The Road Becomes Home
There comes a time in life when you stop asking where you're supposed to be and start asking where the road might take you. For Alison and me, that time had arrived. This isn't a holiday. It's travelling. And there is a difference.
Our journey began with a fairly simple plan: get ourselves organised, sort out the van and the car, work out what we actually needed to carry with us, and then make our way to finally meet the wonderful Aunt Heather.
Of course, anyone who has ever travelled Australia knows one thing. The plan is only a suggestion.
The road has other ideas.
First Stop - Erica, Victoria
Our first stop wasn't far from home. We headed up the road to the small Victorian town of Erica and settled into the caravan park for around six days. Six days might not sound like much when you're setting out on an adventure, but for us it was important. This was the beginning. The first job was the van. We went through our belongings, moved things around and made some hard decisions about what really needed to come with us.
When your entire home is sitting behind the car, you suddenly become very good at asking yourself one question:
Do we really need this? There is something strangely satisfying about it. You realise just how little you actually need when your life has been reduced to what can fit inside a van.
For Alison, the first night was perhaps the most important. She slept beautifully. The following morning she woke feeling relaxed, and for me, that was everything. One of my biggest jobs on this journey has been making sure Alison doesn't feel like we're simply on some extended holiday. Because we're not. We're travelling. We're trying to create a home that just happens to have wheels. We want to see Australia, but we don't want to race from attraction to attraction, collecting photographs and ticking boxes. We want to slow down. We want to take the little roads. We want to stop at the places nobody talks about. Old towns. Quiet rivers. Forgotten roads. Forests. Mountains. Hidden corners of the country that don't always make it into the tourist brochures. And Erica gave us exactly that. Farmland stretched around us, with the mountains rising further along the road. Most importantly, there was peace. No constant traffic. No people wandering past our home every few minutes. Just the two of us, the van and the countryside.
Walhalla — Gold, Ghosts and Forgotten Stories
From Erica, we explored towards Walhalla. Walhalla is one of those places where you can almost feel the past beneath your feet. It was once a gold-mining settlement, a place where people arrived with little more than a shovel, a pan and the hope that the earth might make them rich. Some found gold. Many didn't. But they all left stories behind. The old cemetery is particularly fascinating. Perched into the hillside above the township, it is unlike many cemeteries you will encounter. It feels forgotten. Nature is slowly reclaiming it, and standing there quietly, you can't help but wonder about the people whose names are disappearing beneath the bush. For us, there was something almost haunting about the place. Not frightening in the traditional sense. More like the feeling that if you stood quietly enough and listened, the past might have something to say. Alison and I loved our time there.
We watched four-wheel-drives heading deeper into the country, and you could still sense that old Australian dream — someone heading into the bush hoping to find their fortune. The people who live in these communities are doing it tough, and tourism matters. So if you visit places like Walhalla, be respectful. Remember that these aren't just tourist attractions. They're people's homes. And this part of Victoria is also serious bush fire country. In summer, the landscape can change incredibly quickly. Enjoy the forest. Enjoy the history. Enjoy the quiet. But respect the country.
After roughly six days around Erica, we felt refreshed. Something had changed. For the first time in a long time, we felt like we belonged somewhere. Even if that somewhere had four wheels. Even if we could pack it up and move on whenever we wanted. After my chronic shoulder injury and everything Alison had been through, we realised something important. We needed to do what was right for us. Not what people expected. Not what some system told us we should be doing. And certainly not something that seemed impossible. We needed to make our own path.
The Road to Aunt Heather
There was, however, one place I needed to go. I had an itch that needed scratching. I had heard so much about Aunt Heather, and before we wandered too far into Australia, I had decided that I had to finally meet her. So we packed up the van, hitched up the car and pointed ourselves towards Healesville. The journey there became an adventure in itself. We travelled through magnificent forests, climbing into areas where the weather began to close in. Then came the mist. The kind of mist where you could barely see beyond the edge of the road.
The forest disappeared into grey. For a moment, it felt like something straight out of one of those old horror movies I remembered from childhood. You know the ones. The kind where innocent travellers take a wrong turn into the bush and discover they've made a terrible mistake. Thankfully, nothing remotely like that happened.
But the feeling was there. That hair-raising sensation you get when the forest becomes so thick and quiet that your imagination starts doing the driving.
We passed Noojee and Neerim. Little roadside stops appeared in the mirrors — places to pull over for a toilet break, grab something to eat or simply stop and look at the view. Eventually, the landscape changed again.
Rainforest. The road twisted and climbed. Then dropped. The van bounced behind us as we worked our way through tight curves and narrow sections of road. Every now and then, an impatient driver appeared behind us, desperate to get past. But when you're towing a van through winding country roads, you don't get to rush. You take the corner carefully. You watch the road. You watch the trees. And you keep moving. Then we started seeing wildlife. Lyrebirds crossed the road. At first glance, one almost looked like some prehistoric creature disappearing into the undergrowth. It was brilliant. Eventually, we reached Healesville. But our campsite was further down the road, so we continued towards Toolangi Recreation Reserve. And that became our home for the night.
Toolangi — Another Temporary Home
There wasn't much at Toolangi Recreation Reserve. A toilet. A barbecue. A paddock. Rabbits everywhere. And, occasionally, a wombat. I was lucky enough to see one twice. For us, though, it was perfect. Another quiet night. Another temporary home. Another night beneath the stars. The next morning was different. This time, the road wasn't taking us to another town. It was taking me to someone I had wanted to meet for a very long time. Aunt Heather.
Meeting Aunt Heather
Some meetings stay with you. This was one of them. I sat and listened as Aunt Heather told me about her family, her grandchildren and the stories that come with a lifetime of memories. She showed me photographs of her husband, who has since passed away. And after hearing the stories and looking at those photographs, I reckon he and I would have got along brilliantly. He looked like a free spirit. The sort of bloke who knew how to have a laugh. Someone who didn't take life too seriously. Thank you, Heather, for sharing those memories with me.
But there was something else about sitting there talking to you. Your intelligence. Your wit. Your warmth. Your way of telling stories. It reminded me of my Oma, my grandmother. I could sit with her for hours.
We would talk about anything and everything — the war, how people lived, what life was like back then and all the stories in between. So once Heather and I started talking, I probably could have stayed there for hours too.
I left knowing she was doing well, but I also left carrying something more valuable than anything we could have bought along the road. Memories. Stories. And a connection to another generation. Some journeys are measured in kilometres. Others are measured in the people you meet. This was definitely the second kind.
Healesville — Time to Move On
We stayed around Healesville for two nights. It's a quaint little town, full of history and character.
The historic hotel looked almost like something from The Munsters — the sort of building that makes you stop and look twice. There was plenty happening around town, and it's clearly a great destination for people on holiday. But we were looking for something different. We wanted peace. So it was time to move our little behinds along the road. Our original plan was to head towards Bonnygilla. The weather, however, had other plans. So we changed direction. Echuca.
Echuca
I hadn't been to Echuca for around 26 years. I had a feeling Alison would love it. I was right. We booked into a caravan park thinking we'd stay for four days. Four days became...about ten. That's the funny thing about this new life. You make a plan. Australia laughs. Then you make another plan. And sometimes the best thing you can do is stop planning and enjoy where you are. Echuca gave us plenty to enjoy. We walked along the Murray River almost every day. We watched the old steam paddle boats moving slowly through the water. Slowly. Steadily. Almost as though they were reminding us: There's no need to rush. And perhaps that was exactly what we needed to hear.
One of my favourite moments was seeing Alison like a child again when she saw the magnificent Clydesdales pulling a wagon full of visitors. The excitement in her voice. The sheer wonder. Those are the moments you remember. Not the expensive attractions. Not the things you planned months in advance. The unexpected moments. The moments when someone you love looks around and simply says: Wow. Echuca has an old-world feeling. History seems to sit around every corner. The Murray River carries stories of its own, while the old buildings and streets remind you of another Australia. We also had the opportunity to learn about Australia's Indigenous history and hear stories passed down through generations. When that history is shared respectfully and properly, it gives you a completely different understanding of the country beneath your feet. Take the scenic drives. Take the walks. Slow down. Look around. You won't be disappointed. And when you return to town, you'll find beautiful old homesteads and houses that seem frozen in another era. Australia has a way of keeping its history alive if you take the time to look for it. Eventually, though, we reached another one of those moments. A little sadness. A little tear in the eye. It was time to leave Echuca.
Swan Hill
So we packed up our little home again. Next stop: Swan Hill. We're currently staying near the Murray River, close to a football ground, and it is beautiful. There are walking tracks. Birds everywhere. And the most wonderful morning soundtrack. The birds seem to think they own the place. To be honest ... I think they're probably right. I've even made friends with a kookaburra. I've named him Noble, after a football player Alison used to like. Of course, she stopped liking him when he left Collingwood. But that's another story. For now, we're at Nyah Reserve. And it's peaceful. Very peaceful. Exactly what we need. As I write this, I'm sitting beside the Murray River again. Another town. Another view. Another temporary home.
Swan Hill is famous for the giant Murray cod and the Pioneer Settlement, both of which look like fantastic places to visit. If we had the money and the opportunity, we'd probably spend plenty of time exploring them. But that's not really what this journey is about. We're not racing. We're settling in. We're looking around. We're seeing what each place has to offer. And we're deciding, one day at a time, where the road might take us next.
The Journey Continues
When we first set out, we thought we were simply travelling around Australia. But somewhere between Erica, Walhalla, Healesville, Toolangi, Echuca and Swan Hill, we realised something. We're not just travelling through places. We're collecting moments. A quiet morning beside a river. A wombat appearing from the bush. A lyrebird crossing a road. A paddle boat drifting down the Murray. A Clydesdale making Alison's face light up. An old cemetery disappearing slowly into the forest. A conversation with Aunt Heather. A photograph of a man I never met but somehow feel I would have liked. These are the things that make the journey. The kilometres are just what gets us there. We don't know exactly where we'll end up. And that's okay. For once, we don't need to know. We have our little home. We have each other. We have the road. And we've discovered that sometimes the best adventures happen when you stop trying to control the destination. So, for now...we'll keep travelling. One road. One town. One story at a time. And wherever the road takes us next, we'll take you along with us.
If you'd like to follow the journey, come and join us on YouTube at @alisonbarrett8938 or find us on Facebook at Nickally Vanlife. We love hearing from you. We love your comments. And who knows? Maybe one day we'll see you somewhere out there on the road. Until then ... keep exploring, keep smiling, and never be afraid to take the road less travelled.
Nick, Alison & Jaxy!
NickAlly Van Life
nickally.com
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