Braidwood, or 'historic' Braidwood, as it calls itself, has an air of the Wild West about it. It's quite high up, too, and chilly. The road between there and Goulburn, you could have been in England, with sheep and cows grazing. Some alpaca too, I think. Actually, not really like England at all, then.
We dropped off the hire car at the airport and got a taxi to our hotel, at Darling Harbour. My spirits were not raised when the driver, who had possibly just stepped off the boat from Bangladesh, asked me if I knew the way. I explained, as politely as I could, how the driver/passenger relationship normally works, and silence ensued. We got there eventually.
Tomorrow, all being well, we're going to Taronga Zoo, which involves a series of ferries. Hope I'm not asked to navigate.
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