Maybe it’s because Victoria is running low on theme parks. Maybe it’s because I have never been good with rollercoasters or other thrill seeking rides. Or maybe it’s because, dammit, I really like history. I can’t explain it and it’s only recently that I have been confronted with the fact that it is not normal. My name is Sinead, and I have been to Sovereign Hill five times.
I should probably clarify this statement. It’s not like I have been forced to visit Sovereign Hill on school excursions, only twice I have gone with a class and ‘forced’ is definitely not the right word to use. On three separate occasions (twice in my teens) I have taken that magic time travelling V line to a grand place that is too often mocked by my friends and Ballarat locals alike (I once told two girls who worked at the Ballarat Gloria Jeans that I was going to S. Hill that day, and they literally laughed me out of the store. Your made me a shit latte. NOW WHO’S LAUGHING, HUH???).
For those who haven’t had the time travelling pleasure, Sovereign Hill is an ‘outdoor museum’ that recreates the gold rush of the 1850s in Victoria. You can pan for gold, visit furnished houses and tents of the townsfolk, eat various buttery delicacies that predate the Heart Foundation tick, and generally annoy the actors who walk around the town in period costumes. There are horses and peppermint humbugs and sound and light shows. This place is my Mecca.
In a stroke of excellent luck, my family also share this freakish obsession of history themed parks. This weekend as a surprise for my sister on her 16th birthday we all hopped in the car and spent the day there, much to her squeals of delight. When I was 17 I tried to convince my friends that we should go to Sovereign Hill for schoolies. My cousin did work experience at Sovereign Hill. The love goes deep.
My bemused friends often ask me, while sniggering to each other, why it is that someone in their twenties with no obvious social impairment, cares so passionately for what is essentially a school excursion destination. To be honest part of it is the fact that I am a history nerd, and Australian history doesn’t get much juicer than the typhoid and racism of the gold rush. Plus the food is really good.
But really, I don’t think that it is the scones or the gory stories that keep me coming back. It is one of the few places I have ever been to that is purely for complete silliness. People dress in funny clothes and put on shows in the middle of the footpath. Old men play accordions and do jigs in the street. Turkeys and roosters roam free, on Saturday I saw a peacock. No one is in a hurry, everyone is taking the mickey and age doesn’t seem to affect this. People dressed as Red Coat soldiers talk to women dressed in full length gowns about “the chick I texted last night” and check every few minutes that there are no kids around. You can get a cider and a corset in two adjacent shops.
There are few places in life where you can act like a kid, running and jumping and splashing, and not have anyone giving you strange glances for not acting your age. They are running and jumping and splashing too! Because that is the magic of Sovereign Hill! The time travel seems to somehow make age and responsibility obsolete. And so everyone becomes kids, covering themselves in dust and pastry with total disregard to the consequences, until they settle in for the long drive home and look forward to the day they have formulated an excuse to go back.
And you get to be as happy as this kid:
