After our near-death experience the night before, I awoke feeling refreshed on Sunday morning, ready to begin the long journey home. As we packed, Emma and I discussed where to stop along the way. We were keen to avoid revisiting towns we’d passed on Day 1 and 2, so we scoured the internet for somewhere new that wouldn’t throw us too far off course. So it was that we came to learn about Gnomesville. Located among the beautiful green hills of the Ferguson Valley, about half an hour from Dardanup, this mysterious town of gnomes seemed perfect, so off we went.
Not all roads lead to Gnomesville, but fortunately this one did.
Of course, our penchant for getting lost continued, making a day of long drives considerably longer. I switched off the CD player after a while and found I had a lot of time to think. Every time I checked the clock I couldn’t believe how slow time seemed to move, considering all the ground we were covering. I thought about all the things we’d done over this long weekend, and how it seemed to stretch forever, as opposed to normal weekends that shoot by in the blink of an eye. I thought about Einstein and time dilation, and wondered if time was progressing infinitesimally faster for the folks at home that weren’t barreling down the highway at 120 kms/hr.
Mostly I reflected on the little things I’d enjoyed about our little jaunt in the countryside; the sort of things I’d come to miss once we returned to the city. Like the luxury of being able to go to a popular destination and find a nice parking spot with ease. The friendliness of the average passerby who will gladly give directions or offer to take your picture. Or simply being able to stop somewhere to use the toilet, and being able to do so without being made to buy something/pay an entry fee/feel guilty/be horrified by man’s apparent propensity to urinate while doing handstands or fling poop around the bathroom stall like a caged monkey. (For how else can we make sense of the state of public restrooms?)
Yes, there were some niceties I would miss.
Like giant logs. There just aren’t enough giant logs in the city.
Eventually we came to Wellington Mill, a seemingly abandoned former lumber mill town, and from there it was just a few more kilometres to Gnomesville. But rather than rambling on about our surprising discoveries in Gnomesville, I thought I’d change things up a bit and show you instead. So here are some videos and photos to enjoy:
Gnomes in the grass.
Better gnomes and gardens.
There’s no place like gnome.
Gnomes galore.
Upscale gnomes.
They don’t look so grim to me…
Sexy Frog Gnome.
The beautiful Emma, surrounded by gnomes.
I hope you’ve enjoyed the Down South series. For now it’s back to regular blogging, but for those who enjoy the travel tales, stay tuned. I’ll be posting from the road during my upcoming America trip, here on Magazine Theory.
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