Somewhere to Simply Be

There is something about leaving the coast and driving into the hinterland that I still notice.

The roads become quieter. Houses give way to paddocks and trees, and before you've necessarily decided to slow down, you already have.

Perhaps that is part of why people come here.

Little Soho, tucked quietly amongst the trees at Shanlyn.

One of my favourite moments is when I take guests to their accommodation for the first time. I tend to stand back a little as they get out of the car and look around. Almost without fail, I see the same thing — that first long breath out.

They'll tell me how beautiful the farm is, but it's their expression I notice most. There is often something almost childlike in it — a little awe, a softness, and then that serene smile as they take it all in. I never tire of watching that moment.

Perhaps because, for just a second, you can actually see someone arrive.

I've noticed over time that guests don't always arrive at Shanlyn because they want to do something. Quite often, it's the opposite. They want a night or two where very little is expected of them.

The claw-foot bath at Solace — made for long soaks and unhurried evenings.

Couples come for anniversaries or birthdays, sometimes before or after a wedding. Others simply say they needed some time together. And increasingly, people come alone — just wanting somewhere quiet to disappear to for a little while.

I understand that.

Shanlyn sits in Traveston, in the Sunshine Coast Hinterland, and the three little places to stay are scattered across the property rather than gathered together. Solace and Solara are the domes, each quite different from the other, and Little Soho is our sweet, full of character and colour, 1968 caravan.

But I don't think the accommodation is really what people remember most. It's often something much smaller.

A donkey appearing beside them while they're having their morning coffee. The sound of the peacocks. Sitting by the fire much longer than they'd intended. Watching the horses across the paddock. Waking and realising there is nowhere they have to be.

Sometimes I'll see guests wandering down for an animal feed, still in that lovely unhurried state that seems to happen here. We chat for a while. Or we don't. There doesn't have to be a plan.

And I think that's where the romance of a place like this really lies.

A quiet moment on the deck at Solace, with nothing but nature beyond.

Not necessarily in rose petals or grand gestures, but in having enough quiet around you to notice each other again.

A long conversation. A shared coffee. Sitting beside someone you love without reaching for the next thing.

And for someone travelling alone, perhaps it is much the same — except the person you're finding your way back to is yourself.

There are beautiful places throughout the Sunshine Coast and Noosa Hinterland, but I think what I've come to love about this little part of it is its ordinariness too. Farms, old roads, small towns, animals, weather, trees. Life continuing at its own pace.

Shanlyn has become part of that.

People arrive for a night or two, live amongst it for a little while, and then head home.

Hopefully a little softer than when they came.

Arrive · Soften · Stay