Wyong Roaming…

30 Oct

So where do two ex-party girls head for a weekend away from husbands, children, and all domestic duties? Spa debauchery in Thailand? Show time in Vegas? A Goan hash haze? Here, I’ll give you a hint:

Yes, that would be a lovely line up of golf buggies. No, we weren’t at some exclusive tropical hideaway where the roads are too dinky for regular vehicles. And no, neither of us play golf (though I quite fancy the outfits, I’m fairly sure I couldn’t connect a club with a golf ball if my life depended on it).

Yet the Kooindah Waters golf resort at Wyong turned out to be pretty much a perfect weekend getaway.

Pros: One, once we actually managed to get out of the city, it was a quick zip up the highway, minimising transit time and maximising magazine perusing opportunities. Two, it was populated mostly by middle aged men and Asian tour groups. That meant blissful silence broken pretty much only by the click of cameras and the tonk! of balls being sent down the green (that’s what it’s called, right?). Add a balcony with a pretty view, a big bed each and block-out blinds, and you have a recipe for perfection.

After dinner at the resort restaurant on Friday night (sadly the charming Tuggerah Inn Chinese restaurant was all shut up)…

… we headed over to The Entrance Saturday morning, planning to gaze out at some sparkly water and maybe eat ice cream – that was about the extent of the plan.

Fancy our delight at stumbling across ChromeFest, the Central Coast’s biannual hot rod festival. No, really. There was only a little bit of this:

And plenty of this:

The obligatory ice cream stop didn’t quell hunger for too long and after vetoing a bum-steer from Doris at tourist information (could have been Mabel, but whatever her name was, she was getting a kick-back from the Shelley Beach Golf Club), we ended up at Toowoon Bay, which has a fabulous looking caravan park, a delicious cafe – Coast 89 – and an old-school bakery where we stocked upon vanilla slices.

Saturday evening was spent gobbling prawns and on Sunday, a slovenly slow buffet breakfast – with newspapers no less – set the pace for a very relaxed meander home again. Bloody fabulous.


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