Let's get lost together

The dish of the fortnight is a yearly tradition.

I’ve moved things around a bit this week, as I mostly want to talk about a destination I recently visited – close to home, but somehow seeming a world away.

Exploring French Island

My birthday was last week. It’s generally a good time of the year to be born – close to Christmas, but not uncomfortably so. Not quite guaranteed good weather because Victoria, but good odds. And best of all, it’s just after the summer school holidays have ended – when basically no one else is on holiday, making it the perfect time to take a break and go exploring, without the crowds.

So, it’s become a yearly tradition to jump in the car and drive out to regional Victoria for some r&r. Sometimes with friends. Last year with dog. The general aim is to go somewhere with good nature, beaches and at some point on the route, decent food.

This year, I was determined to tick off a place that’s been top of my local list for several years now. French Island.

One of my friends, who is originally from Melbourne but now lives overseas, made the following comment when I told him where I was going for the weekend:

“Oh yeah, I used to stare at that island on a map and wonder what was there.”

I asked him why he never visited and I imagine he shrugged (we were conversing over text). At least he knew what I was talking about, I guess. The reaction I got from people when I told them where I was spending my birthday weekend was ‘where’s that?’.

The second most asked question: ‘why there?’

Well. Why not?

Only accessible by boat, unlike neighbouring Phillip Island, French Island seems somewhat impossible to get to. A large chunk of land that sits in Western Port, mysterious and to me at least, mysteriously alluring.

Phillip Island, a popular holiday destination from Melbourne is under French Island. As you can see, it’s a big island.

It’s odd really, that more people don’t go here. Very achievable as a day trip. You drive down the Mornington Peninsula, about an hour’s journey from Melbourne. Park the car at the ferry terminal. There’s a train station right there, if you’re carless or prefer this method of travel. You jump on a boat, which sells wine from a notable vineyard on the Bellarine Peninsula that comes in its own takeaway cup. Ten minutes later, you’re on Tankerton jetty.

Accommodation options are somewhat lacking on the island. There was once glamping facilities and an ‘eco’ inn, both which seem to have been the victims of repeated COVID lockdowns. There’s a campsite, which is around a twenty minute bike ride from the jetty. Basic ammenities, but overall a quiet and peaceful place to stay.

We stayed at the very delightful general store/cafe, which has two accommodation options. I’m so glad we didn’t camp, as the weather wasn’t to work in our favour.

As I said previously, early February is not quite guaranteed good weather. Sometimes it’s a hit (like last year with its blue skies and 29°C heat). This year, a bit more miss. Melbourne is Australia’s own windy city and the southern coastline can cop it pretty hard. I was lamenting a 10am ferry booking, which saw us leaving home around 7 to beat early morning traffic. Turns out it was GREAT PLANNING ON MY PART (completely unintended but still) as the wild winds meant the ferry was soon to stop running. There was a poor fellow on our ferry who got to spend a grand total of half an hour of the island – just enough time for a cuppa at the cafe, before jumping on the ferry back to the mainland, lest he get stranded there overnight.

120 people live on the island, which is off-the-grid and unincorporated – meaning there’s no local council. Their numbers weirdly enough, once included Kylie Minogue. She and her siblings bought a place in 2005 and sold it in 2010.

There’s clearly a strong sense of community on the island. We were told by a resident that ‘9 out of 10 people aren’t wankers,’ which seemed pretty good odds, if you ask me. I don’t think I could even say that about my own neighbourhood.

Large parts of the island are officially designated as a national park and off the northern coastline, a marine national park. A safeguard for the wildlife who call the island home. There’s a strong koala population here – an oddity, as they’re not endemic to the island, having been introduced in the 1890s. They’ve flourished to the point where their population is almost unsustainable, free from the chlamydia plaguing their mainland counterparts.

What is there to do on French Island, an outdoor wonder- or more rightly, wanderland, when the weather is poor? You can brave it anyway, like we did on our first bike ride, heading out to see the koalas that live in the trees near the general store. The heavens opened, we got absolutely soaked and as it was 13°C, we headed back to our accommodation to warm up. Getting a cold in ‘summer’ is oxymoronic and so, we didn’t want to moronically put ourselves in situations where that became a risk.

Instead we napped while hail hit the tin roof of the bungalow we were sleeping in, and watched free to air TV, further enhancing the feeling you get on the sparsely populated island, of stepping into some sort of time capsule, travelling back twenty to thirty years, or so. Everyone seems hot on the nineties at the moment – well, you can certainly get your nostalgia hit on French Island.

The rain finally eased mid-afternoon, during our second day on the island. We headed out on our bikes, which we’d dragged along with us from Melbourne, across on the ferry, onto the island. My bike, which travels smoothly on Melbourne’s tar roads, struggled on the gravel, my head entertaining me with visions of burst inner tubes, punctured tyres and long walks back to the general store, tail between my legs.

We arrived at the campsite – a beautiful, serene spot. A few tents dotted the grounds, but no people were in sight. The grounds led out to the western coastline of the island, the nesting area of oystercatchers. Above us, an enormous white-bellied sea-eagled drifted lazily in the sky.

We set out on a three-hour walk that I’d been longing to do. Time was against us at this point, so we figured we’d head out as far as we could, before the diminishing daylight forced us back.

We walked along a path that in the spring, is covered with wildflowers and can lead to wild orchids at the right time of year. Birds flittered overhead, butterflies swept past us and at one point, spotting movement in the grass, we realised we were sharing the area with a large echidna, snuffling its way across the ground.

The path was undulating, but not challenging. And peaceful – critters aside, we didn’t see a single other soul.

Reluctantly turning back after reaching the first point of interest on the walk – a swamp which inexplicably featured a rusted-out car, we turned around, heading towards the campground, where we’d left our bikes.

Crossing the road ahead of us, was yet another echidna. Not at all fussed about our presence, it waddled its way right up to my boyfriend’s foot, before calmly continuing on its journey.

Home the next morning, on the ferry back to the mainland. I was sad to leave, as thanks to the weather, it felt like we’d experienced only a smidge of what this island has to offer. I’ll be back – perhaps in the spring, to see the wildflowers in full bloom.

The best thing I ate this fortnight

Do you celebrate Valentine’s Day? I tell people I don’t but maybe that’s a lie, as I have a tradition of going out for the same meal every year – at an Ethiopian restaurant, where deliciously spiced and brightly coloured dishes are arranged across a gigantic piece of injera – all the better to soak up the sauces.

I’ve been turned off our usual place, as the last few times we’ve been, the kik alicha (a split yellow pea curry) just hasn’t been properly cooked. Those peas need to melt in your mouth, not sit undigested in your stomach for the next seven years, like a swallowed piece of chewing gum (I know that’s probably an old wives’ tale, but it haunts me so).

So we tried somewhere new this time round, heading to Abol Africa in Footscray, a suburb renowned for its multicultural food scene. The goods were delivered, as you can see below.

Ethiopian cuisine is usually vego or vegan, although there are meat dishes available – and sometimes pescatarian, which makes my heart sing. Below is the veggie paradise combo and bassa fillet curry. It was as yummy as it looks.

Any leftovers are soaked into the injera bread, somehow becoming even more delicious overnight. And the meal was cheap as chips – the perfect way to casually celebrate a somewhat overrated holiday.

What’s cooking next time

We’ll chat about some thought-provoking (and hunger inducing) books. Plus, the unbridled joy of (legally) snooping in other people’s gardens.

-Celine

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This is the world now. I don’t like it either. But I do appreciate it!