Last month, we went walking a little further afield than normal and I fell just a little in love with Flinders Island where the sea is crystal clear, the powdered sand beaches stretch for miles and the emptiness is achingly beautiful.
A place where the ignition key of your hired car is tied to the dashboard with a piece of string as “we only have one key, which we don’t want to lose. But don’t worry because nobody locks up anyway”.
Where there are so few vehicles that every driver waves sociably to oncoming vehicles.
Where walking trails like the one above near Castle Rock are marked only by stone cairns and the occasional directional arrow as they cross boulders covered with orange lichen and weathered rocks.
Even ‘Private’ signs lack the imperiousness of some at home.
As we walked, dropping down to deserted beaches in secluded coves, it made me think that no matter how much I might extol the virtues of walking along the Essex coastline, it doesn’t quite compare.