I had been looking at Wilderluxe Lake Keepit for ages.
A beautiful pavilion right on the water. An outdoor bath. A deck made for afternoon wine. Records to play inside. A huge country sky and absolutely nobody nearby to ruin the view.
It looked wildly romantic.
So obviously, I decided I couldn’t go.
Well, not yet anyway.
I had quietly put it on the list of places I would visit when I met someone. You know, the imaginary future man who would drink wine with me on the deck, get in the kayak and take candid photos of me looking serene beside the lake.
Apparently, he was also going to carry my bags.
Very useful man. Shame he doesn’t currently exist.
And this is the part of being single that I don’t think we talk about enough. It isn’t always that you are afraid to go somewhere alone. Sometimes you are perfectly capable of going — you just wish you had someone to share it with.
I have travelled through 81 countries. I spent eight months driving around Australia with a swag. I can camp alone, eat alone and work out where the hell I am when my phone has no reception.
But there are still places that make me think, God, I would love to do that with someone.
Wilderluxe was one of them.
I kept thinking I would save it.
Then I realised I was saving one of the most beautiful places in NSW for a man who had not made a booking, confirmed an arrival time or, as far as I know, entered the building.
So I went anyway.
well, this was a terrible idea
The drive out to Lake Keepit already felt like somebody had turned the volume down on my life.
I had been absolutely spent. Not “a little tired and in need of an early night” tired. I needed a fat holiday. The kind where nobody asks you anything, you don’t make a decision more complicated than red or white, and dinner requires almost no emotional resilience.
Then I arrived at the pavilion.
The lake was right there. The outdoor bath was waiting. The doors opened onto the deck and the whole place felt quiet, private and a little bit ridiculous in the best possible way.
I walked in and immediately thought: well, this was a terrible idea to keep postponing.
I did have a moment where I wished someone was there.
I’m not going to turn this into one of those stories where I became so empowered that I never wanted company again. I did. It would have been lovely to look at someone and say, “Can you believe this?”
It also would have been lovely to have someone carry my luggage and get a decent photo of me without balancing my phone against a chair.
But then I unpacked, opened the doors, poured myself a drink and put a record on.
And I was very quickly reminded of something important.
I date myself really bloody well.
the romantic weekend still happened
Normally, I would have been in my swag on the other side of the lake — and I love that version of me. But this time, I decided to completely spoil myself.
I sat on the deck with a glass of rosé. I watched the light change over the water. I played music, cooked myself dinner and had the outdoor bath beneath that enormous sky.
Nobody rushed me through sunset.
Nobody questioned whether we should open the bubbles.
Nobody changed the record.
I slept diagonally.
Honestly, the imaginary man was starting to lose some of his appeal.
The next morning, I woke up looking straight at the lake, made proper coffee and drank it slowly. There were kayaks, paddleboards, bikes, walking trails and fishing. I could have been incredibly wholesome and active.
I did some of it.
I also sat down and stared at the water for a very long time, which I am now counting as a wellness activity.
It was only once I stopped that I realised how tired I had become.
There is something about being out in this part of the country that resets me. The space. The birds. The stars. The fact that the sky feels about four times bigger than it does at home.
Two days in the bush can give me what I keep hoping to get from two weeks somewhere else.
It didn’t fix everything. I still came home with the same job, the same washing and the same questionable romantic history.
But I felt like myself again.
the bit I nearly missed
Wilderluxe is easily one of the best places I have ever stayed. And I have stayed in some extraordinary places.
Yes, the pavilion was beautiful. Yes, the outdoor bath under the stars was every bit as good as it looked. Yes, drinking wine beside the lake while a record played inside was almost offensively lovely.
But I think it will stay with me because I nearly missed it.
Not because I couldn’t afford it. Not because I didn’t have the time. Not because I was afraid to drive there.
Because I thought a romantic place required a relationship.
And look, would I go back with someone I loved? Absolutely. I am not swearing off men and marrying the outdoor bath.
I still want the person. I still want the shared bottle of wine, the dancing in the kitchen and someone beside me saying, “Stay for one more song.”
But I don’t want to save all the good things for him.
Being single didn’t make the sunset less beautiful. It didn’t make the wine taste worse or the bed less comfortable. It certainly didn’t stop me from having an excellent time.
It just meant the romantic weekend was with me.
And apparently, I’m very good company.
So if there is a place you keep looking at and thinking, I’ll go when I have someone, this is your reminder that “someone” can come later.
The place is there now.
Book it. Open the wine. Take the bath. Prop your phone against a chair and accept that some of the photos will be terrible.
You are allowed to wish someone was there and still have one of the best weekends of your life.
That is probably the most honest thing I know about solo travel.
Sometimes you feel brave. Sometimes you feel lonely. Sometimes you feel completely content. Sometimes you are simply annoyed that nobody else is there to carry the kayak.
But you go anyway.
And every so often, the place you nearly saved for someone else becomes one of the best places you have ever stayed.