It’s like being the only guy with a fax machine. Or, being given a liquor store, in downtown Saudi. The twisted irony of it all is that I’m certain my editor had a large play in the outcome. I could almost hear his booming laugh as I sat idling on the speed limit in one of the most beautiful countries on earth, littered with some of the most breathtaking highways on the planet, armed with one of the most critically acclaimed Bavarian sports sedans, but with a little freaking 3-cylinder Daihatsu Charade keeping pace next to me

With all the computing power of NASA patrolling their highways, Australia has adopted a sort of communistic approach to motoring. I mean, I felt like I was driving the automotive equivalent of a Christmas tree – Like, they both have balls, but only for decoration.

Just three days prior, I had flown in for the Foster’s Australian Grand Prix. In a shameless act of desperation, I proposed a travel story to my editor to justify a lengthier stay. Knowing that the journey is as important as any destination, BMW kicked in with one of their spunkiest little top down numbers – the 330 Ci Cabriolet; a painfully beautiful sports car full of captivating details and extraordinary possibilities.

There is nothing more rewarding than the closely machined feel of a wheel that responds to your inputs with surgical precision. Matched with a dynamic sporty chassis that begs to be thrown into a bend, backed up by BMW’s free revving 3.0–liter in-line six, pumping out a potent 231bhp, and a whopping 300NM of torque. All wrapped in a body that you should need to carry a separate license for.

But lets face it, with a speed camera mounted around every bend, and trip computers that measure your average speed, the previous paragraph is almost pointless. So for now, until the Aussies can come up with a ‘fun factor’ enforcement device, let me focus on how it made me feel. At least I can’t get fined for that. I think.

At the end of the day, you’re buying into a lifestyle; one that I was about to assume for the next nine days. First thing I needed to do was lose the silly grin. For nothing gives your assumed identity away quite like a cheesy grin – the only people who smile like that are the models on the brochures and motoring journalists who don’t own the car.

I hooked up onto the Hume highway heading north and flicked on the cruise control. For the first part, I would stop every 3.2 minutes to take a picture. After a while, I realized that each bend became more beautiful than the last, and if I kept up this pace, Haley’s comet would arrive in Canberra before I did.

What is normally meant to be a 6 and a half hour journey took me eleven. I guess that’s the Pinoy coming out in me – each change of scenery deserved its own Kodak moment. At least I didn’t stand next to the car each time. Ok, so there was just the one – but I had my backed turned! I plead temporary insanity; the freedom of open top motoring in a sunburnt land can manipulate your senses and intoxicate you. And, at this level of refinement, you develop an insatiable appetite for mile munching and looking for postcard possibilities.

Canberra appeared over the horizon just as the sun started to set on my journey. Noteworthy to mention, during the summer months, the sun sets on most of the east coast at 8:30pm because of daylight saving. This in itself has always baffled me. What are they saving for? Is there like a bank that they deposit it in? Where does it all go? How do they get it back out?

Canberra looks like one of those cities that you would see under a glass case in the foyer of a building. “The city of the future”, it would read on the brass plaque on the wooden base. Everything has been perfectly planned from its inception, and their forward planning would make Nostredamus envious. You almost feel as if you’re driving through a post card. The central portion of the city is patterned after a kaleidoscope, and is perched above the man-made lake, which was named after the nation capital’s master planner, Sir Walter Burley Griffin. I managed to sneak a shot of the 330 on the foot of parliament house while Federal police were busy apprehending another tourist – I guess all the training of dodging our local security guards has made me quite stealthy.

After an all too short visit, I was off to Sydney, one of the world’s most cosmopolitan and charming cities. At a steady and legal pace you can expect a 3 and a half hour breathtaking drive that and takes you through the enigmatic and spectacular Lake George, which in itself has been the subject of much bizarre speculation because of its strange and sudden fluctuations in water volume. During my visit, it was dry as a bone. If you’re not in a hurry, you can take the tourist route, which is well signposted and get a feel of the beauty of rural Australia. Considering my time constraints, I stayed on the main highway. I arrived in Sydney during the early evening just as the city had started to change her clothes from the stiff white collar, to something a little more comfortable and provocative.

All of a sudden, my 330 had started to look more at home, even common. Rolls Royces; Ferraris; Porsches and other exotics lined the cappuccino strips while their wealthy owners sipped espressos before a night at the opera. In a way, after all the overwhelming attention in the smaller towns, I was beginning to enjoy the anonymity.

By daybreak, I was up and on the streets wrestling with the rush hour travelers. Here’s a city that can give Manila a run for our money when it comes to traffic. The only difference here is discipline, and when there is a break, it seems like fast-forward. Everyone is in a frightful hurry and have no patience for the sightseeing tourists like me taking a leisurely Sunday drive on a Thursday morning. I followed a painted blue line that led me out to the Olympic Stadium in Homebush. Later, I would learn that this blue line was the path marked out for the marathons and has remained painted on the street as a reminder of one of the best Olympic games ever held.

Of course there was the obligatory harbor bridge photo op, then the opera house and lastly, the nude beaches. Don’t bother scanning the gallery for a picture – the only topless pic you’re gonna see is of my BMW 330Ci. Suffice to say, the girls are not shy and the most popular guy on the beach was the one who was carrying a cup of coffee in each hand and a dozen donuts.

Once I had burned 1 gig worth of images on my camera, (just from the beaches) it was time to head back down to Melbourne. This time, I tried out the tourist route. If you ever find yourself on a road trip from Sydney to Melbourne, take a tip; allow yourself enough time to drop by the historic towns and bring along a packed lunch so you have something to shove into your mouth when your jaw drops once you see the views from the scenic lookouts.

Somewhere around the halfway mark between two of Aussie’s largest cities, nestled in the South West Slopes of NSW just off Australia’s busiest road, lies the little town of Gundagai – a town that is famous in Australian verse and song. Home to the oldest working bakery in the country, I felt it was my duty as a journalist to sample a homemade meat pie. When the baker asked me if I wanted an original pie, I politely asked for a freshly baked one instead. She shook her head and said, “ Bloody tourists…”

Not far down the road, about 10 kilometers from Albury is Australia’s most famous pub. The Ettamogah Pub was the inspiration of Maynard's cartoons. Complete with old truck on the roof, outward leaning walls, a tree that stands right in the middle (through two floors), talking cockies and old work boots; these days the Ettamogah Pub is the center piece of a whole village that's brimming with attractions and activities for all the family. Not to mention a great place to take a picture. Being the responsible bloke that I am, I skipped the beer and kept heading south. Besides, after my misunderstanding with the meat pie, I was afraid to order anything else just in case I got run out of town.

Back on the Hume, this time I set my cruise control to just under the speed limit. Funny, but it was only then I realized that perhaps the Aussie police maybe onto something here; the speed limits are not just put into place to save lives, but to enjoy life. Besides, with scenery like this, who’s in a hurry? The only thing I wanted to pass was time. Wherever the road would take me was fine by me. And despite the fact that the car was fitted with the world’s most sophisticated satellite navigational system in the dash, I dropped the top instead and opted to bathe under the oldest navigation system in the world: the stars.