Besides sniffing out local bakeries, on any roadtrip my first stop in a new town is always the antique shop. I map journeys not by renowned wineries, lauded restaurants or boutique spa hotels, but what online reviewers rated as the best purveyors of old wares in an area. The lure is twofold: there just might be a bargain hidden away, and you can learn much about an area by seeing what has been left behind.
Right now we can’t visit the pyramids or Stonehenge, but we can delve into our own history by fossicking in the dusty aisles of a junk shop for artefacts with local provenance. I love going through wooden milk crates of old photos showing the town before footpaths were laid or smiling newlyweds outside the Town Hall. Or reading postcards from someone’s Aunty Betty on the wonders of Dunk Island or picturing tartan and bagpipes from cousin Janet’s visit to Sc…