By the time I actually reached Merimbula it was dark. A few unexpected climbs towards the end. Some sharp, others more drawn out. I’d found the hostel on the outskirts of town without too much difficulty, the key left in the mailbox. A sign said food and drink wasn’t permitted in the room, but made no mention of bicycles.
I wandered back into the centre a little later, and a brief foray into the late night supermarket. Like much of the South Coast, the town wasn’t unpleasant. Just unremarkable. A few more cafes than I’d seen elsewhere, by now all closed. And quite a lot of boutiques. Lingerie mostly. Purveyors of cheap nylon rather than soft silk.
