We fly North over those beaches on the way to Byron Bay or Coolangatta, or loyally drive down the Clyde to more familiar refuges on the South Coast.

South Coast snobs might readily mock Central Coast towns known only by their first names (Coff's, Byron or Port). They might pause for a laugh at the derisorily small Big Banana, plonked down in country now given over to blueberries.

They could tease locals about the prosaic titles attached to places (The Hill and Industrial Drive, Rocky Beach and Ton O Fun Road) compared with the existential wondering in their own Cockwhy Creek.

Those snobs need to lower their guard and open their hearts. Bermagui's Blue Pool is splendid, but cannot compare with Newcastle's pool trifecta, where an enormous pool is flanked by others in which kids can wade or athletes swim laps.

That huge pool, with the unexpected pleasure of a sand bottom, could never be full, but was being enjoyed when I swam by clumps of fit old ladies. Their conversations had likely begun a generation before I was born. All were happily paddling and nattering away, on the lookout for fresh gossip or a council decision to install a coffee cart.

In its turn, BHP's cantilevered memorial walk at Newcastle may seem impressive until you walk the beach and headland track down to the rainforest reserve at Port Macquarie.

As a town, Port Macquarie is notable for the profusion of hideous yellow and brown brick, the pretensions of its restaurants (apart from the humble but scrumptious Ridgey Didge pies) and mawkishly sentimental messages painted on rocks along the breakwater.

On a map, the coast trek looks flat and easy. On the ground, the walk is all up and down, around and over and up and down again.

Although each beach along the way is lovely, the highlight is Harry's Lookout. That spot boasts a precipitous cliff, a pristine beach below, a dramatic set of rocks offshore, and a jumping-off run for paragliders.

Visitors seeking a more sedate excursion should try the new, flat boardwalk along the river at Nambucca Heads, past relics of shipbuilding yards and on to the dramatic (as well as highly dangerous) point where the river churns and whirls into the ocean. A bench for cleaning fish reminds fishers to cut reject fish into small chunks to avoid choking local pelicans.

Harry's Lookout is upstaged at Elizabeth Beach, deep in the Myall Lakes. For beach connoisseurs, this one is pretty much perfect.

A placid lake stretches along the land side of the road. A sign near the turnoff warns drivers to watch out for koalas, here nesting in palm trees rather than gums. The beach is both graced and protected by half-moon cliffs on both sides, like a geological version of crab claws. Clean, white sand is virtually empty of people.

Elizabeth Beach is the antidote to lockdown, an image of an Australian Eden for us all to cherish before sleep.

Still farther on, there's a tree trunk wreathed in star jasmine, with jacaranda petals covering the ground all around.

For those less enraptured by natural beauty, I commend the shop at Tuncurry which advertises "Pies, Coffee, Cakes, Bread". All the great Australian food groups are there represented; the shop would surely whip up a milkshake on request.

Travelling north, just as much as returning to the South Coast, reminds us once more that Australians have won first prize on the lottery of life.