Dad programmed the in-car GPS to take us to Montville, in the Blackall Range. First, let me explain about the GPS. It has a very prim and proper English nanny voice, and was long ago christened Katie. Katie is unfailingly polite, enunciates her vowels beautifully, and does her best to pronounce all those weird Australian place names – sometimes with spectacular failures, for which we forgive her. She is seemingly unflappable, no matter how stupid we appear to be. If you make a mistake, she patiently instructs “Turn around, when possible”. As she repeats this, there is a distinct tone of escalating disapproval. By the third or fourth time she’s uttered this phrase, you can almost see her digital arms crossed and her cyber foot tapping. Just like Mary Poppins. If you continue to ignore her, she eventually stops talking to you at all, and retreats into scathing silence. “You can jolly well figure it out for yourself”, she is undoubtedly muttering under her virtual breath.

Katie navigated us smoothly past the Big Pineapple, once the premiere tourist attraction on the Sunshine Coast, but now looking rather shabby. Then in one of those classic examples of computers failing to understand that shorter does not necessarily mean faster or better, she instructed us to turn left onto the Palmwood-Montville Road. This turned out to be a single lane, steeply twisting mountain road, which hardly rates a mention on the paper map that we’d left behind. Mum and I enjoyed the views, while Dad gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, his love affair with Katie temporarily on hold.

We did arrive at our destination in one piece (as Katie helpfully informed us). Montville is a charming mountain village with a German influence. It features the usual array of art and craft shops, as well as a cuckoo clock shop (full of slightly asynchronous ticking that was slightly surreal). The streetscaping, architecture, and environment, have all been given care and attention, and it was a pleasant place to stroll around in, dipping in to woodwork, photography, or home made fudge shops.

Leaving Katie to mull over her sins, we took control of our own destiny and followed the road signs towards Maleny. We turned off to Mary Cairncross Scenic Reserve, set right on the ridge among some impressive rural properties, spa resorts and B&Bs. From the reserve, there was a spectacular view of the Glasshouse Mountains, their other-worldly volcanic outlines made hazy by the smoke from bushfires on Bribie Island.

We set off on the rainforest walk. “Done one rainforest walk, done them all” I thought at the start. However, this was easily one of the best I’ve done. A well formed path meandered through an amazing variety of towering rainforest trees, many being swallowed by strangler figs and thick vines contorted into ropes and knots. We heard an array of bird calls, and later identified the unmistakeable whip bird, the rare rifle bird, and the cat bird, which sounds like a crying baby. I don’t think I’ve seen such a diversity of trees, or so many strangler figs, in one place before. It was a beautiful walk.

After a picnic lunch, we headed into Maleny township. Where Montville is mini-Europe, Maleny is country Australia, with its wide streets and shady verandahs. The ice cream shop deserves its reputation and I recommend the cookies and cream – although I would probably recommend any of the other two dozen flavours, had I tried them!

Final night, and we headed to the local Indian restaurant – excellent. Goat korma – very tasty.