I recently read an article by someone complaining about the boredom of retirement and no longer having the chance to learn new things. If you are a regular reader of this blog, you’ll know that this really got my goat up!

One of the big surprises of retirement and spending time on the road has been the things that we’ve learned. Not just about caravans and towing. We had to learn that very quickly, and we are still learning eleven years or so after buying our first van. But other stuff too.

Stuff like, navigation and geography, weather and climate, geology, biology, history, agriculture, arts, and culture to name a few.

One evening, somewhere in Queensland, we got chatting with a travelling couple from Europe who complained that all Australian food was fried. It was obvious to us that they’d spent a little too much time eating in outback pubs.

The Maryvale Crown

There is a sign on the Cunningham Highway in Queensland pointing to the “Historic Maryvale Crown Hotel”. It’s a great old pub, two-storey, rusted iron roof, a bit crooked, lots of wrought iron lacework and there are a couple of characters out the front drinking in the sun. They wave us in and how can we not stop? Especially when there is a sign out front declaring that it is ‘un Australian’ to pass a pub without stopping for a beer.  Around the yard, an axe and wood waiting to be chopped, rusted wheels, and inside there are pressed metal ceilings. Mine host is a jolly rotund publican by the name of Dennis. He tells us that he is happy to have caravanners free camp out the back as long as they join him for a beer. A fair deal I’d say. I ask if I can photograph the bar and both Dennis and a young guy on crutches bolt for the door saying “Yeah, ok but not if we’re in it”. We chat to one of the old characters out front and he tells us that he is from up Charters Towers way and how in the old days in the Palmer Valley gold miners used to eat the Aboriginals and the Chinese, but they preferred the Chinese because of their rice diet they were sweeter! “Used to hang ‘em up by their pigtails, they did”. Whether it’s fair dinkum or not, I guess we’ll never know, but you certainly meet some characters out here. After a cold beer and a lot of laughs, we decide that from now on we really should visit as many old pubs as we possibly can.

The Nindigully Burger

On one of our early trips, we got chatting with a couple in a shopping centre in Ballina, NSW and they recommended we visit the Nindigully Pub in Queensland. You see, caravanners can spot each other a mile off and are always ready to share a favourite location or two.

So it was, that a year or so later in Winter 2016 when we were exploring Lightning Ridge that we decided on making Nindigully our next stop.

The pub is renowned for the huge camping area beside the Moonie River and its signature dish the Nindigully Burger. The Nindigully pub was built in 1864 on the banks of the Moonie River. It once was a Cobb & Co coach staging post. There is a huge campground out front with at least 30 vans of all description and room for more.

The river is pretty and flanked by an interpretive walk so that we can quickly identify what snakes will kill us, almost all of them we learn. There is a 100-year-old wooden bridge that was once the focal point of this crossroads town. 

But oh, what a pub, long and low, a sweeping shady old veranda with wooden floorboards, and hitching posts across the front. This is Queensland’s longest licensed hotel. And it ticks every box as far as great pubs go. An inviting beer garden. Inside, the walls are hung with photos and memorabilia, drover’s hats hang from the ceiling, a wild pig’s head wearing sunglasses and there is a charming old dining room with more photos of times gone by and of the last flood when the river lapped the veranda.

We are quite happy with the regular-sized meals but the folks on the table beside us go the whole hog with the famous Nindigully Burger 5.5kg of beef for $60 that serves 6 hungry cattle folk.

Wyandra, Crumbed Steak & a Foul Galah

It was during Covid that we found ourselves travelling freely through Queensland whilst New South Wales and Victoria were fighting more cases than they could handle. The Victorian State Premier deemed that returning Grey Nomads should cross the entire state of NSW in no more than 24 hours. The shortest route is 850kms, making it blatantly obvious that he (the Premier) had his own chauffeur. Thus, while planning to make the big dash, we thought we’d make the most of the border region and the little town of Wyandra where not much happens even on a busy day.

At the well-appointed RV Campground we spend the day chasing the shade around the one tree then the boys give up and go over to the pub for a beer on the pretense of booking for dinner. Other than the kids in school we can’t see a soul. Elle and I sit in the shade behind the vans and gaze at the paddock. Sometimes a truck passes by somewhere over there on the highway and when one does, we can hear it coming for ages, such is the quiet here.

The boys return and as the sun sets we stroll down the middle of the road to dinner. We’re the only patrons. How lucky are we to have booked?

Brock and his partner are the new young publicans. He’s a dab hand at this as his grandparents used to own the renowned Dululu pub. They’ve only been here 3 months and already have painted the place throughout and polished the floors. The meal is good pub food and we’ve no complaints. Because it’s our last meal in Qld we’ve decided to be brave and try the Crumbed Steak. Crumbed Steak? Well, it’s a Qld thing and you’ll find it on every pub menu in this fair state and to our surprise it’s pretty good. Probably not that good for the arteries but when you’ve spent the day tipping cows and Brahman bulls upside down the extra calories wouldn’t go astray. After dinner Brock’s mother-in-law Mary, drops in to say g’day and tells us that she is the cleaner and is living out the back with hubby in a converted bus with their galah Joey (who used to be known as Daphne). Joey’s a good talker and if anyone knocks on the door he greets them with a loud “Faaarck Orf”! Mary’s brother also pops in, he breeds and trains pig dogs. A good pig dog fetches a damned good price around here as feral pigs are a huge problem. You just don’t get this kind of knowledge in a city pub.

We need our torches to find our way home as you can’t see your hand in front of your face and streetlights are few and far between.

The sky is so stunning that we line up our chairs, turn out the van lights and, like an open-air cinema, lay back gazing at the stars above us. And you wondered what grey nomads do in the evening.

Great Western Hotel Rockhampton, Would you like that rare or on the hoof

In a tropical downpour we almost fall into the warm and dry Great Western Hotel before realising that the rodeo arena is half open air and quite cold. It’s back to the car for warm things and that jumper that I bought only minutes ago.

There’s something different about this dining room here and it’s not the plastic gingham tablecloths and the beer hall look. It’s the smell of cow manure. Was that a moo? There is a herd of bulls and steers and they’re looking at us. We can see through the open end of the arena that the rain is coming down in sheets. The place is filling and mostly with young local families, little tots in their cowboy hats and boots, looking just like their Dads.

Twice weekly on Wednesdays and Fridays, there is a Junior Bull Riding Practise here. Once a month they have a full rodeo competition culminating in the finals in November. This is a serious sport and one of the local boarding schools brings their lads in by bus.

While the cattle pace around the arena we order our meals. Of course, they take their steak seriously here and order it by cut and locality. Woody chooses a magnificently seared steak from the Darling Downs served with a potato and Parmesan gratin. Frankly, I’ve never seen a better-presented steak and it’s delicious. In deference to the ‘entertainers’ I choose a lamb shank on a bed of mash. Just the thing on a wintry Queensland night. And even though it is wintry the tables are full. Then the show starts.

The aim of this event is to encourage young kids into the sport, train them properly, and in safety. They all wear protective vests and headgear. The littlest fellows are held securely and plucked from their small bulls before they can come to any harm. The older lads put on a tremendous show and can’t be far from joining the professional circuit. A couple of blokes from the audience give it a try and make a good fist of it before hitting the dirt.

What a great night’s entertainment, pub food of restaurant quality, the pub’s own Great Western lager and we learn a lot of respect for bull riders.