How returning to my hometown in Victoria helped me find community and connection
Idea
In this series called My Happy Place, our writers reflect on the holiday destinations they cherish most in Australia and around the world.
The waves on the Mitchell River reflect a dozen sulphur-crested cockatoos soaring overhead, their open-winged reflections swimming below. The soft scent of eucalyptus floats in the damp air, rooted in the generations of Gippsland red gums that line this gravel road, sweating so sweetly. As the June sunrise floats by, last night’s dewdrops still shine on the gilded grass and melt slowly like dawn. I pass a young family teaching their daughter to ride a bike, our smiles reaching our eyes and “good morning!” we say.
Returning to my hometown is a turning point. The sights, smells and sounds of this country relax me and melt away the ice from city life. And as winter rains flood these flats of the Mitchell River, what begins as a memory on my morning walk soon becomes filled with people, places, and a past long gone, yet waiting to welcome me home.
I was born here in Bairnsdale in the Gunaikurnai District of East Gippsland, a 3.5-hour drive from the nearest capital. Stretching from the foothills of the Great Dividing Range in the north along Australia’s largest inland lake system to the open coastline in the south, Victoria’s far east is shaped by eucalypt forests, rolling farmland and river-fed plains.
I must admit, there was a time when I couldn’t wait to leave. When I had just graduated from high school, I traded large tracts of rural farmland, too small for my youthful dreams, for share houses and sublets in Sydney’s eastern suburbs, thinking it would make me feel more independent. After years of being stuck in the big city, searching overseas and far away places, my soul began to search for something more familiar.
Shortly after my 30th birthday, the country roads brought me back to Bairnsdale. The ebb and flow of 2026 was swollen with sentimentality and wistful self-reflection: My Facebook feed was saturated with happy birthday messages to high school friends who were also turning 30, and February began with the funeral of a beloved family member.
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I was swimming in nostalgia; I craved connection, I craved community, and I was desperate for the torrents and seasons of time to slow down.
So I returned to East Gippsland to embrace the slower pace of country life.
All the hallmarks of a small town that once embarrassed me now welcome me back after life in the city: Bairnsdale church reclaims its place as the highest point on the skyline, supermarket trips stretch into hours as familiar faces pop up among the aisles, and relatives bearing homemade delicacies drop by unannounced to share sourdough starters, home-grown olives and honey harvested from their backyards.
Passersby even say “hello” as they walk; This is a trait I find particularly lacking in city folk. And what a relief to want potato cakes instead of those pesky potato scallops; knowing that when someone talks about football they mean the AFL.
My working week is easily spent in a charming roadside cafe, greeting shopkeepers, travelers and locals in search of the famous Nicho pie. My weekends are spent in the middle of the ice watching my cousins play local football and netball games.
After all these years, I’ve come to appreciate the comfort of mutual connections and shared backgrounds, whether it’s being recognized by people who knew my family, one of my first employers, or a kid from my primary school. A sense of community is taking hold.
Most of all, I love that I can still recognize the twists and turns of my school bus route between Bairnsdale and Sale, the roads that once led to the birthday party bush and the dips in between. After all those summers spent on the Gippsland Lakes, I can still taste the salt of Metung’s windswept white hills and feel the scorching heat of the Lakes Entrance sun, its freckled memories now scattered across my skin. As I drive down my town’s main street, a few blocks away I can recall a series of childhood memories: the parking lot where I learned how to tie my shoelaces, the doctor where I fainted after a blood test, the movie theater where I had my first kiss.
The moments that I took for granted during my teenage years now turn into little treasures years later.
Returning to East Gippsland feels like reconnecting with an old friend: the years may have passed, but not much has really changed. The gums on Princes Highway have grown but the carvings remain; The Eagle Point pier was rebuilt, but summer memories remained.
And kids are still learning to ride bikes along the Mitchell River.
In a place that alternates between seasons of forest fires and floods, torrential rains and droughts, beachside summers and snowy mountain frosts, I too had changed my perspective. After years spent in the city and abroad, and now, as I spend the European summer season in Italy, I reflect on my time in East Gippsland with renewed gratitude – I’m proud that Bairnsdale is where my story begins.
Georgia Dunkley is a travel writer and content creator living in Australia and Italy. With over 5 years of experience in the travel and publishing industries, Georgia specializes in backpacking, solo women’s travel, adventure travel, and how younger generations are reshaping the travel industry. The proudest moment of his trip was reaching the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro, 5895 meters above sea level, in 2024. Follow him on Instagram @enjoy_bygeorgia
