So the night of the 8th left us damp, cold and smelling strongly of all things fireside . . . sartorially and socially completely not appropriate for the genteel delights of the Barossa Valley and the sharing of a car with friends . . . (who said all sorts of kinds things like, 'Smoke? No, you don't smell of smoke at ALL'). They also very kindly laid on some very picturesque moments (as well as a perfect itinerary and fab platter lunch at Keller Meister) on the first day of winery visits and gentle country strolls amidst the 'sunshine and showers' (ah yes . . . getting out of that assumption that if it starts raining then that's it for at least a couple of days).
They were also kind enough to listen to our chatter . . . (OK, Bean's chatter while I was poking around in the cellars
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and dutifully reading the history of Chateau of T . . .something . . . I didn't buy a t-shirt there, so can't recall the name . . . interesting fact: it was built on such an ambitious scale so early on in the Barossa Valley's wine-growing history because of a vine disease in Europe in 18 . . ummm that wiped out several season's crops, thereby creating demand for those dodgy Antipoedean vintners)
In fact, so engaged were they in the punchline to Bean's story that Lisa chose to respond in interpretive dance
We spent far too long trying to get a group selfie that didn't make some of our heads look too big, didn't have someone (you know who you are Neil) blinking or looking like they're photo-bombing, and didn't have the obligatory Bean&Al-serious&manic over-contrast . . . but stopped before we were asked to leave . . . ok, stopped to buy some wine . . .
After a blissfully delicious meal at the Novotel restaurant (courtesy some prize money from an award L and I won for a research thingy that's really cool . . .) and a seriously warm sleep, I made it out for a sunrise run past the golf course and some vineyards. I even managed not to disintegrate when facing that thing when the road goes up and then down . . . hills I think we used to call them in the old days before Ilparpa road runs. Seriously beautiful views though (and yes, stopping to take the shots did allow my lungs a moment to remember what they were meant to be doing), and a great start to the day we . . .
headed for Whyalla on the Eyre Peninsula. Very pretty in places, but a steel-working kind of thing happening lent a certain edge to the orange light, red earth and blue skies . .
And as a postscript . . . remember my awe at the two wind turbines in Coober Pedy . . . well . . . on our left as we drove for 20 minutes or so near Port Augusta . . . yup.
And so what if the sheep weren't impressed.
