There are not many things I enjoy more than a good farmers market in a country town. When we set off on this journey, I made sure that each Saturday would hold that simple joy — wandering through stalls, meeting the makers, and tasting the region in its freshest form. The first Saturday brought us to Mount Gambier, the second to Adelaide Hills, but I have to say, the atmosphere here at Mildura Farmer’s Market has topped them all.

The weather couldn’t have been more perfect — with a promise of 30 degrees. It felt as though the whole of Mildura had come to life in one place, filling the market with an energy that was both bustling and joyful. Families ordered big breakfasts, couples browsed the stalls with curiosity, and others simply settled into the heart of the square, letting the sound of live music wash over them.

I love places like this — places that give you more than food to taste, but a true flavour of the community. We strolled slowly, listening, absorbing, enjoying.

We picked up a few small treasures for the grandkids, each one carrying with it the story of the hands that made it.

And as I wandered, I couldn’t help but reflect: markets like these remind us of the beauty in slowing down. Every smile exchanged, every handcrafted jar of jam, every song played under the open sky is a quiet invitation to live more fully in the moment.

It’s in these gatherings that you see how simple joys can knit together the fabric of a community — and how, if you pause long enough, they can knit something into you too.

After leaving the market behind, we wandered down to the riverside, where life in Mildura seemed to spill effortlessly onto the banks of the Murray.

Cafés lined the water’s edge, their outdoor tables filled with people lingering over breakfasts, brunches, and that all-important morning coffee. There was something unhurried in the air — the kind of mood that comes with sitting by a wide, steady river that has seen centuries of life flow along its banks.

The river invited us further, and before long we had crossed the bridge into New South Wales, trading one state for another with nothing more than a sweep of the river beneath us. Instead of looping back, we let the road carry us for a while on the NSW side.

It wasn’t long before we found ourselves at one of the region’s most well-known wineries: Trentham Estate.

Nestled right along the river, the winery has the kind of setting that makes you want to sit back with a glass in hand and watch the world float by. Vines stretch towards the horizon, while the river keeps its gentle rhythm, reminding you that time here is best measured in sips, not minutes.

Inside, the cellar door was brimming with choices. Peter and I lingered, sampling and chatting, guided by staff who clearly knew their wines and spoke about them with genuine knowledge and pride.

I picked out a bottle of Merlot for a family member who loves it, and treated myself to a bottle of dessert wine — because sometimes sweet endings need to be planned for in advance.

There’s something delightful about knowing the wine you carry home has grown from vines just beyond the door, rooted in soil kissed by the same river you’ve been following. It felt less like a purchase and more like bringing a small piece of Mildura’s story with us.

With the bottles safely in the car, our journey continued, the road unspooling before us like a ribbon lined with colour and life.

Citrus farms stretched out on either side, neat rows of trees heavy with fruit that glowed like golden ornaments against their dark green leaves.

The further we drove, the more wildflowers seemed to spring up along the roadside — splashes of yellow, and orange, painting the edges of the bitumen with their untamed charm.

Every so often, a little roadside honesty box appeared, filled with bags of oranges or mandarins, a handwritten sign and a tin for coins sitting beside them.

There’s something heartening about that simple trust, the way a community places faith in strangers passing by. It felt like the landscape itself was offering us gifts, each farm, flower, and fruit stand adding to the generous spirit of the Murray.

Soon we crossed back over the Murray River at Robinvale, leaving New South Wales behind and returning to the Victorian side. Not long after, at Boundary Bend, we were met with a sight that stopped us in our tracks — more of Victoria’s breathtaking fields of gold. Spring here means canola, and the landscape had once again transformed into an ocean of brilliant yellow, stretching as far as the eye could see.

We had marvelled at these golden seas earlier in South Australia’s Clare Valley, as well as close to Loxton, and now we were gifted the chance to see them again in Victoria. There’s something almost surreal about their sheer scale — a horizon painted in sunshine, row after row shimmering under the spring sky.

If France is known for its lavender fields in Provence, then surely our canola fields are our very own version of that beauty, just in a different hue. The word ‘amazing’ hardly does it justice; it is more like standing before a boundless, living canvas of gold.

The Mildura region isn’t just famous for its citrus groves and riverside vines — it’s also the powerhouse of Australia’s nut bowl. This corner of the country boasts the fastest-growing almond industry in the world, with around seventy percent of Australia’s almonds born right here. It’s mind-boggling to think that so many of those crunchy handfuls scattered over breakfast muesli or tucked into lunchboxes trace their roots back to these very orchards.

And it doesn’t stop at almonds.

The Murray Valley wears the crown for pistachios too, with most of Australia’s supply thriving along its fertile banks. Robinvale is home to one of the largest — if not the largest — pistachio orchards in Australia, with the APPC property covering 277 hectares, roughly the size of 500 football fields!

Watching those orchards roll past the car window, I couldn’t help but feel we were travelling through the very heart of Australia’s pantry, where the river and soil together sustain so much abundance.

There are times on a road trip when I simply can’t resist pulling over, camera in hand, while other cars whizz past without so much as a glance. I often find myself wondering — how can they not notice? How can they just drive on when beauty is spilling across the roadside like this? That’s exactly what happened as we came near Nyah.

The wildflowers, which had been our colourful companions for days now, suddenly put on a show that demanded attention. I stopped the car, flung my arms out wide and laughed, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” It felt like the earth itself had decided to roll out a wildflower carpet just for us.

Peter and I have been joking all along that there must be a secret “wildflower sower” trailing our route, scattering seeds wherever we go. But when he reached Nyah, he must have tipped the whole bag out — because the explosion of colour here was unlike anything we’d seen so far.

We arrived in Swan Hill, and the town greeted us with a surprise that felt both personal and nostalgic — rows of hyacinths in bloom. Their perfume drifted through the air, instantly transporting me back to my childhood Christmases. My mum always kept hyacinths around the house at that time of year, their strong, sweet fragrance filling every corner, mingling with the warmth and joy of the season.

To stumble upon them here, planted so generously, was like being gifted a memory wrapped in blossoms. I paused, breathing it in deeply, letting the scent carry me back across decades and continents, yet rooting me firmly in the present moment.

The fragrance seemed to tie past and present together in a single breath — Christmas as a child, Christmas as a mother, Christmas as a grandmother. Standing there in Swan Hill, surrounded by those flowers, I felt a thrill of happiness that only comes when life surprises you with something deeply familiar.

By this time hunger had set in, so we made our way to Spoons Riverside, a place I’d been told not to miss.

Before we even reached the café tables, I was delighted by the gift shop.

The very first thing that caught my eye was a stack of Marimekko serviettes — bold, beautiful, and unmistakably Finnish. How magnificent! How familiar!

It felt like the Finnish thread that had been weaving through our travels had followed me right here into Swan Hill.

Once seated, we settled into the riverside atmosphere.

We were more than ready to enjoy a well-earned meal.

And of course, I had my eyes on the chai. Many of you know I’m particular about it — a lover of good, proper chai that’s brewed wet and sticky, full of spice and depth. The last time I’d been truly satisfied was back in Robe, so I was more than a little pleased to discover that Spoons knew exactly how to make it right. That first sip was like a small comfort, the perfect companion to a meal shared by the river.

I found a quirky and clever mirror frame made out of pieces of teacups, saucers, and teaspoons. Why throw broken pieces away when you can turn them into something so beautiful? And how fitting that it included spoons, given that we were sitting in a café called Spoons! It felt like the whole place had a touch of whimsy, as though even the décor was in on the story.

That little discovery made me think about how life often works the same way. We all gather cracks and chips along the journey, but sometimes it’s in those very fragments that the possibility for something new and beautiful is born. Just like that mirror, our stories can be re-shaped, pieced together, and transformed into something far more unique than if they had never been broken at all.

Next door to Spoons at Riverside sits the Swan Hill Pioneer Settlement, and of course I couldn’t resist dropping in.

It’s a place that captures the spirit of Australia.

Once again, the house museums were excellent.

Each one offered a glimpse into the everyday lives of those who built these towns from the ground up.

Walking through them felt like stepping back in time, the rooms still whispering stories of families, work, and community.

But nothing quite matched the thrill of climbing onto a horse-drawn carriage.

The rhythmic clip-clop of the hooves carried us gently through the settlement.

For a little while, it felt as though time itself had slowed.

And then came another highlight: a ride in a 1925 Dodge, complete with chauffeur.

This old car reminded me of a photograph of my grandparents — my grandfather, in particular, was a great lover of beautiful cars.

There was something wonderfully grand about being driven around in that polished old car.

Its engine seemed to hum with history.

Between the horse and the Dodge, it felt like experiencing two different eras of travel in the one afternoon.

Both were equally charming in their own way.

It was the kind of place where you half expect someone to hand you a bonnet or a pair of suspenders so you can join in.

I could almost picture Peter as the town’s chauffeur, tipping his hat as he drove the shiny old Dodge through the streets.

We came back to 2025 and hopped into my trusty Nissan Qashqai, leaving the Pioneer days behind us. Not far along, we stopped to admire the Lake Boga Silo Art, and it was well worth the pause.

These towering grain silos were transformed in October 2023 by renowned silo artist Tim Bowtell, and what a masterpiece he has created. His work tells the story of the town’s history and spirit, with the striking image of the Catalina Flying Boat standing proudly at its centre — a reminder of Lake Boga’s role in World War II as a base for repairing these aircraft.

Standing there, gazing up at the sheer scale of the mural, I felt the power of how contemporary rural art can breathe new life into old structures. Once simply a part of the farming landscape, these silos have become a cultural landmark, drawing travellers in and giving locals another reason to be proud of their town. It was a striking example of how art, history, and community can be woven together on a canvas as unlikely as a grain silo.

We then arrived at our destination — our Airbnb in Gunbower. Many people have said I have a knack for picking Airbnbs, and I must admit, we’ve been delighted with every single one on this trip. But this place… well, it was something else entirely! From the moment we pulled up, I knew it deserved more than just a passing mention.

Rather than squeeze it in here, I’ll give the Gunbower Butter Factory its own special post, because it truly deserves to be showcased properly.

What I will say is that arriving here felt like the perfect close to a day filled with markets, rivers, orchards, fields of gold, and memories. Sometimes travel gives you surprises you could never plan, but other times — when the day ends just right — it feels like everything was meant to fall into place.

Stay tuned.