Frost on the Windscreen: A Bendigo Weekend

Friday, 4 pm. Drove up the Calder in grey drizzle with the heater on full and a thermos of soup rolling around the passenger seat. It's my third weekend tour to Bendigo this year. I've grown fond of the place: the grand old buildings, the tram that runs for the tourists, the way the whole town goes quiet and gold at night.

I stay at a heritage guesthouse on a side street, with high ceilings, a clawfoot bath and a fireplace I'm not allowed to light. The owner thinks I'm a consultant. I suppose I am, in a way.

Friday, 9 pm. Two bookings tonight, both regulars from previous tours. The first is a winemaker from the Heathcote side who talks about soil the way some men talk about football. The second is a quiet schoolteacher on the edge of retirement who always brings a book to lend me and always asks for last month's back. We discuss it like a two-person book club before anything else happens. This month it was a novel about a lighthouse keeper. We both cried at the same chapter.

Saturday

Woke to frost so heavy the lawns looked snow-covered. My car windscreen was a sheet of white lace. I scraped it with a loyalty card and had to warm my hands under my arms afterwards.

Walked around the lake in the morning in two jumpers and a beanie, watching the ducks look personally offended by the cold. Coffee at a cafe with fogged-up windows. A couple at the next table were planning their wedding in whispers and I tried very hard not to eavesdrop and failed.

The evening was busier: three bookings, all kind, all punctual. One was a first-timer who asked afterwards if it was always like that, so easy and relaxed. I told him it's easy when both people show up with respect. He seemed to take that seriously.

Sunday

Checked out at ten. The owner gave me a jar of her lemon curd and said, "See you next time, love." I nearly told her the truth. I didn't. Some things you keep.

Driving home, the sun finally came out over the paddocks, and the frost burned off into mist that hung low over the dams. I stopped at a lookout and just watched it for a while.

I think I like regional touring because it feels like visiting someone rather than going to work. The town knows me a little. I know it a little. It's enough.