Does visiting somewhere as a child really count? I wrack my brain for any conscious memories of my 2011 day trip to WA’s oldest inland town of York. Surely, I took more away than a bag of sweets and a sunburn? As I ruminate upon such things, I drive the Great Southern Highway and lose count of how many blooming wildflowers catch my eye with their scattered hues. I have a typewriter sitting in the front passenger seat, a guitar taking up the entire back seat and my full-to-the-brim overnight bag cosy in the footwell beside me.
It’s a relief to say I won’t be copping any “backseat driver” slack from my placid companions. The joys of travelling solo. Due to my embarrassingly poor memory, I’m not quite sure what to expect of York and my weekend ahead.
So to all intents and purposes, I’m a newbie. I spontaneously booked this overnight staycation a few days ago when I discovered it was the final weekend of the annual York Festival, which is also the perfect time for canola-field spotting. My travel journal has a long to-do list: although spontaneity was the intention (but can one intend to be spontaneous?), my type-A tendencies have easily resurfaced.
The enjoyable drive from Perth to York is between one and two hours, depending what roads you take, where you start, and how often you stop for photo ops. Upon departing the metropolitan area and heading further inland, I immediately feel more tranquil, driving in my little blue Suzuki Swift to the soundtrack of Jackie W.
