Melbourne - Having nearly been struck by lightning once, I had no plans to tempt Zeus a second time.
On the first occasion, I was walking high in the Austrian Tyrol, blazing sunshine one minute, black thunderclouds and the fizzy taste of electricity the next.
Now, once again, I found myself at the mercy of the elements — not on top of an Alp, but on the other side of the world, in the more bucolic surroundings of Point Nepean, a couple of hours’ drive south of Melbourne.
The Point is the tip of the pretty Mornington Peninsula, which forms the easternmost barrier between the Tasman Sea and Port Phillip Bay — the huge (and rather odd) inland sea that separates Australia’s second city from the open ocean.
Sick of jetlag and 3pm crashes in energy, I’d decided to wake myself up with a 10km run along the forest trails and beaches, hopefully to reach the point itself, marking the boundary of Australia’s largest bay and the Tasman Sea.
I started out in hot sunshine, but halfway through the temperature had plummeted by ten degrees and the sky was black. The thing about Australia is that nothing in the natural world is entirely trustworthy. That lovely cove, with its calm, blue waters, may be full of sharks, crocs or — far worse — rips that would tax the arms of Michael Phelps.
That verdant meadow is home to spiders whose bite will turn your legs blue in an hour. There are jellyfish here whose sting is so bad that people have been known to try to cut off the affected limb, such is the pain.
The state of Victoria, in April, can experience four seasons in one day, including sturm-und-drang. Now I needed shelter.
Fortunately it was at hand. As the storm brewed, I ran into a fascinating slice of old Australian history — the old Point Nepean quarantine station, in the forest of pine and eucalyptus next to some serene (and mercifully shark-free) beaches.
Now a museum, this was, until well into the 20th century, where prospective immigrants from Europe were forced to sit it out, in grim-looking, military-style barrack blocks until they had been declared free of typhoid, malaria or any one of a dozen killer diseases that the Colonial authorities were keen to keep out of the country.
‘Do you mind if I come in and wait here awhile?’ I asked the ranger on duty as day turned to night. The centre was officially closed but, this being Australia, people want to help.
Point Nepean is an unlikely place for a holding pen (one in which many prospective Aussies perished), but it made sense , a safe 40 miles from the Big City (whose skyscrapers are, just, visible from the tranquil beaches of southern Port Phillip).
The storm passed and I puffed my way back to the little resort of Portsea. This settlement is now home to expensive real estate and a fabulous establishment, the old Portsea Hotel right on the bay shore and itself a slice of traditional Australia. Simple, clean, friendly and extremely comfortable.
Victoria must be the most un-Australian state. This is not a land of ochre rocks and sunbleached desert, kangaroos, driftwood or walkabouts. Much of it could be the Old Country — green and wooded, small settlements and ranches.
To the south-west of Melbourne, on the other side of Port Phillip from Portsea, is a string of seaside townlets that remind me of Cornwall.
The cliffs and beaches around Anglesea, on the ocean coast, could be St Ives in Cornwall, complete with a run of pretty beaches and a fabulous place to eat — one of the ubiquitous Surf Life Saving clubs, which provide excellent food. You can surf here and take to the water without fear of sharks.
On the eastern side of Port Phillip is one of the most fascinating establishments on the planet, Crystal World. Run by flamboyant collector Tom Kapitany, this sprawling emporium is probably the world’s largest saleroom for rare rocks, fossils and precious minerals.
Tom showed me into an old shipping container. “Is that a plastic triceratops?” I asked. “No, it’s real.” This may look like the Old Country, but it isn’t.
Double rooms at the Portsea Hotel (portseahotel.com.au) start at £60 (about R1 000).
Daily Mail