Beachside pocket near Frankston has a wine bar worth travelling for
'Have you made this mussels and coriander dish?' they asked Murray. 'Not yet,' he answered. But he sourced mussels from nearby Flinders and served the dish soon after – a lovely interweaving of heritage and community.
It isn't easy to run a small, independent restaurant. What I love about Ordain is that it looks towards the inner city and tries to give Seaford stuff it's missing out on. It also glances further out to the peninsula's wineries and produce, offering paddock-to-plate experiences in the 'burbs. It's not perfect but it's ambitious and generous, the kind of place you'd hope the community would meet more than halfway.
Three more neighbourhood gems to try
Le Petit Bistro
There's no need to head to Paris for a classic bistro experience, you can simply come here for snails in garlic and parsley butter, onion soup, duck a l'orange and flambeed crepes. You know you're in Australia, however, when you see kangaroo terrine on the menu.
79 Glenferrie Road, Kooyong, lepetitbistro.com.au
Edendale Cafe
The wheelchair-friendly cafe is at free-to-visit Edendale Farm, where you can feed chickens, learn about stick insects and admire alpacas and ponies. The onsite cafe has a simple menu of eggs, toasties, cakes and bakes plus its own chai mix, and there's plenty of room for prams and strollers.
30 Gastons Road, Eltham, edendale.vic.gov.au
Park Street Pasta
An experienced Italian trio is at the helm and all the pasta is fatto a mano (made by hand). There are classics, such as agnolotti del plin (tiny pasta parcels, here filled with duck and veal) and seasonal fancies such as fettuccine nettle pasta with toasted Jerusalem artichoke, wild mushrooms and hazelnut butter. Need a place for a special occasion? Ask about the upstairs dining room.
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Sydney Morning Herald
a day ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
I love Europe, but a few hours in this country is more than enough
Hairpin bends lead me from France to Andorra. Up and up into the Pyrenees, mountain streams gushing by the roadside, hawks drifting over the valley. Uninterested guards wave my car over the border. I'm already disappointed. When I visit a fabulous medieval mini-state, I expect soldiers with hauberks stamping my passport with a coat-of-arms depicting unicorns or salamanders. In Andorra, I cross the border without fanfare or welcome, and am fed through a tunnel whose €7.90 ($14) toll makes Sydney Harbour Tunnel seem like a bargain. Then I'm descending a valley through modern ski villages whose bulky hotel-apartments lie mostly empty. I doubt anyone ever won a prize for architecture in Andorra. Perhaps caps of snow would make these villages seem more attractive. This landlocked country in the Pyrenees is one of the world's smallest countries: 468 square kilometres, population 80,000. It has remained independent since 1278. Well, sort of. The feudal principality has two co-regents, one the president of France, the other the bishop of Urgell in Spain, neither elected by Andorrans. I've always wanted to see Andorra because it sounds like it should be the perfect distillation of my favourite bits of Europe: mountain scenery, an odd and ancient history, quirky culture and politics, Spanish-French influences. What sounds good on paper doesn't work well in reality. The Spanish influence is far greater than the French, which means dining times are late, pastries unexciting, and baskets of crusty bread with meals have vanished. Have Andorrans adopted the good things from Spain? Hard to say because I'm not sure who actually is Andorran. Only half the residents are native, and millions of French and Spanish shoppers pour into this tiny country to plunder its tax-free shops. As I slide into Andorra la Vella, my heart sinks further. Europe's highest capital (1023 metres) sits in a tight valley that blocks views to nice mountains and forces buildings to sit shoulder by shoulder and sometimes seemingly on top of one another.
The Age
a day ago
- The Age
I love Europe, but a few hours in this country is more than enough
Hairpin bends lead me from France to Andorra. Up and up into the Pyrenees, mountain streams gushing by the roadside, hawks drifting over the valley. Uninterested guards wave my car over the border. I'm already disappointed. When I visit a fabulous medieval mini-state, I expect soldiers with hauberks stamping my passport with a coat-of-arms depicting unicorns or salamanders. In Andorra, I cross the border without fanfare or welcome, and am fed through a tunnel whose €7.90 ($14) toll makes Sydney Harbour Tunnel seem like a bargain. Then I'm descending a valley through modern ski villages whose bulky hotel-apartments lie mostly empty. I doubt anyone ever won a prize for architecture in Andorra. Perhaps caps of snow would make these villages seem more attractive. This landlocked country in the Pyrenees is one of the world's smallest countries: 468 square kilometres, population 80,000. It has remained independent since 1278. Well, sort of. The feudal principality has two co-regents, one the president of France, the other the bishop of Urgell in Spain, neither elected by Andorrans. I've always wanted to see Andorra because it sounds like it should be the perfect distillation of my favourite bits of Europe: mountain scenery, an odd and ancient history, quirky culture and politics, Spanish-French influences. What sounds good on paper doesn't work well in reality. The Spanish influence is far greater than the French, which means dining times are late, pastries unexciting, and baskets of crusty bread with meals have vanished. Have Andorrans adopted the good things from Spain? Hard to say because I'm not sure who actually is Andorran. Only half the residents are native, and millions of French and Spanish shoppers pour into this tiny country to plunder its tax-free shops. As I slide into Andorra la Vella, my heart sinks further. Europe's highest capital (1023 metres) sits in a tight valley that blocks views to nice mountains and forces buildings to sit shoulder by shoulder and sometimes seemingly on top of one another.
West Australian
2 days ago
- West Australian
From Zurich to Locarno on the Treno Gottardo, an underrated trans-alpine train
It doesn't take long for the urbanity of Zurich — neoclassical streets, medieval churches, modern apartments, graffiti-scrawled tunnels, tangles of railway tracks — to dissolve. Pretty soon we have postcard-perfect lakes, villages and mountains to admire. I usually read or work when I'm on a train, but that's rarely possible in Switzerland, a country with arguably the most scenic rail trips on earth. I'm heading south on the Treno Gottardo, which is relatively unknown compared to iconic Swiss trains like the Glacier Express. But I'm not complaining. It's a midweek afternoon during the onset of northern spring. Snow still showers many of the Swiss Alps, but there's greenery in abundance, boosted by the snow melt and sunshine, and I have the carriage mostly to myself, so I can sit back and soak up the loveliness from my window seat in relative peace and quiet. 'Danke,' says the ticket inspector, scanning my Swiss Travel Pass, an all-in-one ticket that allows unlimited rides on the country's trains, trams, buses and boats (it's available for 3, 4, 6, 8 or 15 consecutive days of travel and gives discounted fares for special mountain railways like the Jungfraubahn and Gornergrat Bahn). I'll use the pass again several times on my travels around Ticino, the Italian-speaking canton that I'm visiting for the week. Usually blessed with Switzerland's best weather, plus an assortment of super-pretty lakes, peaks and valleys, Ticino nestles on the other side of the St Gotthard Pass, a fearsome alpine pass rising 2106m above sea level. For centuries, it could only be crossed on foot (or by mule or horse-drawn carriage), but in the late 19th century Swiss engineers conjured the first, groundbreaking Gotthard Tunnel. Coursing 15km through the St Gotthard Massif at an altitude of around 1100m, it was the longest railway tunnel in the world when it opened in 1882 and remains a key part of Switzerland's rail infrastructure (and a link between northern and southern Europe). More than 2500 men toiled in its construction and it's estimated that around 200 lost their lives in the process. Working conditions were so bad at one point that the labourers downed tools and a vigilante group of volunteers were corralled to force an end to the strike. A Gotthard road tunnel opened in 1980, then another railway portal — the 57km Gotthard Base Tunnel — was unveiled in 2016, promising a quicker, flatter and straighter route at about a 500m lower elevation than the old tunnel. But after a freight train derailed in the new one in 2023, causing widespread damage to the tracks, it was closed for repairs for 13 months and during the interim, services were diverted to the trusty old tunnel. While I plan to return to Zurich later this week on a faster train zipping through the base tunnel, for this journey I'm happy to take the longer, slower route via the old one. The Treno Gottardo is about 90 minutes longer than the rapid trains, but it's worth your time (there are snack and beverage machines in the carriages if you get peckish or thirsty). One of the best and most surreal parts of the trip is when it ramps up to the original tunnel and navigates a series of loops in the canton of Uri, on the northern side of the alpine pass. If you look out of the window, you'll see the same baroque church — that of the Uri village of Wassen — from three different angles. Another thing I enjoy about this ride is the change from German-to-Italian-speaking Switzerland. Whereas on the north side of the tunnel, you'll hear mostly German and stop at stations with names like Schwyz, Brunnen, Altdorf, Erstfeld and Goschenen, it's a very different story and vibe south of the Gotthard. Greetings and farewells — 'Ciao, bella!', 'Ciao, ciao!' — begin to flutter through the carriage after we stop at Airolo. As the upcoming stations — Ambri-Piotta, Faido, Lavorgo — flicker on the digital screens, a conductor passes through the carriage. 'Grazie,' he says, eyeing my ticket as I see yet another palm tree out of my window. Just over an hour later, the train snakes by yachts gliding along Lake Maggiore, one of the ravishing bodies of water bordering southern Switzerland and northern Italy. The Treno Gottardo terminates in Locarno, a pretty resort town by the lake. I retrieve my luggage from the rack and check my phone as I alight the train and walk on the sun-splashed platform. In typical Swiss style, we're bang on time, three hours and 22 minutes after departing Zurich Hauptbahnhof. + Steve McKenna was a guest of Ticino Tourism and Switzerland Tourism. They have not influenced this story, or read it before publication. + The Treno Gottardo runs several times daily in both directions between Zurich and Locarno, with one-way fares from around 33CHF ($62). This train also has routes to Locarno from Basel and Lucerne. If you're looking to do lots of train travel in Switzerland, it may be worth purchasing the Swiss Travel Pass. It's priced from 244CHF ($466) in second class and 389CHF ($743) in first class for three days' travel, with better value the more days you purchase. For Swiss tickets and routes, see + For more information on planning a trip in Ticino and across Switzerland, see and .
