We’ve rented a car in Melbourne and set out for Adelaide, on our way to visit another Australian friend. Around seven hundred kilometers, we should be able to cover the distance in one day on the M1 if we fudge a little on the speed limit. But we’re going to take the scenic route, so we’re taking two days.

One of Australia’s most beautiful stretches of highway is the Great Ocean Road. Equivalent in my mind to California’s Highway 1 along the Big Sur Coast, it twists along headlands and over creeks, clinging to mountains that plunge into the sea.

Along the way beautiful vistas of hilly pasture and forests open up. Cows graze in meadows with million dollar views.

But the coast is what we’re here to see. Infrequent villages string out along the highway. Isolation and difficult roads keep this part of Australia’s south coast relatively undeveloped.

Oddly, this road sign frequently pops up. Until driving the winding part of the Great Ocean Road, I never encountered it.

It would seem that in order to get to the location of the first of these signs, motorists must successfully drive on the left for hours. Presumably, even the slowest learner has by now mastered British-style driving. So why, at this point, are such signs needed?

Our trip began at the southeast end of the highway, where sandy beaches and good waves attract surfers. We saw plenty of these on the New South Wales coast, so we hurried on through. We are seeking dramatic waves breaking on rocky shores.

Gently sloping strands are mostly gone now. Here we see land with fangs. We can see how erosion pockmarks rocks, how lowly lichens create beauty.

An occasional pocket beach offers a soft haven among the rocks, a place to walk beside the breaking waves. Most beaches here are devoid of people—surprising given the absence of sharks and stingers. What a difference from the congestion of Broad Beach.

The Great Ocean Road winds along Australia’s Shipwreck Coast. Here, Laura takes photographs at the site of a tragedy.

In 1891, the Barque W. B. Godfrey lost sight of the coast due to dense smoke from bush fires. It struck these rocks and sank. Everyone aboard made it safely to land, but later several people died in attempts to salvage the wreck. During very low tides, the ship’s steel frame, winch and anchor become visible.

The story of the coast along the Great Ocean Road is about scores of such shipwrecks. Commemorative plaques denote locations at lookouts along the way.

We spent the night in a sweet coastal village, Port Campbell, at the Daisy Hill Country Cottages. Dinner was at an excellent restaurant called The Waves. Our hippie surfer dude waiter took Laura’s order: “I’ll have the vegetable curry.”

“Awesome.”

I said, “I’ll have the grilled John Dory.”

“Super.”

“I don’t need a straw in my coke.”

“Excellent.”

“I think we’ll have dessert.”

“Wicked.”

The Bee Gees played softly in the background.

Our room had a glass front woodstove. We slept in the red glow of a red gum fire, the smell of the sea drifting in the window.

(About those “Drive on Left” signs: A friend points out that after long stretches on two lane roads with little oncoming traffic to act as reminders, tired American and Continental European drivers sometimes revert instinctively to right hand mode. He’s right—it happened to me.)