My first travel memory was when I was about 3 or 4 in the early 1970's. My aunt and uncle were visiting from the UK and we took a road trip down to Melbourne. There are 3 things that stick in my mind:
Firstly it was hot and as a result we always stayed in motels with a swimming pool. One motel didn't have a swimming pool and I had an absolute tantrum, as only a young child can do! So my uncle, who in this case was fortunately deaf, bundled me up with my floaty rings, and hat and took me to a motel down the road which although fully booked had a swimming pool which they allowed us to use.
On the way back to Sydney we were driving along a beautiful road in our big blue and white Valiant, long bench seats and plenty of room. There was a cliff on the left, and we were winding along the road. I was sucking a dummy and my mother didn't like that I was still using a dummy. So in a flash of a moment my mother grabbed the dummy, threw it out the window and I watched it disappear down the mountain side. I was stunned and then nothing. I didn't miss it and that was the end of that.
The last moment of this trip which I recall was we were on a ferry on Sydney Harbour. I was standing near the railing and the cool breeze felt good on my face. Then in a flash, my favourite pink hat, was whisked off my head by the wind and dumped in the ocean. I watch it sink in the waves off the boat and my hat was gone.
