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And sure, once you’ve flown into New York City at night for the first time, or over Sydney Harbour after a couple of months away, crossing the Pine Rivers Bridge doesn’t seem quite as exhilarating an entry point to a city. Nor does arriving from above, as the plane pivots before descending over the mangroves on Moreton Bay. But Brisbane has always had far more to it than meets the eye, which I’m glad to see even the organisers of the Olympics have now realised. Now there’s something I’d love to have been able to take my grandad to.

I didn’t know much about Bronte because I’d grown up on the opposite side of town, in the city’s north, where wealth was a notch less ostentatious (though no less abundant), and the athleisure trend slower to catch on. The unknown nature of Sydney’s eastern beaches was a major part of Bronte’s appeal. I imagined myself taking up a green-juice habit, joining the boot camp group who met on Friday mornings at the beachside reserve, and hopping to Bondi on the weekends for $14 Aperol spritzes at Icebergs.

I’ve craved the wide open spaces and smell of salty air mixing with eucalyptus trees as you head towards this strip of coast.

Until I can return to Australia and to Bronte, here is what I’ll dream of: trilling magpies, melted jacaranda leaves on the pavement down to the beach, the way the sun glints on the water – and those barbecue rolls.

The other reason I’m so keen to visit Orange is a bit more selfish: this city of 40,000 people has blossomed into one of Australia’s great destinations. Going back is both a homecoming and a holiday. While other country towns struggle for survival, Orange is buzzing, affluent and staggeringly beautiful.

Brisbane – for its embrace (and the green curries) By Chris Barrett.

“I miss the surprise of pulling straight up from the water for a piece of battered flathead and fresh-shucked oysters.” Credit: Alamy.

I have no idea if judging cities on a set of criteria and ranking them was a thing back in the 1980s the way it is now, or if Brisbane was just claiming the crown unilaterally. But, to me, it wouldn’t have really mattered because it was the only city I’d been to.

We were lucky enough to see all the world’s best players in action. Highlights included a thrilling five-setter between Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi in 2000 and a legendary three-set match in which Serena Williams saved three match points to defeat Maria Sharapova in 2005. The first time I saw Roger Federer play, he was just a stylish young Swiss player with no grand slams to his name (he now has 20). Watching Monica Seles score an upset victory over Venus Williams in 2002 was one of the most exciting nights of my life to that point.

But further down the coast, beyond Batemans Bay, the new money from Sydney gives way to the rugged charm of fishing villages and the undulating hills of dairy farms. The journey east from Canberra forks depending on how far south you want to go. Head left at Queanbeyan and it’s onto Braidwood, where pies are the local currency. On the Kings Highway there comes a point where the bush gives way to a glimpse of the beach and a four-hour return trip in a day seems worth it.

To read more from Good Weekend magazine, visit our page at The Sydney Morning Herald , The Age and Brisbane Times .

Late in the summer of 2018 we became beach hogs. With our 30s just around the corner, we began amassing a small fortress to lug down to the sand on the NSW far south coast. First, there was the esky, then the chairs and finally a large gazebo above it all. In our former lives in Sydney, we would have spread out the towels, stayed for an hour, then rushed off to lunch. Now, two hours to the coast from our new home in Canberra, there was time and space for days of reading, drinking beer, snacking, dipping. Repeat.

Where do Aussies abroad pine for? Six journalists dive into their memory banks.

My first memories of Brisbane are of my family travelling there from Gympie, where I grew up, to see my grandparents. It was only a two-hour trip down the Bruce Highway but for three kids, crammed into the back of a station wagon, it was as if we were coming from Cairns. My brother and I called the middle section of the journey – from the Caloundra turn-off to Caboolture – “the boring stretch” because of the tedious scenery of state forest broken up only by a servo.

But something strange happened over the past decade: having once been so eager to leave Orange, I am now frequently desperate to get back there. Family isn’t the only pull factor, although it is a pretty big one. Mum and Dad still live in the same home my sister and I were raised in, and only last week I woke up startled by a horrible dream that they had sold the house.

Eurobodalla – for the salty air (and freshly shucked oysters) By Eryk Bagshaw.

“Brisbane has always had far more to it than meets the eye, which I’m glad to see even the organisers of the Olympics have now realised.” Credit: iStock.

Matthew Knott: “Our obsession with tennis left my grandparents and me little time to do much else.” Credit: Getty Images.

You’d find us there every year during the last two weeks of January: high in the stands at Rod Laver Arena watching the world’s best tennis players whack a fuzzy yellow ball back and forth across the net. There was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be.

Amelia Lester is the executive editor of Foreign Policy magazine. She is based in Washington, D.C.

“After a quick swim in Bronte’s ocean pool, I tucked into an egg-and-bacon roll doused in barbecue sauce, seasoned with a little golden sand.” Credit: iStock.

Chris Barrett is the south-east Asia correspondent for The Sydney Morning Herald and The Age . He is based in Singapore.

Orange – for the seasons (and the wine) By Bevan Shields.

At this time of social distancing, it seems unseemly to rhapsodise about voluntary seclusion and isolation. But therein lies much of Kangaroo Island’s appeal.

This area was decimated by the 2019-20 bushfires, but its capacity for self-regeneration is astounding. By spring green shoots had returned, crawling up the plumwood trees as we made our way through the jackknife turns that follow you down the escarpment. Turn right and it is on towards Nimmitabel, where the 130-year-old Federal Hotel once gave lodging to travellers making their way from the Snowy Mountains on horseback. It hasn’t changed much since. The winding road continues through the villages of Bemboka and Candelo, where the buildings are made of timber and the store stocks a celestial tomato sugo sauce.

After two years locked out by border closures and flight caps, I can’t wait to get back there for Christmas. I have missed my family, friends and former colleagues at the Central Western Daily, the daily newspaper where I got my start in journalism. I long for summer evenings where the light seems to take a little longer to slip away than on the coast. I want to breathe in and smell freshly mown lawns and barbecues being fired up in nearby backyards. And I want to tell my two young nephews to dream big about where their lives may take them, rather than follow their uncle’s initial thoughts of not being able to wait to leave a place they are lucky to call home.

So many of my teenage years were spent envying kids who, through no particular reason other than circumstance, lived in Sydney. My thinking then was that they had one of the world’s greatest cities as their backyard and were immersed in a melting pot of culture and sophistication. Poor little old me was instead stuck three-and-a-half hours west in the town of Orange. I would eventually live in Sydney in my mid- to late 20s and loved every second of it. I’m now based in London, the gateway to the wonders of Europe. As Dorothy said in The Wizard of Oz, “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas any more.”

Yes, there are still flashy parts of Eurobodalla and the Bega shires (Narooma, where the Sydney businessman Justin Hemmes flies to for his weekender, or Bermagui, which resents being touted as a mini version of Byron). But overall the region is quieter than its northern neighbour, there are fewer Airbnbs and there are more locals wondering why they’d live anywhere else.

My dream for living in Bronte had been to indulge in the undeniable glamour of the eastern beaches, a necklace studded with emeralds strung out on Sydney’s sandstone cliffs. Certainly I could never afford to live in Bronte’s gentle jungle now that I have a family. But having shelled out single-person rent, the joy I took in living there came from the marvel of the landscape around me, and the ease with which I could enjoy it.

Before the pandemic, I quite liked the short-term nature of those visits, having my own family and life in Sydney – and now Singapore. Now, though, the curse of COVID-19 has made me appreciate them so much more.