Opening my eyes in the beautiful Gunbower Butter Factory felt as though I had woken inside a storybook.

Sunlight filtered softly through the windows, catching the rustic textures of the building and reminding us that this was no ordinary stay.

Morning coffee and chai tasted extra special in such a setting — every sip infused with a sense of history and charm.

The claw-foot bath was pure indulgence, and for a moment I felt like royalty preparing for the day.

Luxuries like that make you slow down, breathe deeply, and simply enjoy the moment.

With the blessing of a later-than-usual check-out, we lingered longer than we normally would, reluctant to leave behind this treasure.

The gentle murmur of the creek and the cheerful ducks seemed to insist we join them.

Their calls led us to the water’s edge, where the morning unfolded in quiet ripples of peace.

But soon it came time to leave. It occurred to me today that we have been following this river for days now. Yet, in a way, I’ve been following a river for over twelve years — ever since I married Peter. The first part of his surname, now mine too, “joki,” means river in Finnish. You could say I’ve been swept along ever since.

Of course, if you ask Peter, he’ll tell you it’s the other way around — that he’s the one caught in my current. Either way, the two of us kept to the flow, following the river once more. Before long, vast fields of golden canola opened up before us like a sea of sunshine, guiding us towards our first stop of the day: the Echuca Wharf.

The Echuca Wharf, built entirely from River Red Gum felled and milled locally, was once a busy and successful trading port on the Murray River.

Since the 1960s, the wharf and its paddle steamers have taken on a new life, carrying tourists who are drawn to the romance of the river and this traditional way of travel.

I loved how the wharf area has been so carefully preserved and treasured.

Walking there almost felt like stepping into another pioneer village.

Yet it wasn’t a recreated village at all.

It was simply the Wharf of Echuca, standing proud in its own history.

I actually found Echuca quite charming.

Around the corner we found The Sweet Meadow, a café that lived up to its name from the moment we stepped inside.

Rustic wooden tables, touches of greenery, and gentle colours combined to create a space that felt warm, relaxed, and welcoming.

Just as I was placing our order, the rhythmic sound of hooves echoed along the street. A horse-drawn carriage trotted past the window, its steady clip-clop carrying a touch of old-world romance.

We soon found ourselves sharing a table with another couple, also road-tripping from Melbourne. Conversation flowed easily — stories of where we’d been and where we were heading, the kind of exchange that feels natural when travellers’ paths cross.

And then came my chai. Smooth, fragrant, and perfectly spiced, it was one of the best I’ve tasted. The Sweet Meadow certainly knew how to make a cup worth raving about.

Back in the car, we followed the road towards Rochester, a town that holds a special kind of treasure. Rising tall against the sky were the silos, transformed into monumental works of art. They weren’t just painted — they were alive with colour and meaning, brought to life by one of Australia’s most respected mural artists, Jimmy Dvate.

True to his passion for celebrating local wildlife and drawing attention to endangered species, Dvate chose to honour two remarkable creatures of the region: the Azure Kingfisher and the Squirrel Glider. The kingfisher, with its dazzling blue and yellow plumage, looked so vivid I almost expected it to dart straight off the silo.

The Squirrel Glider, with its gentle eyes and soft fur captured in paint, seemed to cling to the concrete as though it belonged there all along.

Standing before them, I felt a mix of awe and gratitude. Awe at the scale and skill of the artwork, and gratitude that someone had chosen to give voice to creatures so often overlooked. For me, it was more than just public art — it was a reminder to notice and care for the fragile beauty that exists all around us. The silos, once purely functional, now seemed like keepers of stories, anchoring Rochester in both history and hope.

Just around the corner from the silos, we discovered Rochester’s Mural Park, a vibrant outdoor gallery that celebrates the winners of the annual Rochester Mural Festival. Each year the festival sets a new theme, challenging artists to create works that capture both imagination and meaning. Next year’s theme is The Power of Small Moments, and I’m already looking forward to seeing which artist will bring that idea to life on the walls.

Among the murals already on display, two in particular held my attention. The 2019 winner, Homage – To Those Who Came Before Us by Kelly Nicholson, pays tribute to pioneers and notable local figures. I loved how it captured a sense of diverse heritage, reminding me that the story of a place is never singular but woven from many different threads.

The 2018 winner, The Superb Lyrebird’s Song by Damian Cazaly, struck a different chord. It reflects on human impact on nature, using the lyrebird — famous for mimicking the sounds of its environment — as a powerful metaphor. Standing before it, I felt the weight of its message: the way our choices echo through the natural world, for better or worse.

Together, the murals added another layer of richness to Rochester, making it feel not just like a town with history, but a place alive with art, ideas, and stories waiting to be heard.

The same park also holds a statue of Sir Hubert Opperman, the legendary endurance cyclist whose feats in the 1920s and 1930s earned him international acclaim. Born in Rochester and known simply as “Oppy,” he rode with a determination and grit that captured the world’s attention. Remarkably, he kept cycling from the age of eight until his 90th birthday — when his wife Mavys, fearing for his safety, finally insisted he stop.

Finding his statue today felt especially special, as it happens to be Father’s Day. My own father has been a cyclist all his life, and he too turns ninety this November.

When my parents first met, nearly seventy years ago, my mother told him, “It’s me or cycling.” Dad, without hesitation, chose the bicycle. Thankfully, mum gave in — and together they built a life that has endured almost as long as his love for two wheels.

Standing there, I couldn’t help but reflect on how much of both my parents lives in me. Dad has always been a writer, capturing stories with pen and paper, while mum has carried a camera in hand, preserving moments in images. And now, here I am — writing and photographing my own journey, carrying their passions forward in my own way. It makes me deeply grateful, not only for the gifts they passed on, but for the example of devotion, resilience, and love that continues to guide me.

As our journey continued, we were once again reminded of the abundance of this part of Australia. This truly is Victoria’s breadbasket, something made clear by the endless stretches of wheat farms surrounding us. The Murray–Darling Basin produces half of Australia’s wheat, and the sheer scale of it becomes obvious when you’re driving right through the heart of it. Earlier in our trip, we passed through the Barossa Valley — South Australia’s own breadbasket — and now, in Victoria, the richness continued in sweeping stretches of wheat.

Green fields rolled out on both sides of the road, the neat rows of wheat swaying gently in the breeze like waves on a green ocean. And then, in the midst of all this abundance, movement caught my eye. A mob of kangaroos was making its way through the wheat. Some were close enough to see clearly, while others bounded off into the distance. It was a funny sight — heads and ears vanishing into the tall crop before suddenly popping up again with the next leap. For a moment it looked as though the roos were playing their own version of hide-and-seek in Victoria’s grainfields.

During this journey we have visited numerous wineries and many of Australia’s most famous wine regions — Coonawarra, Langhorne Creek, McLaren Vale, Barossa Valley, Eden Valley, Adelaide Hills, Clare Valley, Riverland, Murray Darling, and now, finally, Heathcote. Ten wine regions in one road trip.

On the surface that sounds like a grand wine lover’s adventure, but I’ll tell you a secret — I’m actually a non-drinker. At most, I’ll take a sip here or there, literally only a sip. Out of all the wines, the one I do appreciate is a good sweet dessert wine, though even then I drink it so very rarely and in the smallest amounts. Still, I enjoy it when I do.

What draws me to wineries is something else entirely. Each one feels so distinctive, with its own sense of place and personality. You never quite know what you’ll discover.

A long driveway winding past rolling hills, opening to a cellar door that feels like an invitation. Views stretching across the vines, gardens that take you by surprise with their beauty, and sometimes, tucked among them, the most remarkable historical buildings. And, of course, the cheese platters — always a highlight for me, especially when paired with the atmosphere of the vineyard around us.

Then there is the experience of walking inside and meeting the people behind the counter. Some bring a touch of formality, but many greet you with warmth and ease, happy to share not just their wines but their knowledge of the region — where to visit, what to see, and the stories that give each place its character.

But if ever there was someone perfectly suited to stand behind a cellar door, it’s Miles, whom we met today at Sanguine Wines. He was one of those people who instantly put you at ease — easy to talk to, generous with his knowledge, and just as happy to share stories of the region as he was to talk about the wines.

At one point, he tried to guess our accent. When we revealed we were from Finland, his eyes lit up — his own heritage, he explained, was from next door in Sweden, and he had even lived there for some time.

That connection opened another story: how Swedish migrants first arrived in Victoria during the gold rush of the 1850s, settling in towns like Ballarat, Bendigo, and McIvor. McIvor included the very area around Heathcote where we now stood. It felt strangely grounding to think that his forefather had once made a life here, in the same landscape we were exploring.

Before long, Peter and Miles had slipped into Swedish, their words flowing quickly between them. I was left on the sidelines, listening and smiling, catching only the rhythm of the familiar language I remembered so tenderly from my grandmother’s voice in childhood.

For a few moments, it was as if her presence brushed against the edges of the day.

Before leaving Sanguine, I couldn’t resist their wonderfully innovative idea: the chance to build your own cheese and charcuterie platter. It’s such a delightful way to indulge your senses at the cellar door — selecting from a curated range of gourmet cheeses, premium meats, and delicious accompaniments, and then enjoying them in such beautiful surroundings. I picked out a few ingredients to take with us, knowing we’d share a special platter later at our Airbnb.

We left the winery not just with a bag in hand, but with the sense of having stumbled across something genuine and memorable — both in the wines and in the people.

We continued on our way and soon crossed the historic Redesdale Bridge. Stretching gracefully across the Campaspe River, it holds a special place in Victoria’s history as one of the earliest surviving metal truss bridges in the state.

More than just a link between two sides of the river, it once served as a key structure on an important gold rush–era mail route, carrying letters, news, and hope between towns. Remarkably, it even withstood the devastating floods of 1870 that swept away so many other bridges of its time.

Driving across it, I found myself imagining the rattle of horse-drawn carriages, the dust of the goldfields still clinging to boots, and the relief of travellers finally reaching safe passage. Today it’s simply part of the road, yet its iron bones still carry echoes of all those journeys long before ours.

We passed through stretches of beautiful scenery before arriving at our destination for the next two nights: Castlemaine.

When we arrived, we were brimming with anticipation, knowing that this Airbnb held something truly special — a genuine Finnish sauna.

For us, it feels like a rare treasure, a touch of home in the heart of Victoria.

This is no ordinary stay. It’s a one-of-a-kind, sensory-filled retreat featuring an outdoor bathtub, a cedar sauna complete with a cold outdoor shower, a fire pit, and sun loungers for long, lazy afternoons.

Inside, the space is just as thoughtfully designed — high ceilings and abundant natural light spilling across warm timber floors.

For an art lover, it is pure delight, with works by Niama Wessely adorning the walls, each piece created specifically to bring joy to this place.

It already feels certain: we are going to love it here.

As the evening settled over Castlemaine, we felt an immense sense of contentment. The day had carried us from riverside ducks to golden canola fields, from historic bridges to conversations that connected past and present, and finally to this remarkable retreat. Here, with the promise of a Finnish sauna, an outdoor bath under the stars, and a cozy space filled with art, it feels like the perfect place to pause and rest.

Travel days like this remind me how full life can be — woven with history, nature, people, and unexpected connections. Tonight, as we settle into this beautiful space, I can’t help but feel grateful for the journey so far and eager for what tomorrow may bring.