Guess who’s back from a whirlwind road trip with Margo? Yep, yours truly! But let me tell you, folks, I’m already itching to hit the road again.
Our grand plan? To venture out to New Norcia (NOR-see-ya), a monastic village about 200 kilometres from home. It is the sort of destination that sounds quiet on paper—and it is—but there is plenty going on once you begin looking around.
New Norcia is Australia’s only monastic town. Spanish Benedictine monks established it in the nineteenth century, and it grew into a remarkably self-contained community. The monks baked bread, produced wine and olive oil, farmed the land, taught, repaired machinery and constructed buildings. Back then, they were the Swiss Army knives of the village. If something needed planting, baking, pressing, building or fixing, someone in a robe probably knew what to do.
Contractors and modern machinery now handle much of the heavy work, but the old buildings still show what was created there. The town looks as though a section of Europe was carefully removed, carried across the ocean and placed in the Western Australian Wheatbelt. Broad open land surrounds substantial stone buildings, churches and towers. I’ve spent years travelling and photographing Australia, yet places like this can still make me stop and wonder whether I took a wrong turn somewhere.
New Norcia’s history has a serious side too. It began as a mission to the local Yued people and later operated institutions for Aboriginal children. That history includes separation, control and suffering, and it deserves more than a cheerful sentence in a travel story. New Norcia is fascinating, but not every part of its past is comfortable. Perhaps that is another reason to visit historic places rather than seeing them only in photographs: the buildings become evidence, and the story becomes harder to simplify.
Our digs for the night? An old hostel turned hotel. It had rustic charm in generous quantities: squeaky floors, wonky doors and a staircase straight out of a fairytale. It wasn’t a five-star resort, but five-star resorts tend to iron out the oddities. This place kept every crease.
We later stayed at The Prev in Kellerberrin, another historic religious property with creaky floors, old furniture and far more character than polished perfection. Apparently, Margo and I have developed a taste for accommodation that groans after dark.
Next stop: The Pinnacles! Imagine driving through ordinary-looking country and suddenly reaching a surreal landscape of limestone pillars rising from yellow sand. Some are short and rounded. Others stand like weathered statues, as though Mother Nature opened an outdoor art gallery and forgot to attach labels.
The pleasure is in moving slowly through them. Every change of angle rearranges the scene. One group looks like ruins; another resembles a gathering of silent figures. Give a writer long enough, and he’ll invent suspicious motives for all of them.
We also saw grass trees standing amid the aftermath of recent fires. Blackened trunks and fresh growth shared the same view—a sharp reminder that the Australian bush can look damaged and alive at once. Resilience is an overused word, but sometimes the landscape earns it.
I won’t bore you with every pit stop. The main goal was to escape the humdrum of daily life, and boy, did we succeed. After years of DIY projects and writing marathons, a little road-trip therapy was just what the doctor ordered. No urgent timetable, no renovation demanding another trip to the hardware shop, and no chapter waiting to be repaired before bedtime.
That is what short road trips do best. A grand holiday can become a project of its own, but an overnight escape asks very little. Pack a bag, point the car somewhere interesting and accept that the doors at your destination may not close properly.
Since then, Margo and I have found other excuses to get away, including a Margaret River wine-country road trip and a longer camping stay beside Nornalup Inlet. Each trip has been different, but the effect is much the same: routine loosens its grip, conversation stretches out, and the road reminds us how much of Western Australia remains unseen.
I even saw a few local authors selling their books from tourist stops. It got me thinking about whether that’s the right way to do it. A road trip can apparently follow me home and turn into another writing problem.
So there you have it, folks: one monastery, one character-filled overnight stay, a desert full of stone pillars and enough open road to reset the mind. Another adventure is in the books—but there is always more excitement around the corner.
Until next time, happy trails!
–Michael (Dark Fiction. Author of SEETHINGS (the first book), free for a limited time)
SEETHINGS II follows the return of the Storm Killer as a body on a secluded beach in Moreton Bay, igniting fear and denial. While police dismiss the link, the media doesn’t. Mitchell Felding forms a dangerous bond with a man who understands his darkest impulses. When Natasha enters his life, carrying love letters from her murdered mother, intimacy deepens, and truth closes in. Some futures are inherited. Some have escaped.
Discover more from Michael Forman – Author of Dark Fiction & Drama
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