The Highlights of a Mildura Holiday

On the banks of the Murray lies a town that is surviving, thriving and drawing visitors from around the world. Considered the fruit basket of Victoria’s far northwest, Mildura’s a small town with big surprises.

The premise is simple. I’ve had it up to here with Sydney and I want a weekend away. But I want to go somewhere different. Somewhere my friends haven’t visited. Somewhere with neither casinos nor 30,000-seat stadiums.

Then serendipity occurs; I get a call from AT’s editor. “Do you fancy a trip to Mildura?"

That’s not what I was expecting. By “different" I was thinking Mudgee instead of the Hunter, Ballina rather than Byron. But this could be perfect. Or a disaster. Some research is required before I go, but a quick trawl of the interwebs leaves me more confused than ever. I discover that Mildura is a big town (pop 30,000). It even has a university. But I’m concerned since its main claim to fame appears to be that 95 per cent of Australia’s dried fruit is produced there. Klaxons sound in my head. If your main claim to fame is sultanas, then please – send me somewhere renowned for chocolate cake. Or Wagyu beef.

Then I come across an online listing of coming events for Mildura. I’m flabbergasted. How on earth can a small town produce an events calendar for a single month that runs across three printed pages? I’m not sure even Melbourne could achieve this. There’s obviously more to this place than sultanas. It’s dark when I fly in (Rex, Qantas and Virgin Blue fly direct from Melbourne, so from Sydney I’ve sort of come the long way), but I’m able to make out enough to form some surprising first impressions. The airport is large by regional standards, with a little cafe and a very good museum. The taxi I jump into is yellow, cheery and very clean, providing me with the first important clue that, despite straddling the border, Mildura is more Victorian than New South Welsh. I’d planned to stay at the Quality Resort Mildura, but the cynic in me had its oxymoron alert switched on, so I opt for something with a more humble name and price: the All Seasons Motor Inn. Neither paying nor expecting much, it’s nearly 10 pm when I arrive and check-in. It’s simple and very clean, which is just what the doctor ordered. I need an early night for tomorrow’s big task: finding out exactly what a town that leads the field in sultana production is really like.

Surprises aplenty

It’s Saturday morning and the civic centre of Mildura, the mall, is absolutely heaving. There’s a car show on with people displaying their pride and joys. They aren’t exotic Italian machines that cost a fortune, either; they’re honest cars, renovated, polished and manicured by honest people who couldn’t give two shits about what other people think. To underline this point, a DJ blasts out some ancient rock ’n’ roll so that a group of middle-aged women with paunchy partners can show the kiddies how dancing was done in the ’50s. I’m flabbergasted. The women wear pink wigs. Where on earth have I landed?

Any other small towns with their own brewery?

Suddenly there’s a commotion. Hundreds of teenagers are screaming and I realise not everyone is here to see a hip-grinding display by a group of people not far off needing new ones. Half the crowd is actually an enormous queue to meet some visiting Home and Away stars, in town for an autograph signing. It’s all a bit much, so I decide to grab some breakfast. With the one other major fact I’ve learned about Mildura firmly in mind (that it’s the home of Stefano De Pieri, famous for his Gondola On the Murray TV series, as well as various forays into the competitive worlds of Australian high cuisine and local politics), I head to 27 Deakin on the main drag. This is just one small part of Stefano’s sprawling empire in Mildura, and my breakfast is . . . okay. Not to die for, but it’s lovely to be sitting in the sun as cyclists resplendent in leggings and clip-clop shoes order coffees and argue animatedly – yet another reminder that I’m in Victoria. After paying $25 for what is a mediocre repast of coffee, fried eggs cavolo nero and pork sausages, it’s time to do some more exploring.

I consult my seemingly endless “what’s on" guide and flag a taxi out to the Sunraysia farmer’s markets. It’s a short trip, but as we emerge from the town in broad daylight I realise for the first time just how far outback we are. The land is parched, with scrubby, stunted trees vainly seeking sustenance on arid plains. Time to interrogate the taxi driver. I’m quickly informed that, yes, the place is remote. Sydney is 1000km away, Melbourne half that. The nearest town of any great size is Broken Hill, itself not exactly a bastion of civility, beaches and fine coffee. The nearest capital city is actually Adelaide, around 400km to the southwest. Yep, this place is isolated. Really isolated.

But now it’s starting to make sense. When you live in a community this far-flung, you tend to make your own fun. You have to. Mildura neither bemoans its isolation nor complains that the rest of the world is leaving it behind. It’s a stoic place, self-reliant. And so, necessity being the mother of invention, its people have concocted all manner of festivals and events to build an industriousness – a feeling of keeping busy – into the fabric of their lives. It’s that or go mad.

I expound my theory to the kind lady at the Visitor Information Centre. She stares at me blankly for a couple of seconds, then her face lights up. “That’s exactly right. We are isolated. And so we create our own events. We have a great community like that. It’s good for the kids."

Just add water

To really understand Mildura, it’s important to grasp a little of its history. Like much of inland Australia, water is everything. The Aboriginals knew this better than anyone, and in fact, Mungo Man (considered to be among the oldest remains of human existence) was discovered only an hour up the road. In the 1880s, the visionary Chaffey brothers immigrated to Australia with hopes of replicating work they’d done in California in setting up an irrigation scheme. After numerous setbacks, they were ably assisted by a creative young politician (Alfred Deakin, who would become Australia’s first PM, and after whom Mildura’s main drag is named) and were subsequently granted 250,000 acres on which to develop irrigation. To cut a long and fascinating story short, the Chaffeys were successful, and leaseholders soon developed thriving citrus, stone fruit and grape-growing industry. Unfortunately, the scheme collapsed under a cloud in 1892 and a Royal Commission was called – which found the scheme to have been mismanaged by the brothers.

William Chaffey was a true visionary, and in hindsight, four years was never enough time to get such an audacious scheme up and running. In today’s times, setting up an engineering project of this scale would take 20 years or more. An example: “Big Lizzie", a fascinating tractor (yes, that’s “fascinating" and “tractor" in the same sentence) is a monster of a machine that was used to clear land around Mildura and Red Cliffs. The place is so isolated that it took two years to drive it to Mildura from Melbourne. (Lizzie, all 45 tonnes of her, is on display in the main square at Red Cliffs about 20min south of Mildura.) Anyhow, following the Royal Commission a trust was set up to manage the assets, and William Chaffey, in a move that would be considered astonishing by today’s Christopher Skase-inspired standards, stayed in Mildura to work off his debts. Ultimately he won the hearts and minds of the locals, effectively becoming royalty, and indeed was the town’s first mayor.

Chaffey’s splendid house, the Rio Vista, is now restored and home to the Mildura Art Centre, comprising a theatre, outdoor amphitheatre and, by regional standards, a remarkably large and interesting art gallery.

And that’s the thing about Mildura. You expect a rural agrarian town with lots of big hats, 4WDs set up for shooting trips, and prodigious drinkers. Instead you get surprises. Surprises like the dozen or so proper grass tennis courts where the Davis Cup is sometimes played. Like sandy beaches on the Murray where the Australian Beach Volleyball Championships have been held. A thriving arts scene. A town that’s doing things.And food. Great food.

With irrigation came grapes, fruit and wine. With grapes, fruit and wine come backbreaking work. With wine and hard work come Italian immigrants. And that’s what Mildura got. You get the feeling that Mildura’s Italian heritage is a big part of the story, and part of what makes the place so different. The people of Mildura are passionate about their food. Walking the main street on a Saturday evening isn’t the food poisoning lottery it is in some country towns. It’s like a scaled-down Lygon Street Melbourne or King Street Sydney. There’s a proper Indian joint, a Turkish restaurant, a Spanish tapas bar and even a decent looking Thai. Sandwiching these exotic cuisines are a battery of Italian eateries and pizza joints. It really is quite surreal.

Grand Stefano

The Godfather of these Italian establishments is the Mildura Grand Hotel and its patriarch, Stefano De Pieri. So I book myself in for a couple of nights. It’s an enormous place, taking up an entire block in the centre of town and overlooking the Murray. It has four restaurants and several bars, but at check-in, I’m hoping to score a seat at Stefano’s famous eponymous eatery. It has a renowned fixed menu, where you’re served what Stefano decrees to be the best local produce of the moment, prepared in a simple Italian style. Reception calls the restaurant, but alas, I’m informed they only have a table for four left and don’t wish to turn it into a table for one. That’s fair enough, so I go off to explore the hotel. My room is surprisingly good. For $128 I get a modern room that’s well-appointed and recently renovated. It has a slightly corporate feel to it, but that’s not a bad thing. The Grand obviously caters for a lot of business guests and the rooms are large, with a wide bathroom, excellent beds and everything you could want, from wireless internet to a well-stocked bar fridge. It’s better than a lot of 4.5 star hotels in capital cities.

With my spirit crushed due to my lack of foresight in booking a seat at Stefano’s, I opt for a counter meal at one of the hotel bars. A mixed grill. For six dollars. I can’t believe it. The Scotsman in me is so excited that I immediately text all my friends with photos of my six-dollar dinner. All those posh people downstairs having one of the more memorable meals of their lives, and here I am upstairs having one of the more memorable meals of my life, watching rugby on TV and washing everything down with beer. It’s made my night. I am a happy man. And that’s another thing about Mildura. It’s just not what you expect. It really isn’t a place. It’s an experience

Abandoned mills and forgotten paper plants are finding second lives – and helping redefine a city long underestimated.

Just 15 years ago, Federal Mills was a very different place. Once among the most significant industrial sites in Victoria, the historic woollen mill was one of a dozen that operated in Geelong at the industry’s peak in the mid-20th century, helping the city earn its title as ‘wool centre of the world’. But by the 1960s global competition and the rise of synthetic fabrics led to the slow decline of the industry, and Federal Mills finally shuttered its doors in 2001. Within a few years, the abandoned North Geelong grounds had become makeshift pastoral land, with cows and goats grazing among the overgrown grass between the empty red-brick warehouses. It was a forgotten pocket of the city, all but two klicks from the bustle of the CBD.

Geelong cellar door wine bar — Geelong has shed its industrial identity to become an innovative urban hub with reimagined heritage spaces. (Image: Ash Hughes)

Federal Mills: from forgotten factory to creative precinct

Today, the century-old complex stands reborn. The distinctive sawtooth-roof buildings have been sensitively restored. An old silo is splashed with a bright floral mural, landscapers have transformed the grounds, and the precinct is once again alive with activity. More than 1000 people work across 50-plus businesses here. It’s so busy, in fact, that on a sunny Thursday morning in the thick of winter, it’s hard to find a car park. The high ceilings, open-plan design, and large multi-paned windows – revolutionary features for factories of their time – have again become a drawcard.

Paddock Bakery andPatisserie — Paddock Bakery and Patisserie is housed within the historic wool factory. (Image: Gallant Lee)

At Paddock , one of the precinct’s newer tenants, weaving looms and dye vats have been replaced by a wood-fired brick oven and heavy-duty mixers. Open since April 2024, the bakery looks right at home here; the building’s industrial shell is softened by ivy climbing its steel frames, and sunlight streams through the tall windows. Outside, among the white cedar trees, families at picnic benches linger over dippy eggs and bagels, while white-collar workers pass in and out, single-origin coffee and crème brûlée doughnuts in hand.

Geelong: Australia’s only UNESCO City of Design

Paddock Bakery can be found at Federal Mills. (Image: Gallant Lee)

“A lot of people are now seeing the merit of investing in Geelong,” says Paul Traynor, the head of Hamilton Hospitality Group, which redeveloped Federal Mills. A city once shunned as Sleepy Hollow, and spurned for its industrial, working-class roots and ‘rust belt’ image, Geelong has long since reclaimed its ‘Pivot City’ title, having reinvented itself as an affordable, lifestyle-driven satellite city, and a post-COVID migration hotspot.

And the numbers stand testament to the change. In March 2025, and for the first time in its history, Greater Geelong became Australia’s most popular regional town for internal migration, overtaking Queensland’s Sunshine Coast. Current forecasts suggest Geelong will continue to outpace many other Australian cities and towns, with jobs growing at double the rate of the population.

Tourism is booming, too. The 2023-24 financial year was Geelong and The Bellarine region’s busiest on record, with 6.4 million visitors making it one of the fastest-growing destinations in the country. It’s not hard to see why: beyond the city’s prime positioning at the doorstep of the Great Ocean Road, Geelong’s tenacity and cultural ambition stands out.

As Australia’s only UNESCO City of Design, Geelong is swiftly shaking off its industrial past to become a model for urban renewal, innovation, sustainability and creative communities. The signs are everywhere, from the revitalisation of the city’s waterfront, and the landmark design of the Geelong Library and Heritage Centre and Geelong Arts Centre, to the growing network of local designers, architects and artists, and the burgeoning roster of festivals and events. That’s not even mentioning the adaptive reuse of storied old industrial buildings – from Federal Mills, to Little Creatures’ brewery ‘village’ housed within a 1920s textile mill – or the city’s flourishing food and wine scene.

The rise of a food and wine destination

Restaurant 1915 is housed within a restored former boiler house. (Image: Harry Pope/Two Palms)

Traynor credits now-closed local restaurant Igni, which opened in 2016, as the turning point for Geelong’s hospo industry. “[Aaron Turner, Igni’s chef-patron] was probably the first guy, with all due respect, to raise the bar food-wise for Geelong,” he says. “People now treat it really seriously, and there’s clearly a market for it.” While Igni is gone, Turner now helms a string of other notable Geelong venues, including The Hot Chicken Project and Tacos y Liquor, all within the buzzy, street art-speckled laneways of the CBD’s Little Malop Street Precinct. Many others have also popped up in Igni’s wake, including Federal Mills’ own restaurant, 1915 . Housed within the cavernous boiler house, 1915’s interior is dramatic: soaring, vaulted ceilings with timber beams, exposed brick, a huge arched window. The share plates echo the space’s bold character, playing with contrast and texture, with dishes such as a compressed watermelon tataki, the sweet, juicy squares tempered by salty strands of fried leeks, and charred, smoky snow peas dusted with saganaki on a nutty bed of romesco.

The Woolstore , one of The Hamilton Group’s most recent hospo projects, opened in February. It occupies a century-old riverside warehouse and exudes a more sultry, fine dining ambience. Much like Federal Mills, the blueprint was to preserve the original brickwork, tallowwood flooring and nods to the building’s former life. That same careful consideration extends to the well-versed, affable waitstaff as well as the kitchen. Head chef Eli Grubb is turning out an eclectic mix of ambitious and indulgent mod Oz dishes that deliver: strikingly tender skewers of chicken tsukune, infused with hints of smoke from the parrilla grill, and glazed with a moreish, sweet gochujang ‘jam’; nduja arancini fragrant with hints of aniseed and the earthy lick of sunny saffron aioli; and golden squares of potato pavé, adorned with tiny turrets of crème fraîche, crisp-fried saltbush leaves, and Avruga caviar, to name but a few stand-out dishes.

Woolstore menu — Woolstore’s menu is designed for sharing.

Breathing new life into historic spaces

On the city’s fringe, hidden down a winding side road with little fanfare, lies a long-dormant site that’s being gently revived. Built from locally quarried bluestone and brick, and dating back to the 1870s, the complex of original tin-roofed mill buildings is lush with greenery and backs onto the Barwon River and Buckley Falls; the audible rush of water provides a soothing soundtrack. Fyansford Paper Mill is one of few complexes of its time to survive intact. It feels steeped in history and spellbindingly rustic.

“We were looking for an old industrial place that had some charm and romance to it,” explains Sam Vogel, the owner, director and winemaker at Provenance Wines which moved here in 2018. When he first viewed the building with his former co-owner, it was in such a state of disrepair that the tradie tenant occupying the space had built a shed within it to escape the leaking roof and freezing winter temperatures. “To say it was run down would be an understatement,” he notes. “There was ivy growing through the place; the windows were all smashed. It was a classic Grand Designs project.”

Provenance Wines moved to Fyansford Paper Mill in 2018. (Image: Cameron Murray Photography)

The team has since invested more than a million dollars into their new home. Where paper processing machinery once sat, wine barrels are now stacked. Vaulted cathedral ceilings are strung with festoon lights, and hidden in plain sight lies a shadowy mural by local street artist de rigueur Rone – one of only three permanent works by the artist.

While the award-winning, cool-climate pinot noir, riesling and chardonnay naturally remain a key draw at Provenance, the winery’s restaurant is a destination in itself. Impressed already by whipsmart service, I devour one of the most cleverly curated and faultlessly executed degustations I’ve had in some time. It’s all prepared in a kitchen that is proudly zero-waste, and committed to providing seasonal, ethical and locally sourced meat and produce under head chef Nate McIver. Think free-range venison served rare with a syrupy red wine jus and a half-moon of neon-orange kosho, shokupan with a deeply savoury duck fat jus (a modern Japanese take on bread and drippings), and a golden potato cake adorned with a colourful confetti of dehydrated nasturtiums and tomato powder, and planted atop a sea urchin emulsion.

handcrafted pieces — Bell’s handcrafted functional pieces on display.

The complex is home to a coterie of independent businesses, including a gallery, a jeweller, and its latest tenant, ceramicist Elizabeth Bell, drawn here by the building’s “soul”. “There’s so much potential for these buildings to have new life breathed into them,” says Bell, whose studio is housed within the old pump room. “Even people in Geelong don’t know we’re here,” she says. “It’s definitely a destination, but I like that. It has a really calming atmosphere.”

A Melbourne transplant, Bell now feels at home in Geelong, which offers something Melbourne didn’t. “If this business was in Melbourne I don’t think it would’ve been as successful,” she notes. “It’s very collaborative in Geelong, and I don’t think you get that as much in Melbourne; you’re a bit more in it for yourself. Here it’s about community over competition.”

There’s something about Mildura… and we know what it is

On the banks of the Murray lies a town that is surviving, thriving and drawing visitors from around the world. Considered the fruit basket of Victoria’s far northwest, Mildura’s a small town with big surprises.

Surprises aplenty

Just add water

Grand Stefano

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Inside Geelong’s glow-up from factory town to creative capital

Abandoned mills and forgotten paper plants are finding second lives – and helping redefine a city long underestimated.

Federal Mills: from forgotten factory to creative precinct

Geelong: Australia’s only UNESCO City of Design

The rise of a food and wine destination

Breathing new life into historic spaces