We wake earlier than we would like even though Daylight Savings has ended and we’ve had two days with an extra hour. (We are just tickled to realize all our friends in the States have LOST an hour of sleep.) And we’re a little nervous because we were unable last night to confirm our flight or check in online. And we are sad because we’re leaving good friends behind, as well as a fascinating land.

Stephen and Maureen arrive in their Volvo to take us to the airport. When asked, Stephen, who keeps track of all manner of things, estimates we’ve driven 1,400 kilometers up, down and around Tasmania’s many volcanic hills and glaciated valleys. Like New Zealand, an intimate place.

The Launceston airport’s easy and we get to walk on tarmac and up a ladder to get in the plane. We wax nostalgic. An hour later, we’re in Melbourne, renting an Apex Camry after seeing about 20 roo on the way to the car agency. Then on to Williamstown where we find Jim walking the street and Jenny at home. We chat, load bags in the car, accept maps from Jim, get gin and other essentials at a local bottle shop and hit the Great Ocean Road.

Driving around Melbourne is not like driving in New Zealand or Van Dieman’s land. We’re on an eight- then six-lane divided highway for almost 90 minutes, as far as Geelong to the southwest. Though not “official,” that’s where the GOR begins for us.

You’ve all seen photos so we won’t bother to describe it. It IS as good as the photos, maybe better. But we’ve got to put it into perspective for ourselves. It’s not like we’ve just come from Route 1 along the California Coast … some large place. We’ve just come from New Zealand and Tasmania, relatively small places where the longest vista runs maybe five miles. So the sheer immensity of the distances we can see, the breadth of the ocean, the size of the swells rolling in from Antarctica …

We take a small detour to Angelsea to see the kangaroos on its golf course. Not one or two. And not ‘cause no one is playing through. We stop and stare and burst into laughter as we watch two golfers follow their eight-irons onto a green where about 30 roos are grazing and hopping around. The golfers simply walk through them to get to their puts.

The end of the day is the Grand Pacific Hotel. Huge, balconies galore, high ceilings, right on the point of sharp turn by the water in Lorne. Old and majestic, the stuff of legends … and totally run down. It is our first real disappointment of the trip (other than the @#$%ing weather in general).

So, we beatle along. Back in the U.S., Back in the U.S., Back in the U.S.S., ooops, Back in Oz and On The Road.