Our last morning in Hahndorf arrived with a chill still lingering in the air.

The weather had softened a little since yesterday, but the drizzle hadn’t completely let go — it hung in the atmosphere like a grey veil, quietly reminding us that late winter / early spring can be fickle in these hills. Cold, damp, and yet still so achingly beautiful — Hahndorf has that rare charm that glows no matter what the skies are doing.

We took a gentle stroll through the Pioneer Memorial Gardens, where history breathes among the quiet paths and tall trees. There, we paused before the bust of Captain D.M. Hahn.

His story struck me deeply — though a Dane, it was his admiration for the courage and resilience of his passengers that would see his name forever tied to this little German village. Hahndorf: a town named in his honour, built on gratitude, perseverance, and a captain’s respect for the people he once carried across oceans.

I was deeply encouraged to learn more about the history and heritage of this remarkable town. There’s something touching, almost humbling, about standing in places where so many lives, hopes, and prayers have been gathered for generations.

Our footsteps carried us to St Michael’s Lutheran Church, a place of quiet reverence and resilience.

It holds a special honour — being the oldest continuing Lutheran congregation in Australia, first established in 1839.

I tried to picture those early days, when the congregation gathered under the shade of a gum tree or within the humble walls of a shepherd’s hut. Their first proper church was finally built here on this site in 1840, a symbol of faith finding a foothold in a new land.

At the church gates, the sight of simple wooden crosses touched me — so unassuming, yet filled with meaning.

Nearby, camellia bushes bloomed with bright colour, softening the old stone with their quiet beauty.

The small cemetery within the church grounds quietly drew us in. It is the oldest Christian burial ground in the Adelaide Hills, where stories of devotion, migration, and endurance are written not in books, but on weathered headstones, resting under the watchful trees.

As I stood within the quiet grounds of St Michael’s, I could sense how vital a church community must have been for those early migrants. In a new and unfamiliar land, the company of those who shared their language, faith, and homeland would have been a lifeline of comfort and belonging.

I understand this deeply, having myself experienced the warmth of a migrant church community during my early years in Australia — attending a Finnish Lutheran church. In many ways, it is in places like this, where faith and familiarity intertwine, that migrants find both strength and home.

For our final wanderings in Hahndorf, we treated ourselves to breakfast at the most delightful little café — Bracegirdle’s.

The building itself carries history in its walls: once Thiele’s Cottage, built in 1845 by Johann Thiele and Anna Schmidt, the very first couple married in Hahndorf. Legend has it that the large gum tree under which they said their vows was felled to provide the timber for the cottage’s woodwork.

Only moments earlier we had stood by Johann Thiele’s grave in the churchyard and seen his name etched in stone, stepping inside felt all the more special — as though the story of his life and legacy was surrounding us, from the timber in the beams to the history in the walls.

The cowbell jingled as we opened the door, and immediately we were wrapped in the warmth of a home that has been lovingly transformed into a café.

Each room in the cottage was unique, full of character, and inviting in its own way.

We settled in and ordered raspberry croissants with coffee and chai tea.

Oh, how delicious! Every bite was comfort on a plate, and every sip a reminder of why lingering breakfasts are the best kind.

Bracegirdle’s itself is a name to celebrate.

They’ve just marked their 20th anniversary, and as if that wasn’t reason enough to be proud, they also stood out as winners at the Royal Adelaide Show this week for heir chocolates.

South Australian chocolatiers took centre stage, and Bracegirdle’s House of Fine Chocolate shone the brightest.

Of course, I couldn’t resist — I bought decadent dark chocolate infused with cherries and coffee to take with me. A little taste of indulgence to remember Hahndorf by.

I also noticed their winter high tea, with tiered stands of treats that looked absolutely divine. Perhaps a reason — no, an excuse — to return again one day.

Since it was Saturday, it could only mean one thing — time for a farmers’ market. They’ve become little milestones on this road trip, each one carrying its own flavour and character. Last Saturday we wandered through the stalls of Mount Gambier, today it was Mount Barker in the Adelaide Hills, and by next Saturday we’ll be browsing in Mildura.

There’s something about the rhythm of a farmers’ market that feels grounding no matter where you are — the chatter of stallholders, the scent of fresh produce, the hum of people starting their weekends with baskets in hand. Each market has its own charm, its own way of telling the story of the region through food, flowers, and handmade goods.

We made a quick stop at Mount Lofty Summit, the crowning peak of the Mount Lofty Ranges in the Adelaide Hills. Rising 710 metres above sea level, it offers sweeping panoramic views that stretch from Adelaide’s city skyline all the way to the distant coastline. On a clear day, I imagine it must feel like standing at the edge of the world, with the whole landscape spilling out before you.

There’s a gift shop, a café, and even a function centre perched up there, all designed to make the most of that spectacular vantage point.

But today, the weather wasn’t the best. Low clouds and drizzle softened the horizon, cloaking the city and coastline in a misty veil. Even so, there was a certain quiet beauty in it — the kind of view that makes you breathe in the damp mountain air, and simply accept that nature decides what it wants to show you.

We continued our drive along the winding mountain roads, slowing now and then to take in the sweep of the views stretching across the hills.

Vineyards appeared in neat rows, their green lines etched into the slopes like a painter’s careful brushstrokes.

Long, tree-lined driveways tempted the imagination, leading to places hidden just beyond sight.

And every so often, a grand country estate revealed itself, standing with quiet dignity amid the rolling countryside.

Scattered among it all were old stone buildings and chapels, reminders of the deep history rooted in these hills.

We stopped at a very busy and popular spot, The Cherry Bomb Café in Ashton, where we had arranged to meet our dear friends Anneli and Ray for lunch. The moment we walked in, I could see why it draws such a crowd. Their website promises a passion for bringing people together over food and drink, and that’s exactly what they did for us today.

For Anneli and me, this wasn’t just another lunch — it was another chapter in a story that began long before either of us were born. Our families were close friends in Finland, and my mother loves to remind me that I was seven months old when I first met the two-day-old Anneli. Her family migrated to Australia four years before ours, and we eventually followed in their footsteps. In many ways, they paved the way for us, and sitting together now felt like a reminder of how deeply those roots of friendship and family run.

The Cherry Bomb knows how to spoil its customers. Cosy nooks, velvet couches, a library tucked into a corner, and fireplaces warming every room — it was the perfect haven on a winter’s day.

The low hum of chatter and laughter gave the café a gentle energy, wrapping us in comfort as we settled in.

And then, of course, there was the food. Plates arrived full of colour and flavour, each bite reminding us why shared meals are so often at the heart of lasting memories. We lingered over coffee and conversation, catching up on life’s twists and turns, savouring both the food and the gift of friendship that has spanned continents and decades.

There was something so moving about sitting in that cosy café with Anneli and Ray, laughing and talking as though no time had passed at all. To share a meal with friends whose story is intertwined so closely with my own — it felt like the perfect reminder of how food, friendship, and history have a way of binding hearts together.

After lunch, we followed Anneli and Ray down the mountain roads to their charming home near the centre of Adelaide, a place they are lovingly renovating piece by piece.

Over a cuppa in their warm kitchen, conversation carried on just as easily as it had in the café, before we set off together for an afternoon stroll.

Anneli’s street has its own wine bar, a little gem just steps away from her front door.

From there we wandered into a nearby park, where leafy paths wound past grand old trees and open lawns. I couldn’t help but admire the beautiful homes lining the streets, each one with its own style and grace.

Our walk took us to The Parade in Norwood, a lively boulevard filled with gorgeous shops and buzzing energy.

Among them we found one that immediately caught my eye — the Marimekko range on display.

The bold patterns and bright colours were instantly familiar, a little piece of Finland right here in Adelaide, and the love of them is something Anneli and I equally share — just like the memory of us playing together as little girls in the sandbox behind her home in Iivisniemi.

It felt like life had circled back, allowing us to delight in the same things all over again, only now with decades of friendship and family history between us.

Our day ended in the best possible way — gathered around Anneli and Ray’s table, enjoying homemade pizzas fresh from their oven.

Conversation, laughter, and the warmth of old friendship filled the room, wrapping us in comfort that only lifelong friends can give. Later in the evening, we shared old photos—like one of the two of us from my early days in Australia, and another special one of the two of us taken 26 years ago when we were both young mums.

Looking at those pictures, side by side with today’s memories, reminded me just how precious it is to share not only history, but also the present, with friends who have walked alongside you for a lifetime.