Read below a beautiful story written by member Louise about her and her father’s experience with Mingara:
A Second Home
I’ve been asked countless times, “Where have you been?” But the more interesting question is, “Where haven’t you been?”
As someone who’s taught art and craft workshops across the globe on cruise ships, the answer to that second question is shrinking fast. I’ve wandered through souks in Morocco, painted under the Icelandic sky, and taught passengers how to stitch calm into composure aboard the Regent Seven Seas Mariner. Yet the story I want to tell isn’t about exotic ports or distant lands. It’s about a return. About something much quieter — and, for me, far more significant.
It’s about Mingara, a leisure club on the Central Coast of New South Wales. And it’s about my Dad.
The Journey Back
I live in Muswellbrook now, and I often find myself reflecting as I drive along the Hunter Expressway, the soft hum of the road acting as a metronome for memory. My travels have taken me far, but in recent years, the most meaningful journeys have been the ones I’ve taken closer to home — especially those that bring me back to Dad.
He’s in his eighties now. A stoic man once defined by hard lines and hard work, who now — slowly, subtly — is softening around the edges. We’ve had our gaps, our silences. But there’s something healing that happens when time slows down and the setting is right. We’ve found that setting at Mingara and Encore by Mingara.
More Than a Club
On the surface, Mingara is a leisure centre — but look closer and you’ll find Encore by Mingara, a polished, supremely comfortable hotel that feels like a second home. Mingara has access to a sparkling 50-metre indoor pool, a well-equipped gym, and relaxed dining, including The Roasted Berry—a café serving excellent coffee and comforting food—it’s a place made for slow mornings and shared moments. At Encore, crisp white sheets, a luxuriously soft bed, and a marble-finished bathroom offer the kind of everyday luxury you’ll want to return to. Thoughtfully designed and warmly welcoming, it’s where comfort and connection meet.
It’s not the facilities that keep drawing us back.
It’s what happens because of the facilities. It’s the quiet routines of intergenerational connection. It’s the way Dad and I share a meal, not for the novelty, but for the nourishment — not just of food, but of time, of presence. We’ve started to return here more often, not as tourists, but as seekers of comfort and shared space.
Here, I’m not the daughter who left to see the world. I’m the daughter who came back. And he’s not the man who had all the answers. He’s the man who now asks questions.
Why We Travel
In my years of teaching and travelling, I’ve learned that people journey for all sorts of reasons: to explore, to escape, to experience. But increasingly, I believe many of us travel in search of something much more intimate — recognition. We want to feel seen, heard, and understood. Especially by the people who’ve known us the longest, even if they’ve understood us the least.
Mingara offers that in a way I didn’t expect. It’s not glamorous or far-flung. But it has become our shared terrain. A place where my father and I remember how to be together.
We’ve both had second chances. And this quiet Central Coast club has given us a second home.
The Heart of the Coast
There’s something quietly brilliant about the Central Coast. For those of us who live inland, it feels like a gentle exhale — not too far, not too fast. It’s the kind of place where you can build new memories without the pressure of spectacle. It invites you to slow down, to sit longer over lunch, to swim not for speed, but for rhythm.
And perhaps that’s the story I’m really telling: not about Mingara, but about what Mingara represents. The idea that travel isn’t always about distance — sometimes, it’s about depth. Sometimes, it’s about rediscovering what we’ve had all along, in a new light.
Final Thoughts
This isn’t the flashiest destination I’ve visited, but it might be the most important one I’ve written about. Because it reminds us that the best journeys — the truly transformative ones — don’t always involve a passport. Sometimes, they begin with a drive down the highway and a willingness to open old doors in new ways.
At Mingara, amidst good food, warm pools, and quiet conversations, my father and I have found common ground again. And if that’s not the essence of travel, I’m not sure what is.