Beating Euro blues with a crisp escape to Victoria

By Mitch Gaynor

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IT’S part infuriating, part jealousy that everyone seems to hightail it to Europe during the June holidays.

Worse still is the flood of postcard-perfect Instagram shots from so-called friends, who—even with despairing composition—can’t miss.

And worse again?

Watching your kids huddle around the fan heater, eyes locked on WhatsApp maps, muttering: “Izzy’s in Italy…” and “Astrid’s in London…” while you scrape out the leftovers of another uneaten bowl of porridge.

Time for a break.

With a strict non-Euro budget and a healthy dose of logic-bending, my better half and I flew to country Victoria.

Why? Why not.

Ballarat, Daylesford, then Melbourne. Five nights. No kids. Let’s party.

We left the children with our gritty parents, landed in Melbourne, grabbed a pre-booked hire car (and if there’s anything more disappointing than a Mazda CX5, I haven’t driven it), and made tracks west.

First stop: Bacchus Marsh and Baby Black Espresso Bar — retro, good coffee, concert posters from a life pre-kids, pre-mortgage, pre-Bunnings.

An hour later, Ballarat.

Five degrees and no faking it.

But Craig’s Royal Hotel delivered: Royal Suite, spa bath, balcony.

Heritage grandeur without the musty smells — antiques, creaky floors, even an old-school elevator.

The information book tells us that Mark Twain stayed at the hotel, as did Dame Nellie Melba and royalty.

Ballarat turned on a charm offensive. Sovereign Hill — a recreated 1860s gold rush village — was a surprise hit.

Possibly because we didn’t bring children.

Teachers and parents herding excitable schoolkids was a show in itself.

We dodged the gold-panning and moved at our own pace.

Dinner began at Sip Champagne Bar, a moody, velvet-draped space that feels like the answer to a question Ballarat didn’t know it had.

Champagne flights, luxe plates, sequins encouraged.

European mood, heartfelt service. Rare in a regional town.

Then Forge Pizzeria — open-plan, wood-fired ovens, packed.

For regional Victoria none of these would have been out of place in the centre of Brisbane.

We also took the time to visit the Eureka Centre and freshen up on our recent history.

On to Daylesford where we stayed at Central Springs Inn — more motel than manor, but our room had a fireplace, which made it suitably cosy.

The real drawcard however was the iconic Lake House, one of Australia’s best regional restaurants.

Worth every bit of the — yikes — splurge.

Dinner was an artful degustation: seasonal, reverent, gallery-worthy plates.

The sommelier with his thick European accent may as well have been telling us that he wished he was in Greece as I had no idea what he was saying, but it didn’t matter as he paired delicious wines with each of our plates.

If this is your only reason for visiting Daylesford, it’s worth it.

The rest of our time there was about pacing: a walk around the lake, bookshop loitering, a couple of pints at the Daylesford Hotel.

Melbourne was our final stop and it was our first time back there post-Covid.

It looked and felt grittier than we remembered.

The National Gallery never disappoints.

We wandered the winter masterpieces, lingered at the water wall — indoors but still plugged into the city’s cultural pulse.

Dinner at MoVida was classic Melbourne: laneway, dim lights, loud and you’re never sure if you’re welcome by the waiter or not.

A short escape — but exactly what we needed, and we haven’t thought about Greece since… much.