Bryce and I hopped in the car and headed south from Melbourne, following the beaches along Mornington Peninsula about 100km to its tip. Parts of the drive were reminiscent of the Jersey Shore, parts had a sort of Malibu flavor, and the last two towns -- Sorrento and Portsea -- were definitely very Hamptons.
Along the way we stopped for a walk on a municipal pier, and I stuck my feet in the water. I figured dipping into Port Phillip Bay was close enough to count toward putting my feet in the Great Southern Ocean. At this point only the Arctic is left on my list, unless I start adding things like the Adriatic, Black, Caspian, and Baltic seas.
We parked at the end of the road in Portsea, in a neighborhood of very nice houses with modern architecture, tennis courts, and swimming pools, and went for a brief smoke (Bryce) and a walk. Aside from seeing magpies and hearing a kookaburra, we viewed Preppius Australus, the Australian preppie. Like their American counterparts, they wear Topsiders, sweaters looped around their shoulders, walk sporting dogs, drive Land Rovers, and tend to look askance at "those people," which includes tourists, middle-class urbanites who don't belong to the country club, and foreigners. We're all three, so we got quite a glance.
After having a good chuckle about Biff and Muffy, we backtracked to Sorrento where we stopped at Spargos. I had been craving steak, so had a lovely ribeye and yet another glass of Shiraz. Mmmmm. This one was Mr. Ribbs "The Gaffer," a very very odd name for yet another McLaren Vale wine. That's three in a row, I need to try something from another area!