The adventure began on the road, following the Great Ocean Road. My first stop was Apollo Bay to gather supplies and say hello to the ocean. The autumn air was crisp, but the sun lingered warmly on my skin. Salt hung in the breeze and waves rolled ashore with their familiar rhythm. A gentle reminder that not everything needs to move quickly to leave an impact on the world.

Then came the drive into the Otways. The dirt track twisted through the mountains, demanding a slower, steadier version of me. It felt fitting somehow. As though the mountain was setting the pace and, for once, I was listening. Hidden deep within the wilderness sat the cottage. Wooden and welcoming, with mountains stretching endlessly beyond. Surrounded by cottage gardens and birdsong, it felt like stepping into an entirely different rhythm. A gentler beat.

Inside, it was deliciously warm. A crackling wood fire glowed in the corner, while the kitchen held everything I needed for slow mornings and simple, nourishing meals. The kind that feed both your body and your soul. A soft lounge beckoned from the living room, clearly designed for sinking into with a glass of the welcome red wine in hand. Upstairs, a cosy loft nestled beneath timber beams, dressed in beautiful linen and anchored by a bed so impossibly comfortable it felt like sleeping inside a warm embrace. Every detail felt intentional. This wasn't simply a place to stay. It was a place to settle.

But it was the sunroom that stole my heart. Most of my hours were spent there with a steaming chai in hand, watching mist drift across the mountains and listening to birds gossip in the trees. Reading. Daydreaming. Breathing more deeply. Letting the day unfold at its own pace.

Outside, I wandered through the vegetable garden, brushing herbs between my fingers and breathing in their earthy scent. Coriander is my favourite. After the rain, I explored nearby Maits Rest. The rainforest glistened. Ferns unfurled like carefully kept secrets. Everything smelled green and alive. Water dripped softly from the leaves and the forest carried the quiet wisdom of something ancient.

By the time I left two nights later, I felt different from when I arrived. Not transformed. Just returned. Returned to myself. To slower mornings and deeper breaths. To the quiet knowing that sometimes all we really need is a little wilderness, a warm cup in our hands, and enough stillness to hear our soul calling us home.