Like Western Australia, we have not visited Tasmania on previous trips to Oz. Sue had been looking forward to seeing this island,which is Australia's smallest and most southern state, though I must admit I was not looking forward to the much cooler weather. We'd been keeping an eye on the national weather forecast and had not seem temperatures much above the mid teens in Tassie despite it being virtually the start of Australia's summer. But as we stepped out from Hobart's airport terminal around four o'clock, late afternoon sun was warm and the air seemed mild enough, though a cool breeze made us glad we had donned our fleeces and long pants for our flight.
We picked up our rental car and got directions to the caravan park where we had booked a cabin for our first three nights. I don't know if we've mentioned before that we joined a camping organization called Big 4 which has many caravan parks around Australia. For the most part these are of higher standards and we've stayed in many of them because membership affords us a 10% discount. So, based on the quality standards of the chain, we had booked a cabin at the Barilla Holiday Park, a Big 4 near the airport. A ten minute drive brought us to a small village situated in beautiful countryside at the base of a large hill covered in green grass and scattered oak-like trees, with black and white cows grazing here and there. All in all it was a very pastoral scene very reminiscent of English countryside. Our campground was just a couple of hundred metres down the small country lane situated in a small grove of trees. It all seemed very auspicious.
But unfortunately this particular Big 4 was anything but up to usual standards. We paid our three nights tariff, forgetting my rule to always check out accommodation before paying, and we were somewhat depressed when we found our small, old and very rustic one room cabin which wasn't a patch on the great cabin we'd had at our last Big 4, The Peppermint Eco Park in Busselton. Anyway, we hunkered down for the night, but I was so mad at myself for having paid for three nights in this dump (“No refunds for early departure.” according to our receipt) that I slept badly and was tired and grouchy in the morning. While I was showering, Sue took the liberty of checking with the office as to whether they had anything better. Turns out they did and she said we'd take the larger cabin, despite it being another $40 per night. This cabin was indeed roomier but I still considered it the biggest ripoff we've had for accommodation in Australia, especially as we found a much nicer and cheaper campground for our fourth night in Hobart. Anyway we (or more correctly, “I”) didn't get off to a great emotional start in Tasmania despite our first impression of the landscape being one of great natural beauty.
We had not formulated any detailed plans other than we had 10 days here and wanted to see as much of the island as we could. We had left our big guidebooks and maps with the van, but Sue had armed herself with a collection of brochures and pamphlets at the airport and we had secured a map of the island from the Hertz desk, so Monday morning after moving into our new cabin, we mentally sketched out a tour around the island. We decided to stay in Hobart through to Thursday morning when we would head north along the east coast, turning left to see the north coast, and eventually heading south to be back in Hobart the night of November 21st, prior to our 7:00 a.m. (yuk!) departure to Brisbane the next morning.
One of our brochures had described Tasmania as “an island of untold wonders”. And certainly everyone we had ever spoken to who had lived in or visited Tasmania had spoken of it in glowing terms as being the most beautiful place in Australia. As well as its many natural attractions, Tasmania has a long and fascinating history with many remnants of it colorful past still preserved in museums and historical sites. So we began our explorations with a visit to perhaps the most famous of Tasmania's historical locations – Port Arthur.
As most people are no doubt aware, early settlement of Australia was fueled by the many prisoners who were sent here from Britain to serve their sentences. These “Prisoners Of Her Majesty” were sent here in their thousands and even today people from England are often referred to as POMs or Pommies. Port Arthur, situated on an isthmus to the south of Hobart, was first established in 1830 as a logging camp where the prisoners were put to work felling the ample timber of the region and loading boats in Port Arthur's natural deep water harbour for shipment to Hobart and beyond. But in 1833 the colony was converted to what today might be considered a maximum security institution which housed hardened criminals and repeat offenders. (It's an interesting aspect of this penal colony that prisoners for the most part were free to move about as they pleased, albeit in leg irons weighing 30lbs. Escape was almost impossible as the colony was situated at the end of a narrow spit of land called Eagle Hawk Neck which was only a few metres wide. Vicious dogs were stationed here and were trained to attack any prisoner trying to pass on foot and to raise the alarm for nearby guards. Also, the guards let it be known that the waters surrounding Port Arthur were teeming with man-eating sharks...in truth a fallacy...which further discouraged anyone from trying to swim to freedom. As a result, there was never a successful escape from the colony.)
Port Arthur was describe as “a machine for grinding rogues honest”, and the cogs of this machine were discipline, punishment, religious instruction, and, in later times, training in the trades. Life here was cruel for the inmates who were housed in dormitories if they were well behaved and in tiny cells if they weren't, where they would spend months or even years in a strict regime of isolation and silence. Corporal punishment in the form of a “tickling” from the Cat of Nine Tails,was frequent and severe for any prisoner breaking any of the hundred or more rules that governed their behaviour and controlled their existence. But alongside the 2000 or more convicts here, a community of officers and their families tried to maintain a normal existence, with schools for the children, social gatherings and even regattas in the bay. As a result, Port Arthur grew to be a town where buildings variously housing the large penitentiary, isolation cells, insane asylum and prisoners' hospital (where only the dieing were admitted) coexisted with officers quarters, churches, schools and administrative offices. The last prisoners were transported to Tasmania in 1853 and the penal colony at Port Arther closed in 1877, the remaining prisoners being dispersed to other jails. Interestingly, within two weeks of its closures, locals began flocking to Port Arthur to see for themselves what life had been like in the penal colony and thereby a flourishing tourist attraction was born which continues to this day. Much of the original town has been destroyed and today only about 30% of the buildings remain. Even so it is an impressive site and we spent 3 or 4 hours wandering through the remains of Australia's most famous and infamous penal institution.
Tragically, Port Arthur regained its notoriety for cruelty and death almost 120 years after the last prisoner left. On the morning of April 28 1996, (11 years ago to the day that Sue and I left for this tour of Australia), a young Hobart man named Martin Bryant armed himself with three high-powered automatic weapons and a large quantity of ammunition and drove to Port Arthur. He entered the home of a local couple he knew and shot them dead. He then proceeded to the historic site were he ate a meal in the crisp fall air on the deck of the cafe. Getting up from the table, he took a rifle from his bag, entered the cafe and began shooting indiscriminately. He then moved to the car park and eventually to the grounds of the site continuing his shooting rampage which ended later that afternoon when he killed two others in the town. At the end of the day, thirty-five people lay dead at Port Arthur. Unlike most killers in similar circumstances, he did not take his own life and was captured by police when he tried to flee on foot from the house where his last victim had been killed. Bryant was eventually tried, convicted and sentenced to 35 life sentences with no possibility of parole. So the tragedy, misery and despair which characterized the lives of indentured prisoners at Port Arthur so many years ago, was again felt by hundreds of people who lost family, friends and colleagues that black day. Even today signs at the site request that visitors do not ask staff about the killings as many of them were touched by the tragic events. It almost makes you wonder if the ghosts of the many who died cruelly at Port Arthur had some how conspired to reek their revenge so many years later.
On Tuesday, after an obligatory visit to the Information Centre in Hobart to stock up on brochures, we drove to another caravan park to book a cabin for Wednesday night (they were much cheaper and much better than the Barilla!!), stopping along the way to wander through a public exhibit at the Antarctic Division Headquarters. I had no idea of the extent to which Australia is involved in research in the Antarctic, but this huge government complex certainly gives you a clue! There were some very fascinating displays in the small public area and we learned a number of interesting facts about this icy continent...for example 70% of the world's fresh water is held in Antarctic ice!
In the afternoon we drove somewhat haphazardly through the Huon Valley (often compared to The Shire in Lord of the Rings), gorgeous rolling and green countryside southwest of Hobart, stopping in at an Apple Museum (aka gift shop) where we sampled (and bought) some of the delicious local apples, and the Grandvewe sheep farm (get it....Grandvewe) where some wonderful sheep cheese is produced from the milk of the ewes. Again we couldn't resist buying.
Wednesday we were up early, thankfully saying our farewells to the Barilla, and drove south to the small town of Kettering where we boarded a ferry for a short ride to Bruny Island and a day that will have to rank as one of our top days in Australia. We had booked an excursion on a boat leaving from the appropriately named Adventure Bay, which promised an exciting 3 hours touring along the rugged southern coast. So, just after 11 we joined about 40 others boarding two identical boats, which as our friendly captain told us, had been purpose built for this type of site seeing.
The boats were about 40 feet in length with about 10 rows of seats, four across. They were powered by 3 275 hp super charged outboards which gave the craft a maximum speed of 50 knots, though we didn;t exceed about 35 (which was plenty fast enough in the seas we were to encounter). Our boat wasn't full so we took our captains advice and took a seat near the stern where he promised the “motion” would be less than in the bow. (As we were to discover he was right, though it turned out that there was still plenty of “motion” where we were sitting!) The seats were open to the air, though a roof covered the seats, so before setting off, we were all presented with full length rubberized coats with high collars and hoods...a hint of things to come. It was pleasantly mild in the harbour and at this point we were feeling pretty warm as we had donned 3 or 4 layers of clothing in anticipation of trip at sea. But believe me, it wasn't long before we were thankful for the cold weather clothes and fleece toques they handed out.
Our skipper, who was quite a card, demonstrated the use of a life jacket, indicating that it was equipped with a whistle (for attracting sharks) and a light (so you could see them attack). We weren't sure if he was kidding when he assured us we didn't need to wear a life jacket, though there were plenty available, but in any case we set off in the calm waters heading to the headland at the end of the bay. As we rounded the headland we quickly learned why we needed our sea gear and why the front seats of the boat were equipped with seat belts. The constant strong winds blowing in from the Antarctic produce some very rough seas off the south coast of Tasmania and in fact the Southern Ocean, between Antarctica and Australia, is the most violent ocean in the world. Our guide had assured us we were in for a beautiful “calm” day...everything is relative I guess. Our little craft was soon bucking along, slamming into the large swells sending up spray to the sides of, and sometimes over, our speeding boat. Our seats near the back were certainly more stable than those at the front that rhythmically rose and fell with the waves, but not by much. We still felt the motion of the boat as the bow pointed skyward as we climbed a wave and then dropped as we entered the trough. But unlike some boat rides we have been on, we didn't even bounce on the seats, so these boats had evidently been very well-designed. Sue had taken some Gravol and we had both availed ourselves of the ginger tablets handed out before we set off (coats the stomach) and luckily we didn't feel seasick at all. But it was certainly an exciting ride at times over the next three hours...the people in the front seats even throwing up their arms at times as if they were on a roller coaster ride.
We soon pulled in closer to the shore where the water was little calmer and for the next three hours we were treated to a most fascinating tour of the rugged coastline. We motored slowly along observing the spectacular towering cliffs, the tallest sea cliffs in Australia, rising straight up from the sea over 260 metres. All along the coast, the jagged rocks at the base of the cliffs were pounded by the relentless seas throwing up huge plumes of water and spray, presenting a colorful canvas of deep blues and brilliant white in stark contrast to the copper and gold tones of the cliff face. Several times we pulled into small bays to see caves or sea tunnels in the rock. At one point we stopped to witness the “breathing hole”...like a blow hole but where an incoming wave is sucked into a small opening in the rock face and then “exhaled” with a huge spout of spray by the pressure of the compressed air in the cavern. Further along we encountered rocks covered in white guano by the nesting cormorants. After an hour or so we motored up towards a towering monolith of rock called The Monument, rising from the sea perhaps a hundred feet like a huge pinnacle just a few metres away from the cliff face. Although we knew what was about to happen from the brochure for this tour, we still gasped and held our breath as the skipper put the throttle full forward and the triple outboards roared, hurtling us toward the small gap between the rock tower and the cliffs. We zipped through the small passage with only a couple of metres on either side of our boat, and safely through, our Captain quipped.. “Wow...I've always wanted to try that!”. What a rush! We continued motoring into the wind and heavy seas heading to the last point of land before Antarctica a couple of thousand miles to the south. We reached our turnaround point at a place called The Friars Rocks, a number of small, craggy islands protruding from the sea like huge stalagmites rising from the ocean floor. Here we saw a colony of seals swimming in the lee of one island or “sunning” on the rocks. Our skipper said they often see Great White sharks and Orcas here as the seals make tasty meals for these large predators, but there were none evident this day. So, after a brief rendezvous with our sister boat who had preceded us by 10 minutes on the trip out, we turned down wind and began our trip back, spotting several albatross but unfortunately none of the humpback whales we'd hoped hope to encounter. The return journey was much smoother as we were with the wind and waves, though it was still a relief to finally enter the sheltered bay where we'd set off, and no longer to have to hold onto the handrail of the of the seat in front! This trip had turned out to be much more, interesting and exciting than we had anticipated and will certainly have to rank as one of our top days in Australia.
That night we stayed in our nice cabin in the caravan park at Snug and set off the next morning, Thursday, up the west coast. We passed through Hobart and took a secondary road winding through some of the green pasture lands north of the city on our way to a small seaside town called Bicheno. Before going on with our tour of the island, I should record our impressions of Hobart itself.
Hobart, a city of about a quarter million, is the capital of Tasmania and sits at the southern end of the island on the Derwent River. It is built on hills around a harbour and is one of the loveliest places we've seen in Australia. Many of the well-preserved buildings date from the mid 19th century and especially in the central harbour district and nearby Battery Point, you have the feeling of being in an English seaside town. In the residential areas small winding streets are bordered by stone stone cottages, at this time of year resplendent with stunning displays of roses of every color, azaleas, rhododendrons, and many other flowers and bushes which seem to fill the small front gardens of these picturesque homes. And the city seems to live an unhurried existence as even the commercial streets are uncongested and people proceed at a leisurely pace. In some ways the citizens of Hobart seem to go along as if they were still in the 19th century....quite a refined and endearing place.
We arrived in Bicheno in mid afternoon and found another very nice caravan park where we stayed for a couple of nights. Late that afternoon we walked down to the beach just near the park intending to just have a walk, but were very surprised to find a number of Little Penguins (used to be called Fairy Penguins when we were last in Oz) sheltering in clefts in the red rocks strewn along the white sand beach. We knew that this coast was a nesting site for these, the world's smallest penguins, but we had anticipated seeing them only at night when they return to shore from spending the day feeding at sea. But I guess not all of them go to sea as we saw several of the little birds with their dark blue and grey plumage lying or standing on the sand in narrow clefts in the rocks. They were certainly safe from contact in their little dens but we could get within two or three feet of some of them and they didn't seem at all bothered by our presence...really cute little animals.
The next morning we were greeted by clear skies and the promise of a warm day. We headed south about 35 kms to Freycinet National Park where one of the “jewels” of this coast is located. Wineglass Bay is beautiful turquoise bay rimmed by a strip of white stand, as the name suggests, in the shape of a wineglass. The bay it is only accessible by a walking path (or by boat)with a round trip of about 2 hours and unfortunately my hip prevents me from making such treks these days, so Sue set off by herself . I picked her up when she returned and her assessment was that the bay was nice but did not live up to the advance publicity. (I suppose we are a bit jaundiced having seen so many stunning places on this trip.) We then drove to a nearby beach where we had out lunch and sat in the warm sun for a couple of hours.
The next day we headed north west climbing up from the coast to the central plateau of the island, eventually reaching Tasmania's second largest city, Launceston. There was a major car racing event on here this weekend and we passed the track on our way in to town, noting the thousands of cars parked in the fields near the track. Thankfully we weren't passing when all those cars were leaving or we could have been stuck in traffic a long time.
We arrived in the city about midday and found a park which had been noted in one of our brochures as having a spectacular gorge with suspended cable chair which would give you a fabulous view. As it turned out the gorge was not much more than a small stream cascading down some rocks, but it was a nice spot for the locals as there was a large municipal swimming pool and grassy areas for picnicking. We then headed down to the centre of town and where I found a free internet hotspot on an outside mall while Sue went for a haircut.
Later that afternoon we continued on the port city of Devenport where the large ferries to the mainland (or as the Tassies call it, “Tasmania's northern island”) set off and arrive daily. After checking into a cabin near the sea, we decided to have take out fish and chips (eaten in the car) and then take in a show at the local cinema. The only reasonable alternative was “Elizabeth – The Golden Age” which Sue really enjoyed and I found to be a pleasant divergence from our usual cabin-bound evenings.
The next the weather closed in and we had dull skies and a very cool wind as we motored through some absolutely gorgeous countryside on our way to the village of Stanley at the very north west corner of the island. We passed through a region of farmland where steeply sloping hills covered in green grass supported herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, many appearing very bare and clean from their recent shearing. I commented to Sue that this area of northern Tasmania had some of the loveliest landscape we've seen anywhere, again confirming the many comments we'd heard about the beauty of this southern state. At one point we turned off on a small road towards the coast and encountered a farm growing tulips, some of them still spreading in a profusion of deep yellow and purple hues. We stopped at a lookout nearby for a brief look over the sea cliff. The howling wind off the turbulent seas below and the gray scudding clouds made for less than idea site seeing conditions, so we were soon back in the warmth of the car, continuing westward.
Unfortunately the weather worsened as we approached Stanley and by the time we checked into our cabin, the wind was almost gale force producing a banging and clanking as it shook the cabin's metal walls. Happily it seemed to be well anchored and didn't, as I feared it might, blow off into the night like Dorothy's cabin leaving Kansas for Oz.
Stanley is a quaint and charming little town built at the base of a large rock hill at the end of a spit of land that resembled a sort of a mini Gibraltar. Some old stone buildings, wood-sided cottages with colorful flower gardens, and the mandatory hotel and pub, lined the two or three streets that made up the main part of the town. Their version of Gibraltar was called The Nut and it loomed over Stanley like a giant sea wall protecting the town from the northern winds and seas lashing the coast. There was a chair lift going up from the town to the summit of The Nut, or for those in great shape, an almost vertical footpath. But both options were out of the question this day as the wind and rain had shut down the lift and neither of us would be taking the challenging pedestrian route. We were hoping for better the next day to perhaps get to the top, but although the wind had died down the next morning, a thick blanket of sea fog had enveloped the rock, leaving only flitting images of green grass and black granite as momentary holes in the fog passed by the cliff face. Still our day in Stanley was very pleasant despite the weather and we drove around the area, visited an historic farm nearby and generally took in the very English-like ambiance of the town.
The next morning, November 19th, we set off on a drive to Cradle Mountain National Park in the very heart of the island. Although only 250 kms away, the drive along the narrow country roads which snaked through the green pasture lands and roller coasted over the frequent hills, seemed interminable and it was late afternoon before we finished our climb to the island's central mountain range. After checking into a cabin, we drove into the national park along a narrow road through thickly forested hills until after 6 or 7 kms we reached the end of the track at a lake which was bounded at the far end by a high ridge of jagged mountains. In a way it was like Lake Louise with the towering mountains at the end of the lake, but certainly no where near as awesome as that jewel of Canada's Rocky Mountain lakes. We had a short walk along a path beside the lake and Sue carried on a little further while I sat near an old wooden boat house and enjoyed the view. Cradle Mountain and Wineglass Bay are the two most famous Tasmanian sights, and neither of them lived up to expectations, but this was more than made up for by the rest of the country which was more beautiful than expected.
On our way back to our cabin we detoured on to another small track that wound up into the forest and after a few minutes came to a deserted parking lot where an old and now unused wooden house stood. It was called Waldheim and was the first lodge in the park, built by a Swiss man who fell in love with the place and worked hard to have the area made into a National Park. It's a bit of an eerie place especially when, upon entering the dim interior, you step onto the decaying and creaky floorboards and unexpectedly encounter the ghostly reflections reflected in a pane of glass, lifesize cardboard models of the owner and friends, dressed in period costumes. One's first thought is of a haunted house, but of course that couldn't be the case....right?
On the treed and grassy slope outside the old building we encountered two native animals we hadn't seen before. A couple of small marsupials called pademelons were hopping around feeding on the grass and leaves of bushes. These little creatures are sort of a cross between a large rat and a small kangaroo and today exist only on the island of Tasmania. And just as we were about to drive off, we noticed a movement to the side of the road and a large wombat ambled slowly across the parking lot looking a bit like a small furry pig. It was neat to see these species which we had read about but hadn't expected to encounter. And the next morning we were to see another of Tasmania's animal icons.
After checking out of our cabin, we drove back towards the park to the Tasmanian Devil Sanctuary. This “sanctuary” was recently opened with the objective of breeding Tasmanian Devils in captivity and also educating the public about these interesting animals. At one time the Devils inhabited much of Australia but have died out on the mainland and now exist only here in Tasmania. The little animals are actually very cute being about the size of a small dog, with soft black fur and inquisitive brown eyes. The little beasts have a reputation as being ferocious killers, but they are infact scavengers who use their powerful jaws to crush and devour other animals' kills or the abundant road kill on Tasmania's roads. Although not exactly social animals in the sense of a pet dog or cat, they are not aggressive and the one brought in to the visitor centre by one of the trainers seemed quite happy to be held as it snuggled into her neck, its little paws clinging solidly to her shoulders. We watched a fascinating film about the life cycle of the Devil and then wandered among the pens where several of them sat and looked at us or chased each other around the enclosure. These Devils are being raised here in captivity not as zoo animals for public display ( although that is a result) but rather to try to breed a population that is free from the killer cancer that is being spread through the Tasmanian Devil population. For the last few years a terrible facial tumor (most unusually for a cancer it is contagious) which is spread by physical contact or sharing food, has been sweeping through the population and threatens to drive the Devils into extinction. The trainer said the the terrible disease eats away their faces and jaws eventually resulting in them being unable to eat. The disease is fatal in all cases. The trainer said the species could be extinct within ten years if this continues and so far scientists have been unable to find a way to prevent or eradicate the cancer. So places such as this sanctuary are trying to preserve the Devils through a breeding program though the small gene pool could very well prevent it from being successful. We found the little creatures to be just delightful and we can only hope that some way is found to continue their existence.
We hadn't expected to be long visiting the Devil Sanctuary, but we'd been there nearly two hours so had to drive along pretty smartly as we were headed to Hobart that evening. At this point I should just talk a little about an interesting part of Australian sports life...cricket. Not many people outside the cricket playing countries would know that that Aussies are the worlds best cricket players. (Why is it that a country with such a small population can produce some of the world's best athletes in nearly every sport imaginable??) Anyway, it is now cricket season in Australia and the first of the seasons Test Match tours were underway. Like Bill Bryson in his hilarious description of a cricket radio commentary in In A Sunburned Country, we too could usually only pick up the “play by play” of the cricket test, and strangely enough I began to look forward to hearing it as it seemed to make the time go by. But perhaps I will extract Bryson's commentary as he says it best:
Listening to cricket commentary on radio, according to Bryson, is "like listening to two men sitting in a rowboat on a large, placid lake on a day when the fish aren’t biting; it's like having a nap without losing consciousness. It actually helps not to know quite what’s going on. In such a rarefied world of contentment and inactivity, comprehension would become a distraction.” Bryson continues with his version of the announcers' commentary: "Neasden, it appeared, was turning in a solid performance at square bowel, while Packet had been a stalwart in the dribbles, though even these exemplary performances paled when set beside the outstanding play of young Hugh Twain-Buttocks at middle nipple. The commentators were in calm agreement that they had not seen anyone caught behind with such panache since Tandoori took Rogan Josh for a stiffy at Vindaloo in '61. This was repeated four times more over the next two hours and then one of the commentators pronounced: 'So as we break for second luncheon, and with 11,200 balls remaining, Australia are 962 for two not half and England are four for a duck and hoping for rain.'
Bryson is quite the card, but he captures the essence of the broadcast which is of course deadly boring, but somehow becomes addictive. The “tourists” (team on tour of Australia) were the Sri Lankans and they had been beaten in the first “Test” held in Brisbane, by “an innings and 98 runs” which all you cricket aficionados will know is a sound thrashing. The second Test match, which was being held in Hobart, had started the previous Friday and was wrapping up its five day run today. Play starts at 10:00 and continues to 6:00 pm with various breaks for drinks, lunch and tea. (They are nothing if not refined these cricketers!) So as we headed south I was entertained by the often comical commentary of the announcers and the colorful descriptions of the play with all its strange terminology. Where else can you hear a sports commentary with phrases like: “Patterson takes up position at silly mid off”, “And what a disaster for Sri Lanka as Coojurumbi is out for a golden duck”, “Surely it must be leg before wicket”, “What a lovely stroke for four, straight through the covers”, etc. I actually started to understand what was going on after several days of listening to this! And by the way, Australia won the second and much more exciting match, on the last afternoon when the final Sri Lankan batter was bowled out just 20 minutes after lunch!
But back to our trek southward. When we left Cradle Mountain, we hadn't planned where to stop that night, other than we would see where we got to and stay somewhere north of the city. As we got further south, Sue checked our accommodation guides but couldn't find much in the way of caravan parks on our route, so we were starting to get a little concerned as we reached the hills to the north of Hobart. Sue did come across an ad for a place called the Heimat Chalets which were advertised as self-contained accommodation, so we decided we check them out. We thought they were just off the main road, so we were a bit dismayed to come across a sign for the chalets pointing up into the hills and reading 7 kms. It was getting late and if they turned out to be a dive, we'd have to turn around the retrace our route and look for something else...probably a motel in the city. But as sometimes happens we discovered an absolute gem of a place.
We followed the road which rose precipitously through farmland and forests till we were near the summit of a high hill with a magnificent sweeping view of the green valley below. An small sign which we almost missed pointed us down a farm yard track for a few hundred metres where we came across a large modern house sitting at the crest of the hill overlooking the valley. As we got out of our cars a woman about our age came out to greet us and before long we were settled into one of her two “chalets” which turned out to be small two bedroom houses just down the hill from the main house. For just a few dollars more than we'd paid the night before for a wooden cabin in the woods, we had this wonderful, comfortable house equipped with every mod con we could ever need. The woman Maxine, was Australian but was married to a Swiss fellow named Henry (changed from Heinrich). Their business had taken the” Hei” from him and the “Ma” from her and added “t” for Tasmania to form Heimat which coincidentally in German apparently means “homeland”. This was eerily similar to the business name chosen by our good friend John in England. He called his consulting business Neimat, combining letters from his sons Neil and Matthew. Anyway we very much enjoyed our night in this cozy house perched on a hill, despite the scudding clouds, strong wind and intermittent rain that pelted the area.
After a long chat with the friendly proprietors we were again on our way, heading in to Hobart and our last day in Tasmania. As it turned out, we were on the road which passed the Cadbury Chocolate factory. We'd been thinking about taking one of their tours so we decided to pull in and see if we could get a tour. These tours are so popular that you are supposed to book in advance to assure a place, but I guess it wasn't too busy on this Wednesday morning as we were able to secure a spot on a tour setting off in just a few minutes. We had a little introductory talk from a young tour guide who reminded me of our son Ryan and said they were very concerned with safety and with not introducing any foreign materials to the factory floor where they might contaminate the pure Cadbury chocolate. As a result, everyone had to don hairnets and the guys, like me, who had any facial hair, had to put nets over their faces. Everyone had to remove any jewelry including rings, earrings, piercings, etc., all in the name of hygiene I guess. So we set off and spent about 45 mins looking at pipes, conveyor belts, mixing vats, etc. all the time being surrounded by the intense smell of chocolate. The tour wasn't overly exciting actually, though the best part was watching the robotic arms that would pick up chocolates from a passing conveyor belt, scan them with a laser to decide what the shape was, and then place them perfectly in one of many differently shaped receptacles in the chocolate box....all at blinding speed. We were cautioned not to handle anything in the factory, and by no means steal a sample from the conveyor belts laden with different Cadbury goodies, but we were each given a little box of miniature bars at the end of the tour. Oz is a country of chocolate lovers, consuming, on average per capita, nearly 5kg of chocolate and Cadbury has had to expand its production capacity significantly to keep up with demand.. Despite this obesity-promoting intake, Australia ranks only 13th on world list, Ireland, strangely enough, being the world's leading chocolate eating nation.
So with our sweet tooth satisfied for the day, we continued into Hobart and after stopping for a walk and lunch at the Botanical Gardens, checked in at the hotel we'd pre-booked for our last night. We returned our rental car and walked around the downtown area, Sue doing some souvenir shopping while I sought out an internet hotspot. And as I was walking along a pedestrian mall while Sue was in one of the shops, my eyes fixed on a sight that stopped me in my tracks. There on the corner was a green and white sign we'd been searching for in every town we'd been in since leaving Sydney nearly 7 months previously. I went back and grabbed Sue saying it was time for a coffee, despite it being 5:00 pm. I escorted her along the mall till it came in sight for her. Her mouth dropped open and she let an a happy cry of “Oh my god!!”. Yes folks we had finally found a long sought-after Starbucks, the first we'd seen in Australia. It turned out this was the only one in Tasmania, though we hear there a few in Sydney and we have since found another in Noosa north of Brisbane. But on this cool afternoon, we made a beeline for the counter and were delighted to see the usual array of Starbuck products. We've given the song and dance about our frustrations with getting a cup of coffee in Oz in previous entries, so suffice it to say we savored every drop of the delicious brew which was just the same as we get at home. An unexpected but fitting way to end our visit to Tasmania.
The next morning we were up well before 5:00 to get out to the airport for our 7:00 a.m. flight We had a lovely sunrise as we rode the shuttle out to the airport casting a golden glow over the harbour and hills surrounding the city. It was our last view of this beautiful island which we had thoroughly enjoyed and will not soon forget. But, we were looking forward to our visit with Mike and Cheryl, so we were feeling pretty chipper as we stepped out of Brisbane airport into the hot Queensland sun, and headed off to Noosa to the north.
This is a view of some of the remaining buildings at Port Arthur
The "Pententiary" as it was kown was a dormitory for prisinors
A single isolation cell where some people spent years
An example of the more civilized parts of Port Arthur, the church
Some scnery around Hobart
This was the sister boat to the one we went on for our trip along the coast taken at the outset in the calm bay where we started out.
Robb set for rough weather. At one point his cap blew off and they had to stop the boat and retrieve it from the sea with a long fish hook
The Monument. We zoomed between cliff and the pinnacle rock at full speed.
Some of the coastline
One of many caves and bridges we saw
The Friars rocks
Back on land on our drive north we came across this group of school children. All children wear school uniforms and hats (when outside) are cumpulsory
The beach at Bisheno
We found several Little Penguins sitting in clefts in these rocks
Cute Little Penguin
Wine Glass Bay
A beach in Freycinet National Park where we sat on the beach on our last warm and sunny afternoon in Tassie. The weather turned dull and cool after that.
Some of the old colonial buildings in Launceston
The island was a wash of color such as these Martha Washingtons growing by a beach on the north coast.
More of the picturesque scenery in norther Tasmania with beautiful yellow tulips being cultivated.
MORE PICS IN THE NEXT ENTRY
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