T Travel List: Josh Niland To Open a New Restaurant on Hamilton Island

Plus more experiences and destinations to have on your radar this month.

Article by Hollie Wornes

Moraea Farm.Photograph courtesy of Rachael Tagg / Moraea Farm.

Summer is just days away, and while the festive season can be full of joy, some of the most relaxing moments can come once the Christmas hype is over. Whether you’re planning an end of year getaway or considering a 2025 escape, the editors at T Australia have curated a list of must-visit destinations and experiences to add to your itinerary this month and in the months to come. From a brand-new restaurant by one of our former cover stars to a luxurious farm stay in Berry, find our T Travel List below.

Moraea Farm, Berry NSW

Moraea Farm.
Photograph courtesy of Rachael Tagg / Moraea Farm.
Moraea Farm.
Photograph courtesy of Rachael Tagg / Moraea Farm.

Located just a two-hour drive from Sydney, Berry on New South Wales’s South Coast is a prime destination for families and groups. The town offers plenty of eateries to explore (a stop at the famed donut van is a must), with some of the region’s best wineries and beaches just moments away. The Linnaeus Collection — a “deconstructed hotel” collective — has several properties in the area which boast luxury and space.

Their collection spans homes in the heart of town and farms scattered across nearby rolling hills. The latest addition to its portfolio is Moraea Farm, previously known as Far Meadow Cottage. This property blends the charm of an old-school farmhouse with all the modern comforts you’d expect from the group.

Unique among Linnaeus properties, which typically feature four rooms, Moraea Farm boasts five spacious bedrooms. The home is designed to encourage togetherness, with expansive outdoor kitchen and dining areas ideal for creating lasting memories over slow-cooked meals in the heart of nature. For special occasions, guests can book a farm-to-plate-inspired culinary experience in the on-site private dining space. It’s available to all Linnaeus Collection guests and offers bespoke menus curated by Alex Prichard of Icebergs.

linnaeuscollection.com.

Josh Niland To Open a Restaurant at The Sundays, Hamilton Island

Josh Niland Cover Preview
"If you’re able to balance the amount of emotion and ego you need within cooking, then you’ve got a pretty good concoction." Josh Niland wears Gucci pants and jacket, gucci.com; and AGMES brooches, agmesnyc.com. Photograph by Jason Loucas. Styling by Patrick Zaczkiewicz.

Earlier this year, the pioneering chef Josh Niland graced the cover of T Australia’s “Yes” issue — and we couldn’t have selected a more fitting talent. In 2024 alone, he has appeared on ABC’s “Australian Story” and Network Ten’s “MasterChef Australia”, and cooked at the Coachella music festival, California’s Malibu Pier and the Whitsundays resort qualia, passing through the portal into global celebrity chefdom. Then, in August, after a year of delays, the relocated Saint Peter opened in Paddington’s The Grand National Hotel — which has gone onto win a very deserved third chef’s hat. If that wasn’t enough, Josh and his wife Julie Niland have just announced they’ll be opening a new restaurant at Hamilton Island’s new family-friendly resort The Sundays.

Set on the backdrop of the Great Barrier Reef, the restaurant located in the new 59-room hotel will showcase Niland’s signature whole-fish ethos while also incorporating a selection of meats and local ingredients.

“Josh and Julie’s approach to food is nothing short of exceptional,” says Nick Dowling, the acting CEO of Hamilton Island say.

“Their creativity and expertise will offer our guests an experience that is uniquely connected to the island’s natural setting … The Sundays marks the beginning of a bold food and beverage strategy, ensuring the island remains a must-visit destination for travellers seeking world-class dining and unforgettable experiences.”

hamiltonisland.com.au 

The Clan Hotel, Singapore

The Clan Hotel infinity rooftop pool.
The Clan Hotel infinity rooftop pool. Photograph courtesy of TFE Hotels.

Singapore is often an overlooked destination for Australians passing through on longer journeys, but it’s a city brimming with culture and luxury hotels worth discovering. A standout is The Clan Hotel, an urban retreat located in the heart of the vibrant Chinatown district.

Step inside to experience a seamless fusion of modern design and rich heritage. The hotel honours Singapore’s traditional clan associations, offering a unique blend of contemporary comfort and cultural elements. With a fine dining restaurant, a rooftop infinity pool, and exclusive wellness experiences, it’s tempting to stay put at The Clan. But when you’re ready to explore, some of the city’s best shopping and eateries are just moments away.

tfehotels.com

Oceania Cruises Hosts a Cooking School at Sea

Oceania Cruise kitchen
Photograph courtesy Oceania Cruises.

In celebration of its 15-year milestone, Oceania Cruises has introduced new culinary classes for 2025, which spotlight dishes from the Pacific Northwest, Polynesia, Australia, and more.

The Culinary Center, which features over 60 classes taught in custom-built kitchens with professional-grade equipment, offers guests the opportunity to explore a destination’s culture and history through a chef-guided experience. Don an apron and cook with chef Kathryn Kelly, Oceania Cruises’ director of culinary enrichment and founder of The Culinary Center.

The new cooking experience is available in more than 40 destinations worldwide, allowing guests to shop for fresh ingredients at local markets and learn from regional experts. oceaniacruises.com

Escape to Namibia Desert, Where Lions Are Kings of the Beach

Long may they reign.

Article by Anthony Ham

Namib Desert.Photograph by Anthony Ham.

Ernest Hemingway saw them first, or so we thought. The way he wrote about them in “The Old Man and the Sea” did give them a certain magic, these remote African lions. “He only dreamed of places now and of the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them.”

For decades after Hemingway wrote about them, the lions disappeared. If not from the earth, then at least from view. They stalked the memories of those who had seen them, mythical beasts in a forgotten corner of Africa. The land, too, haunted all who remembered it — the Skeleton Coast of Namibia, where sand dunes push hard up against Africa’s Atlantic shore and seasonal river valleys empty from rugged mountain ranges to the sea. It seemed like a story of paradise lost.

But as with many African stories from colonial times, there is always far more to it than we know.

It turns out that locals — those who remain long after we leave — knew the lions all too well. Lions can be very difficult to live alongside. They pose a threat to women fetching water from the river, or to children walking through the bush to school. Even so, lions killing people in Namibia is vanishingly rare. Far more often, lions kill the livestock that belong to people living one poor season from starvation. When that happens, they retaliate by spearing, shooting or poisoning lions. In the end, people kill lions far more often than the other way around.
So much so that it is remarkable there are any lions left at all.

This is the story of how Hemingway’s lions and locals have, despite everything, learned to live together.

Namib Desert
Lions are not the only deeply impressive sight in the Namib Desert. Photograph by Anthony Ham.

The Hoanib Valley, in northwestern Namibia, funnels all the epic landscapes of the Namib, the oldest desert on earth, into a single valley. From the terrace of my safari tent at glorious Hoanib Valley Camp, I can see great, jagged peaks fringed by waterholes and rivers of sand. Personally, I could stay and enjoy the view all day. But the sun has yet to clear the surrounding mountains and Ramon Coetzee, my guide, knows that I am here to see lions. He says we must leave.

Our prospects are not great. It has been months since lions were seen in the Hoanib. Wildlife sightings are never guaranteed, but with just 60 lions spread across 40,000 square kilometres, the chances here are even smaller. Even the Hoanib’s elephants have moved down onto distant floodplains where we cannot follow.

I am disappointed, naturally enough, but that there are lions here at all — not to mention elephants and rhinos nearby — in this most parched corner of southern Africa carries its own magic. That I might see them, that they belong to an unbroken line of lions dating back to before Hemingway … well, that might have to be enough.

We follow the meandering path of the Hoanib. Now dry, it can become a raging torrent, metres deep, when the rains fall on upriver mountains. We encounter small herds of springbok and a handful of gemsbok, the painted oryx of southern Africa’s desert regions. A rare lone Angolan giraffe, restless, watches us pass.

Running down the centre of the riverbed are Ana trees (Faidherbia albida), some of which are 180 years old.

At the Modurib waterhole, with the hostility of a large tribe of Chacma baboons ringing in our ears, we ponder the mystery of two giraffe trails — a male and a female,  footprints heading west; we suspect the lone female has lost her mate.

Close to where we plan to turn around and return to camp, enveloped in the scent of wild sage, Coetzee suddenly veers right. On a flat, sandy area above the riverbank, he literally leaps out of the vehicle alongside the footprints of a male lion, heading east. They are recent, too: the lion passed this way in the past few hours.

Coetzee is beside himself: “I am so excited! I am so excited!”

A male lion’s pawprint is a thing to behold. It is the size of a dinner plate and Coetzee knows the male has not long passed this way, because not even an insect has left its mark atop the pad.

LION FOOTPRINTS
Telltale signs of a lion’s pursuit of its giraffe quarry. Photograph by Anthony Ham.

We follow the footprints north until, at the junction of two desert valleys, giraffe footprints enter the valley and turn west. Intent, Coetzee follows, piecing together what has happened. The two footprint tracks run parallel for a time. Both footprints are of walking animals, suggesting the giraffe was blissfully unaware that it was being followed. At one point, the lion’s paw print sat atop the giraffe’s, as if claiming ownership or marking destiny.

Not 50 metres further on, the giraffe — suddenly aware, too late! — had veered sharply to the left and right. The lion had leapt onto the giraffe’s back; for perhaps five metres, there are only giraffe prints flailing in the sand. Like in a rodeo, the lion was thrown off — his prints reappear in the sand — and the struggle continues for another 150 metres. Then the gaps between the struggle become shorter — for the last 50 metres the giraffe was still upright, but the lion rode her, tail dragged along the sand.

It is rare for a single lion to bring down an adult giraffe. Giraffes have a kick that can kill a lion or break its jaw or leg. Usually, it takes a whole pride to bring one down. I am impressed, but also unsettled. This is part of the circle of life, but there is something about a giraffe — its grace, its long eyelashes, its big, Bambi-esque eyes. Nothing better highlights the innate savagery of nature than the untimely death of a giraffe.

We round the corner and 50 metres down the hill, the male lion lies exhausted alongside the dead giraffe. My sentimental moment has passed: the lion is magnificent; the giraffe is merely food. For almost the first time, I look around at my surroundings. Everywhere is sand. There are no trees. The late morning sun is already fierce. How on earth do lions survive out here?

Aside from Ernest Hemingway, and, of course, the local people in northwestern Namibia, very few outsiders knew there were lions in this arid corner of Namibia. In the final decades of the 20th century, the legendary conservationist Dr Philip “Flip” Stander heard persistent rumours of lions in the desert and along the coast. He left Namibia’s famous Etosha National Park and began looking for them.

Over the years that followed, estimates of northwestern Namibia’s lion population ebbed and flowed with the droughts and seasons of plenty that swept through the area. At its lowest point, barely 20 lions survived. After a series of good years, the population peaked, and Dr Stander estimated between 150 and 180 lions.

Lions
Human-lion interaction is increasingly common, to the lions’ detriment. Photograph by Anthony Ham.

Flip Stander is still around, living in an isolated hut on a remote stretch of the coast. He still studies the handful of lions that live along the beach — he recently recorded lions hunting offshore in the ocean, a world first. But he has since passed the baton to a young American scientist, Dr John Heydinger, and a team of Lion Rangers.

Not long after seeing the male lion and his giraffe kill in the Hoanib Valley, I meet Dr Heydinger and Lion Ranger Benjamin Kordom at Mowe Bay, an isolated settlement backed by relentless Atlantic swells hundreds of kilometres from the nearest town. When I ask Heydinger if he knows of Stander’s whereabouts, he laughs: “I saw him a few weeks back, but it’s easier to find a lion than it is to find Flip Stander.”

In 2022, Heydinger, the rangers and Namibia’s Ministry of Environment and Tourism set out to conduct an accurate census of northwestern Namibia’s lions. In just two months, using their unrivalled local knowledge, the team managed to track down (and later collar) every single adult lion in the ecosystem. It was a remarkable achievement. Northwestern Namibia had around 60 adult lions, with a further 20 cubs.

These are no ordinary lions. Apart from living at the lowest density of any lion population in Africa (as low as 0.11 lions per 100 square kilometres, compared with 18 in Tanzania’s Ngorongoro Crater), each lion also ranges across far larger areas than other African lions: female territories cover up to 1500 square kilometres, compared to just 200 square kilometres in the Serengeti.

Namibia’s lions also survive despite inhabiting one of the driest regions of Africa: part of the lions’ territory receives as little as five millimetres of rain a year. Drought has stalked northwestern Namibia since 2011 and the lions’ wild prey has declined by up to 90 per cent over the same period, while the human population has swelled to nearly 20,000 people in the area where the lions live.

“So much of the research on, and so much of what we know about, lions comes from places like the Serengeti,” Dr Heydinger says. “Lions in places like that are bodybuilders. Our lions are marathon runners: they’re long, they’re lean, and they can cover territory. Evolutionarily, they’re probably more similar to what lions across Africa used to be like.”

One reason these lions are so important is that if lions can survive here, then populations elsewhere in Africa — where an estimated 60 per cent of lions live outside protected areas — might just have a chance.

Even so, since 2022, one in eight lions here in northwestern Namibia has died as a direct result of human-to-lion conflict. Or, put another way, 90 per cent of the lions that die, do so as a result of human-lion conflict.

Which is where the Lion Rangers, who are employed by the local community conservancies, really come into their own. Many credit them with ensuring the survival of this most difficult lion population.

“The guys who are really making the difference on the ground now are the Lion Rangers,” Paul Funston, one of the world’s leading lion experts, tells me. “They are the ones who are trying to solve and to mitigate the challenges of lions coexisting with people. They’re doing a remarkable job.”

All locals and including a handful of women, these rangers play a critical role in preventing the kind of conflict that can devastate local herders — who already live on the edge — and lead to the retaliatory killing of lions. On one occasion, a lion broke into a kraal (a fenced enclosure where livestock is kept overnight) and killed 90 goats and sheep. Another time the figure was 87. More often, lions will kill a goat here, a cow there. These are smaller numbers, perhaps, but such losses can be equally devastating to small-scale farmers.

And yet, when Dr Heydinger speaks at length with locals about living with lions, their replies are remarkable: “Most people want to have elephants, they want to have lions,” Dr Heydinger says. And for those who want lions to live in the area, the overwhelming answer is, “we want our children to see lions”.

To help everyone live together, Dr Heydinger and the team of, at last count, 49 Lion Rangers, have brought in predator-proof kraals, as well as early warning systems that use data from the lions’ collars to notify the team when lions are close to villages and livestock.

Benjamin Kordom has been a ranger since 2020; the program began in 2018. As well as helping to collar lions, the rangers bring lost livestock back to their owners and help communities to repair their kraals. Kordom and his teams also patrol regularly on foot; the rangers have walked more than 80,000 kilometres on patrol since the start of 2023. But, says Kordom, “the most important thing we do is go into the villages and give them information, including about the whereabouts of lions. If the lion is there, immediately we let the farmers know, so they know where not to move their livestock.”

I ask whether they know my lion, the one in the Hoanib Valley. It turns out they know him rather well. Known as OPL-24, his life history is a microcosm of the story of Namibia’s lions.

After killing livestock in his home territory, OPL-24 was translocated, only to return home and resume his livestock-killing ways. He was given one last chance and taken further away, this time to the Hoanib. So far, two months later, he is finding the Hoanib very much to his liking. “That’s the second giraffe he’s taken down since he moved,” Dr Heydinger says.

As always in such a landscape, it is a balancing act. But now, months later, word reaches me that OPL-24 is still in the Hoanib, happy and thriving on a diet of giraffe and gemsbok.

Hemingway was right: I can’t drive from my mind the image of a lion, golden in sunset light, stalking the sand dunes, still surviving — and not just in the dreams of those lucky enough to have seen them.

This is an extract from an article that appears in print in our twenty-fifth edition with the headline: “Hear Them Roar”

Lucy Folk’s Guide To Marseille, a Historic Gem in the South of France

Often overlooked by tourists, Marseille is France’s oldest city — and now, Folk’s new home away from home.

Article by Hollie Wornes

Lucy FolkLucy Folk Longevity Campaign, shot in Marseille. Photographs courtesy of Lucy Folk.
Saint-Tropez, Nice, and Cannes are just some of the better-known destinations in the South of France. Each offers its own distinctive appeal — from pristine beaches and luxurious Mediterranean lifestyles to cobbled streets winding along the sea.
But tucked away to the west of the French Riviera lies one of France’s best-kept cultural treasures: Marseille. Not far from the Italian border, it’s France’s oldest, and second largest, city founded more than 2,600 years ago. Its rich history is still etched in the architecture, from ancient ruins to grand churches, mosques, and synagogues, all located inland from the 41 kilometres of coastline.
While steeped in history, Marseille is also a hub of modern culture, with contemporary art galleries, a booming music scene, and unique culinary offerings — the garlic and saffron-flavoured fish stew called bouillabaisse put the town on the map. It’s a place where cultural movements flourish, where soccer is the great equaliser and where, as the filmmaker and author Vérane Frédiani put it in her 2021 book, “Marseille Cuisine le Monde” (“Marseille Cooks the World”), people flock for a fresh start.

Post-covid it has experienced a flood of newcomers, among them is Australia’s own Lucy Folk, the founder of the Australian lifestyle brand of the same name. The city’s laid-back spirit perfectly aligns with the ethos of Folk’s brand, prompting her to make it her new home away from home — a place she returns to when she’s not in Sydney or the Sunshine Coast. T Australia caught up with Folk to ask for her top recommendations on what to do when visiting Marseille.

Lucy Folk
Lucy Folk behind the scenes of the brand's Longevity Campaign, shot in Marseille. Photographs courtesy of Lucy Folk.
Lucy Folk
Lucy Folk Longevity Campaign, shot in Marseille. Photographs courtesy of Lucy Folk.

Where To Drink:

Ivresse, 76 Rue Léon Bourgeois

“It oozes charm and you just can’t help but want to settle in and savour a bottle of their selection of the finest natural wine. It’s low key but special — perfectly lit with candles. Touching knees under the table hasn’t felt this good in a while. Not only can you drink but you can eat small plates lovingly prepared by the chef or the visiting chef. We always leave a little bit happier!”

Grenadine, 47 rue d’Endoume

“It is a newish wine bar with an exceptional selection. Nomi who you might remember from Septime or La Mercerie is hosting almost every night and its delightfully feminine and reminds me of entertaining at home. Of course, I am drawn to the pink banquettes and the basket chic wine coolers but mostly it’s the charm and curation of Nomi! A small menu is prepared daily and her anchovies sprinkled with hazelnuts and lemon zest are too good. Thank you for opening such a wonderful place for thirsty parents like us to escape to. Opening hours are perfect for a post swim aperitif! Just park your bike outside!”

ivresse.lacave
Ivresse, Marseille. Photograph courtesy of Instagram / @ivresse.lacave.

Where To Eat:

Ripaille, 756 rue lorette

“Located in a former butcher shop, the chef prepares delicious fresh and seasonal food. The soup au pistou was a standout. In the winter you might find someone playing the piano under candle light. Natural wines play a strong part in the offering here. In summer, the restaurant spills outside and the area is full of grit and vibrancy. The menu changes daily as per the chefs desires. It’s a gem.”

La Relève, 41 Rue d’Endoume

“A bit of an institution, the team here love to party! Their seasonal menu changes daily. Lucky its open all day to satisfy your lunch and dinner cravings. There is even a little hotel upstairs. It is packed daily and full of beautiful characters from Marseille. Its hard to leave without having a drink! No bookings makes it even better!”

Ripaille
Ripaille. Photograph courtesy of Instagram / @ripaille_marseille.

What To Do:

Swim at Malmousque

“Swimming off the rocks in Malmousque! Pack a cheesy picnic and some wine! Maybe a speaker. Party on a rock. Swim into the sunset and watch the sky erupt into pinks, purples and blueeee. It’s the best way to end the day by the sea.”

Shop at Maison Empereur

“Right in the heart of Marseille you will find this homeware mecca! It’s the shop of all shops. Founded in 1827 they really had the eye! What I would do to stock my kitchen and house with all the things here. You can buy a broom, some soap, provençal fabrics, wooden toys, gardening gloves, crochet bags.. copper pots, linen sheets, pans, knives. The list goes on! There is even a cafe and a beautiful little gallery.. You can see how many stores have taken inspiration from this store. Even the brooms are cool. Cleaning products have never been so chic!”

Visit Centre de la Vielle charité

“It is a treasure to be discovered. Located in ‘Le Panier’ it was a hospice of the 17th century. Today it is an incredibly interesting centre housing the Museum of Archaeology and the Museum of African, Oceanian and Amerindian Arts. In the centre of the grounds is a baroque style chapel by Pierre Puget with artists projections.”

Why Australia’s Relationship With the Beach Isn’t Always Straight Forward

A place of sun-kissed relaxation, or an interface for danger? The beach embodies a complicated legacy.

Article by Lance Richardson

Byron bay beachThe Pass, Byron Bay NSW. Photograph courtesy of Delphine Ducaruge.

When the British colonised the harbour they named Sydney, they didn’t think much of the beaches, although the Aboriginal residents had been enjoying them for centuries, swimming and eating shellfish and creating rock art. Indeed, early settlers were so turned off by the sun and sand that the Sydney Police Act in 1833 incorporated a law prohibiting ocean swimming between the hours of 6am and 8pm, ostensibly for the sake of public decency. It was not until the start of the 20th century that the ruling was finally overturned, and crowds began to flock to the seashore in modest neck-to-knee costumes.

How much has changed. Today, of course, the beach is a cardinal landscape for many Australians, scantily clad in bikinis and budgie smugglers — so much so that it is hard to imagine Australia’s culture without beaches. The bush and the beach: twin compass points, like north and south, used to fix our place in the world. We have evolved from beach-averse into beach lovers, by and large, clustering along the coastlines. “Girt by sea,” as our terrible anthem has it. This is why the surf lifesaver is such a significant national symbol. It was Australia, in fact, which originated surf lifesaving in 1907, pretty much as soon as swimming was made legal.

I am an expat living on the East Coast of the US, and sometimes I get homesick for antipodean life. Whenever I do, I pull a book off the shelf containing a photograph: “Sunbaker”, by Max Dupain, shot in 1937 at Culburra Beach in New South Wales. The silver gelatin print shows a man lying on sand so white it is almost indistinguishable from the sky, so he seems to be floating in his hedonistic bliss. Droplets of water glisten on deeply bronzed shoulders. His head is resting on his hand, vulnerable but carefree. The heat is palpable: you can almost feel the blistering sun. I look at this photo, so famous that I probably don’t even need to describe it to you, and I am instantly transported 15,000 kilometres around the globe to Nobbys Beach, or Bondi Beach, or Rainbow Beach, or any one of the countless beaches etched into my memory after years of visiting them.

If I imagine an Australian beach right now, I picture red and yellow flags flapping endlessly. A lifesaver sits in her high wood chair, surveying a domain of umbrellas and towels. There are surfboards in the waves and seagulls in the air, permeated by the unmistakable smell of sunscreen and hot chips. The sound of someone crinkling the wrapper on a Golden Gaytime.

It is a seductive vision — who wouldn’t want to be there? (Why am I over here?) But lately, my fantasy beach has been invaded by an old memory. When I was 10 years old or so, I saw my younger sister get caught in a rip-tide off a beach, and a stranger had to dive in to rescue her, slicing up his feet on concealed oysters. The pleasure and freedom embodied by Dupain’s “Sunbaker” is mixed up, for me, with recollections of my mother screaming and blood on the sand (my sister was fine).

This memory doesn’t diminish my enjoyment of beaches; I will still gladly go with an Esky and a book. But it does remind me that the beach is a more complicated space than we generally acknowledge.

While they are certainly sites of play and relaxation, they are also wild and can turn dangerous in an instant. When you dip your toe into the tide, you are really dipping your toe into the edge of a vast wilderness. Bluebottles and blubber jellyfish are reminders of this, thrown up from the deep. So are sharks. There is an old story by H. P. Lovecraft and Sonia Greene, “The Horror at Martin’s Beach”, about a monstrous sea creature that attacks lifesavers and sailors. The point of the story is the sea’s unfathomable power: we do not really know it at all. To lounge in the sand, sunbaking like Dupain’s friend, is to brush against this giant force, which also makes itself known through tsunamis. Part of the function of the surf lifesaver is to insulate us from such a troubling reality.

At the same time, the beach is also a place of refuge. Perhaps because they exist on a literal periphery — the edge of a landmass — they also seem to sit on the edge of society. As a result, they invite alternate ways of living. “The Beach”, by Alex Garland, is about this very thing: a supposedly utopian community of backpackers built on a beach in Thailand. Fire Island, near New York, is not too dissimilar with its long, windswept beach. In the 1930s, LGBTQ New Yorkers escaped a repressive city and set up a queer enclave, called Cherry Grove, where they could live as they wanted. The beach gave them freedom.

Even now, when the repression is largely gone, Cherry Grove and its neighbour, Fire Island Pines, remains a home away from home for many people.

For others, though, the beach is a site of violence and conflict: think Gallipoli, Normandy, Dunkirk. Because it mingles people from disparate backgrounds, the beach can see class and racial tensions reach boiling point, as we saw in Cronulla in 2005.

On a more existential level, the beach is also an early casualty of climate change. Across the world, beaches are receding or eroding, some slated to vanish entirely in the coming decades.

But for me, above all, the beach is a reminder of time. Every grain of sand is made of stone or shell — the remaining granules of ancient geological and biological processes. To walk along a beach is to walk over millions of years; as the nature writer Rachel Carson once wrote, sand contains “the history of the earth”.

It is not a coincidence, I think, that the traveller in H. G. Wells’s “The Time Machine”, when he goes far into the future, finds himself on a beach. The beach becomes, in Wells’s novel, the terminus of human evolution. A beginning and an end.

I think of all these things when I look at Dupain’s “Sunbaker”, the most famous photograph ever taken by an Australian. Is there a more beautiful picture in existence? “It was a simple affair,” Dupain once recalled of the day he shot it. “We were camping down the south coast and one of my friends leapt out of the surf and slammed down onto the beach to have a sunbake — marvellous. We made the image and it’s been around, I suppose as a sort of icon of the Australian way of life.”

Raes on Wategos Opens a Second Hotel With Ten New Suites and Two New Pools

Raes Guesthouses is just moments from the original, surrounded by lush tropical gardens with interiors designed by Tamsin Johnson.

Article by Hollie Wornes

Raes GuesthousePhotograph courtesy of Raes Guesthouse.

Perched on a sunny hill overlooking the beach at Byron Bay’s picturesque Wategos, Raes on Wategos is one of Australia’s most coveted boutique accommodations. Beloved for its storied past as a kiosk and later a private home, it is said that Salvador Dalí designed the tropical garden and freeform pool that remain iconic features today. With only seven exclusive suites, securing a stay here—especially during the bustling summer months—is highly sought after. Many visitors only get a taste of the hotel’s charm by chancing a spot at its Mediterranean-inspired Cellar Bar or booking a table at the sun-drenched Raes Dining Room.

After 30 years of operating as a standalone site, Raes on Wategos today opens a second property: Raes Guesthouses, with ten new suites, located in the former Victoria’s at Wategos—just moments away from the original.

Raes Guesthouse
Photograph courtesy of Raes Guesthouse.
Raes Guesthouse
Photograph courtesy of Raes Guesthouse.

“Our goal is to honour the deep history of Wategos Beach, where Raes has played a pivotal role in its transformation from what was once a banana plantation, to now one of Australia’s most sought-after travel destinations,” Jordy Catalano, the managing director at Raes on Wategos, tells T Australia.

“We are dedicated to preserving  this legacy while bringing the same intimate atmosphere, relaxed aesthetic, and exceptional hospitality that makes Raes on Wategos so special.”

To bring this vision to life, Raes on Wategos enlisted renowned Australian interior designer Tamsin Johnson, who was behind the original hotel’s refurbishment in 2016. Johnson has crafted a seamless extension of the existing theme, blending coastal elegance with Mediterranean influences. Find softly curved white walls, complemented by a range of carefully chosen materials, from vintage glazed tiles to linen and cane — ensuring every detail feels at home within Byron Bay’s coastal surrounds.

The new site introduces two new pools: a 16 x 3-metre pool featuring a cascading waterfall and a 12-metre solar-heated pool complete with a cabana and lounge area, ideal for year-round relaxation. Guests can also enjoy beautifully landscaped tropical gardens and several indoor common areas, including open log fireplaces, reserved exclusively for them. 

“Tamsin’s design incorporates unique vintage and custom pieces that establish a warm, relaxing atmosphere,” says Catalano. “These elements, along with our close proximity to the original location allow guests to easily stroll over and enjoy Raes Dining Room, our alfresco Cellar Bar, and the newly refreshed Raes Spa.”

The expansion marks a significant milestone for Raes on Wategos, celebrating its 30th anniversary. Alongside the surprise new site, behind the scenes the team have also been working on expanding its portfolio with The Bonobo by Raes, a hotel apartment concept launching in Byron Bay in 2025. This new chapter represents the start of a new era for Raes, with more developments on the horizon.

Raes Guesthouse
Photograph courtesy of Raes Guesthouse.
Raes Guesthouse
Photograph courtesy of Raes Guesthouse.

Raes Guesthouses is open for bookings now. raes.com.au.

The InterContinental Double Bay: A Harbour Haven of Timeless Luxury

Where to eat, drink and what to do when spending a night at this historic gem.

Article by Tessa Ogle

The pool deck at the Intercontinental Sydney.The pool deck at the Intercontinental Sydney. Photograph courtesy of Intercontinental Double Bay Sydney.

Nestled in one of Sydney’s most exclusive suburbs, the InterContinental Double Bay marries the charm of harbour-side living with the refined luxury of a five-star escape. A short stroll from boutique-lined streets and the tranquil waters of Double Bay, this hotel invites you to experience a rare blend of Sydney’s understated glamour and world-class hospitality.

Upon entering, you’re greeted by a serene elegance. Soft lighting, marble accents, and a contemporary palette set the tone. It’s luxurious, yes, but in a way that feels more like stepping into your sophisticated friend’s coastal retreat rather than a busy international hotel. The lobby is a perfect introduction, subtly reflecting the laid-back exclusivity that defines this part of town.

The rooms and suites continue the story. Expansive windows flood each space with natural light, while rich fabrics and soft textures lend warmth and a sense of calm. Whether you’re in one of the stylish Deluxe rooms or indulging in the Royal Suite, each stay is an exercise in discretion and comfort. The real star, though, is the view. Many rooms offer private balconies that overlook Double Bay’s sparkling marina, perfect for a quiet morning coffee or an afternoon glass of champagne.

The Rooftop. Photograph courtesy of Intercontinental Double Bay Sydney.

What sets the InterContinental apart is its rooftop. The Rooftop Pool & Lounge has long been a favourite of both locals and hotel guests. Perched above the tree-lined streets, it offers uninterrupted views of the bay, creating a setting that feels both cosmopolitan and intimate. Here, you can sip on expertly crafted cocktails while soaking in the Sydney sun, and if the weather is right, an afternoon dip in the crystal-clear pool feels like an absolute must.

Dining at the InterContinental is a refined experience. Stillery Bar & Dining, the hotel’s signature restaurant, effortlessly merges Double Bay’s love for sophisticated dining with the relaxed atmosphere of its coastal setting. Breakfast here is a leisurely affair—freshly baked pastries, local produce, and barista-made coffee fuel the day, while the dinner menu showcases seasonal ingredients in dishes that celebrate modern Australian cuisine.

But for those with a penchant for something a little more indulgent, Blackburn, the hotel’s steak restaurant is the perfect option. Located on the ground floor, this restaurant is all about premium cuts and bold flavours. Their Wagyu steaks are the stuff of legend, perfectly cooked and served with an impressive selection of local and international wines. The atmosphere here is cosy yet upscale, making it the perfect place to linger over a decadent meal.

This is a hotel for those who want to escape the hustle of Sydney’s city centre without sacrificing proximity. You’re minutes from the CBD, but it feels like a world away. Whether you’re spending your day by the pool, indulging in fine dining, or wandering the boutique shops nearby, the hotel’s effortless elegance remains a constant thread.

A stay here isn’t just about accommodation; it’s about experiencing the very best of what Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs has to offer. The InterContinental Double Bay weaves luxury and leisure together seamlessly, offering a retreat that’s both sophisticated and unpretentious—a true harbour-side haven.

Book your stay today.