.

At one stage the streets were blocked by crowds of people and police were conspicuous. It was a happy crowd though.

I parked the car and spoke to a policeman, who told me the President was about to make a procession through the city.

Still having some sense at that time, I asked if it was okay to take pictures, and was advised against it. I should have asked the policeman for directions to the hotel.

I waited for half an hour or so as the crowd built up. Eventually, there was a chorus of women singing praise like a gospel choir and the President came through to the cheers and applause of his people.

The crowd dispersed and I continued my forlorn search for the hotel.

I knew things were going awry when the road climbed higher and began to leave the populated areas. Instead of turning around I thought “what the heck, I’m a tourist and should explore”.

That was a mistake because the road came to a halt outside the gate of a large compound with alert guards protecting the mansion behind them and its inhabitants.

This time I did turn around, but the guards sprang from their watch house and apprehended me.

I explained that I was an Australian tourist looking for my hotel, but they didn’t seem to believe me. They made me wait while they consulted higher authorities.

They told me where I was, however. It was the President’s Blantyre residence.

Blantyre is the commercial centre of Malawi.

Taken into custody

A senior police officer drove up from the city and accompanied me to the police station. I can’t remember if I drove, with him as a passenger, or if another officer drove my hire car.

The police station in Blantyre was a sparse, stone building with no real comforts.

I must say that I was treated respectfully at all times. Indeed, I was very lucky because at another time or in another country I might have been locked away without interview or trial.

I was not placed in a cell or a locked interview room. As I recall, we spoke in a small room adjacent the main counter.

The motivation to write this came after I read a story by Karen van der Zee at Life in the Expat Lane, about her altercation with soldiers in Uganda.

The Malawi officers were interested to know where I had come from and what I was doing outside the President’s house.

At the time, I was a journalist, albeit for a farming newspaper, but I had the good sense not to mention that. South Africa at the time discouraged journalists from visiting and I had some trouble getting my visa for that country.

I told the Malawi police that I was a public servant in the Agriculture Department.

Whether they believed me or not, I had no idea, but after an hour or so they let me go. In fact, they escorted me to the elusive hotel.

The next day I returned the hire car to the airport and boarded my plane for Harare.

As we waited for take-off, an official came through the aircraft and asked if Michael Gorey was on board. I answered him and he seemed satisfied.

That was the end of the matter and I left Malawi.

• Here is my other travel post from Malawi, about the Tyre Doctor

Her employers at the Tongue Thai’d restaurant organised and sponsored the trip. Matt and Pichai are obviously good bosses who also run an excellent Thai restaurant on Henley Beach Road.

They left at 4.30am today and return on Tuesday morning.

I don’t begrudge my wife the trip, but it’s strange to be home alone with three of the kids. Kathleen is in Mount Gambier until the end of the school year.

I confess to being a little envious. The furthest I’ve been with my current employer is Ceduna and that wasn’t for recreation.

Juliet, young Michael and I share location information via our mobile phones using Family Tracker.

It’s reassuring to know a loved one is safe and on their way home if they’re working late at night.

However, it’s with mixed feelings I now follow Juliet’s progress around the harbor city:

I wanted a slow journey to connect with James and wean him off computer games for entertainment. The train was perfect.

It’s a comfortable 828km trip, departing 7.40am from the Adelaide Parklands station just 1km from our home in Mile End.

We had to arrive an hour beforehand to collect pre-paid tickets and check-in our baggage. It was immediately apparent that most of our fellow passengers were elderly, with a smattering of backpackers.

Our fares cost just under $100 for two people (one way), which is excellent value. It would cost more to drive to Melbourne by car.

While waiting at the station I had a tasty breakfast of egg, cheese and bacon wrap with coffee in the well-run cafe.

The train was nearly full and left Adelaide on time, rattling slowly past the Showgrounds and suburbs toward the Adelaide Hills.

There were frequent showers of rain throughout the journey, including when we crossed the Murray at Murray Bridge (pictured below).

We had four bags, two of which we checked in. I carried aboard my backpack with electronic gizmos (iPad, Nintendo DS, etc) and enough food to keep a seven-year-old nourished for several days.

James munched his way through the early part of the trip, finishing most of the “sour worms” and Burger Rings, however I recommend tacking snack food aboard simply for convenience and value.

Trolley service is provided for refreshments twice during the day. In the morning we ordered a coffee and chocolate muffin for $6, which again was good value. We skipped the afternoon visit in lieu of buying direct from the cafe carriage (pictured below).

James really liked the dining car. There were few people there each time we visited, so we were able to spread out, and in his case at least, run around. There are power points in there too, which I utilised to charge my mobile phone.

The scenery is probably better in winter than summer. The greenery and wet areas made for interesting viewing. It’s fairly dull though between Murray Bridge and Nhill. Bordertown (pictured below) provides a welcome break from the flat, brown farmland and bush.

The towns are a little closer together in Victoria, with Dimboola following Nhill, where there was a change of driver.

Unfortunately it was raining when we passed through historic Stawell and Ararat. The sun shone afterwards, giving some lovely views of the Grampians and lake country (pictured below).

It surprised me the train went through Geelong, rather than Ballarat. The North Shore station at Geelong was an unappealing, sparse outpost in the suburbs.

It was a short trip from there to Southern Cross Station (Spencer Street) in Melbourne. It was fully dark by the time we arrived there, more than 11 hours after departing Adelaide.

Southern Cross is on the edge of the CBD, but close enough to quality accommodation. We stayed three blocks away on the corner of Latrobe Street.

I strongly recommend the train journey for anyone who is not in a hurry to get from A to B. You can stretch out, walk around and enjoy fine amenities.

Port Lincoln is said to be the largest fishing port in the southern hemisphere. It is renowned as the major base for fishing southern bluefin tuna.

The town’s most famous son is Dean Lukin, who won gold in the super heavyweight category at the 1984 Olympics. He carried the Australian flag during the closing ceremony of the 1984 games, and remains Australia’s only Olympic gold medallist for weightlifting.

Dean Lukin

If we had bought our first house there instead of Port Pirie we’d be much wealthier today, because it’s a very prosperous community.

The wealth has come largely from the seafood industry, but tourism, farming and mining are also strong industries.

During the visit I enjoyed some excellent local seafood, including succulent prawns, filleted sardines, squid, tuna and oysters.

The picture below was taken at a fish processing facility.

Not much has changed. They are still wonderful places to visit.

This time we also went to Walkabout Apiaries, where they offer honey tasting and sales.

Unfortunately we followed a bus load of elderly tourists into the cheese factory and mustard store, so it was nice to find ourselves alone at the honey farm.

The owner gave us a description and tasting of about six different honey varieties.

It was a revelation to me, having only eaten mass-produced supermarket honey before today.

It makes sense that honey will taste different depending on the pollen of the tree.

We bought 2.5kg of honey! The varieties are River Redgum, Orange Blossom and Chestnut.

The chestnut honey isn’t sweet.

We also bought some honeycomb. It’s claimed to be beneficial as an anti allergen.

I read a scientific report at work before going on holiday that honey has been proved as good for the digestive system. It produces “good” bacteria, apparently.

First stop in Beechworth was the Murray Breweries cordial factory.

The brewery (pictured) was built in 1865 at the height of the gold rush. The original owner was George Billson, hence the name on the building Billsons Brewery, however over the next 50 years it underwent a number of name changes until 1916 when the current name of Murray Breweries was established.

The site was chosen because a natural spring occurred there.

Beer production ceased during the 1920s due to the intervention of a temperance group, although stout continued to be made for another 30 years. It was at this time a soft drink and cordial factory was opened.

Today the “brewery” specialises in 19th century cordial mixers of long-forgotten flavors made to traditional recipes and methods.

The flavors we bought were Sarsaparilla, Portello, Lime and Coconut, and Lemon Lime and Bitter.

The site also includes a carriage museum. The 19th century hearse is worth a look.

Next stop was Beechworth Gold, which my wallet would like me to forget.

The Beechworth Sweet Company is a huge lolly shop and it was absolute mayhem inside with kids everywhere.

Maggie said afterwards she nearly got “trapped”. That must be every child’s nightmare, being locked in a lolly shop.

Beechworth is one of the few country towns to retain its historic facades. So many other places knocked them down as part of an ugly modernisation from the 1950s onwards.

The Beechworth Courthouse

Beechworth Post Office

Lake Buffalo is a Goulburn Murray Water storage on the Buffalo River, 24km south of Myrtleford. It lies at the foot of the western slope of Mount Buffalo National Park, and is a popular fishing, water skiing and picnicking venue.

Lake Buffalo was originally planned as a two-stage project. Stage one involved the construction of a 31 metre high and 600 metre long earth and rockfill embankment, with a gated primary spillway and outlet works located within the dam wall. This structure was completed in 1965, and created a storage with a capacity of almost 24,000 megalitres.

It doesn’t say on the official website, but I guess stage two never went ahead. There has been talk of expansion over the years, but nothing has come of it.

The water stored in Lake Buffalo is used to supplement flows in the Ovens River for irrigation and urban water supply. The dam initially supplied a thriving tobacco industry in the valley, however this has now changed to numerous vineyards.

The Federal Government bought out the tobacco industry, partly to end the infiltration of organised crime and tax avoidance through the manufacture of illegal chop chop.

The capacity of the storage represents only six percent of the mean annual flow in the Buffalo River.

When I was editor of the Myrtleford Times there was always talk of Lake Buffalo’s development potential for tourism.

It’s definitely an underrated site in that regard. I suspect Goulburn Murray Water is happy to keep it that way.

The facilities are a little rundown, but at least there are toilets available if you need them. The grassy bank hadn’t been mowed for a while, despite this being the peak of the January tourist season.

There were only eight or nine families there today and two boats on the lake, that we could see.

It is a lovely spot on a hot day.

Designed by WT Coke it is a fine example of a Victorian mansion (most of the rooms have beautiful marble mantelpieces) and is now part of the Regional Veterinary Laboratory for the South Australian Department of Primary Industries.

I called in there today on the way home from Adelaide to take these pictures.

Interestingly, I struggled to find anything on the web about its history as the Struan Farm School orphanage, where there were reports of abuse against children that were revealed in the Mulligan inquiry.

History has a way of obliterating bad news.

Thanks to that, a Mastercard I’ve had for two years and some holiday spending, I have accrued 85,000 points. It’s a significant amount, and I now have some attractive flight options.

For instance, I could book a return flight to India, Japan or South Africa.

I could book two return tickets to Auckland, Christchurch, Cairns, Darwin or Perth.

I doubt we’ll use the points in the next 12-24 months, but it’s good to know they’re accumulating.

Unlike Fly Buys, the good thing about the Qantas program is the points don’t drop off if you don’t use them within a certain timeframe.

Hopefully, we’ll double the points in the next three years. That would entitle Juliet and I to a return trip to South Africa or Europe, or possibly we could fly the family to Perth for a repeat of the Mandurah summer holiday we used to enjoy from Kalgoorlie.

Another feature of the American Express card is I get a free return flight with Qantas each year to Sydney or Brisbane. I might go to Brisbane for a Lions game, or maybe to Sydney for a rugby test and to see the great view (pictured) again.

Having moved to Mount Gambier eight months ago there is only one person here who has known me that long, my boss.

My first passport was issued in December 1989.

It has the Australian coat of arms on the front.

My photo and details appear on page 2. I was leaner then, not fitter though. My signature was definitely more legible in 1989.

Page 3 tells the reader that “The Governor-General of the Commonwealth of Australia, being the representative in Australia of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, requests all those whom it may concern to allow the bearer to pass freely without let or hindrance and to afford him or her every assistance and protection of which he or she may stand in need.”

Nice.

Other pages are in French as well as English.

On page 6 I have entry and exit stamps for Mauritius, Botswana and Singapore.

My South African visa is stamped on page 7 in English and Afrikaans. There was a problem with that visa.

I obtained it before leaving Australia and it required me to enter the republic within six months of issue.

I changed my travel plans, stayed longer in Zimbabwe and headed to Malawi before wanting to enter South Africa.

Aware of the visa restriction I visited the South African trade mission in Harare. It’s the only time in my life I’ve used my race to personal advantage and I’m not proud of it.

There was a queue of black people stretching nearly a kilometre waiting to be served.

I ignored the queue and went directly to the counter, assuming correctly that being white they would assist me, and they did.

I had an interview with the consul, and he quizzed me fairly hard because I admitted being a journalist. That fact had been declared on my original application.

South Africa was internationally isolated at the time and journalists were not welcome. Although effectively an embassy, the Harare presence was called a “trade mission” because diplomatic relations between Zimbabwe and South Africa did not exist.

I pointed out to the consul that I was a rural journalist and already had a visa; that I just wanted a new one. Eventually he agreed.

On page 9 of the passport I have stamps from Zambia and Zimbabwe.

The page 10 stamps from Zimbabwe show I left the country on November 3, 1990 and returned on November 10. That was my fly-drive holiday to Malawi.

The Malawi stamps are on page 11, along with (strangely) my Australian exit stamp dated October 1, 1990 from Perth.

Page 12 has South African entry and exit stamps while my second South African visa from the trade mission in Harare is on page 13.

I just noticed the bastard consul limited my visit to 21 days whereas the original visa was for three months!

He must have noted my flight booking to Europe.

On page 14 is my collector’s item entry and the main reason I will never lose or surrender this passport.

There is a transit stamp for the Republic of Transkei. That was one of the apartheid states and it no longer exists.

I travelled by bus from Durban to Port Elizabeth and was told that because the road went through Transkei, technically I needed a visa.

It was a hassle getting one, but I now have a lifelong anecdote.

Page 15 has stamps from Hong Kong. The only other entries are for my second visit to South Africa in 1991.

Unfortunately there are no stamps from Europe. I didn’t require a visa for any European country except France, which I avoided for that reason, and they didn’t bother stamping the passport. Shame really.