This is where I remind myself out just how rubbish I was at writing a diary while I was away. After a frantic morning doing all the packing stuff to go away – and really, not sure what the weather is going to be like in NZ. Still managed to forget to take the rubbish out before we left (it’s a bad habit of mine). A lovely surprise for when I get back.The taxi was early (despite a very solemn warning from control that there was no guarantee that they could get us there in time for the plane), so we had plenty of time to kill in the Airport, get food, books etc. Adelaide airport is new, shiny, white and has some shops – but obviously they are the same every time you go. Hobart airport, at the other end, was completely chaotic. It’s so small that the baggage carousel is pretty much at the gate, as is the door out, so those meeting people were tripping over all the passengers and their trolleys. I’ve always wanted to be met by someone carrying a placard with my name on (don’t ask why – it’s probably in reaction to all the times I’ve got off a plane and had to run to catch the last train). So I was so disappointed by the time I’d looked up to find that the card with “Thompson” on it had been folded away out of sight while I’d been getting the bags.
We were met by Peter, who is Dad’s cousin (the quickest way of describing it). We didn’t know he existed until about 3 months ago, until Dad had a call from his Canadian aunt. Peter and Elizabeth are Canadians, been in Aus for 13 or so years – he works for the Aus Environmental Agency (CSIRO). We just had a lift to the hotel, with an offer of dinner the next day.
The hotel was a strange one. We had to let ourselves in with the key that was left out as there was no receptionist, and the room keys were left on the front desk for us. My room wasn’t large (thank goodness I paid the $10 extra to not be in a small room), adequate with a nice bed but other furniture that reminded me a little of hospital accommodation. The parents were upgraded to the suite – which was OK but no wardrobe. So Mum wasn’t happy. But it was easily walkable into town.
The weather was chilly and we wondered down to Salamanca Quay. I hope it isn’t a major Hobart hang out cos there was hardly anyone there. Not for a Saturday night. In fact it was about as lively as Wallingford. So we found a decent wine bar / bottle shop to have a drink, then a restaurant called Mr Wooby’s (I never did get the story why). The food and wine were superb, the owner had obviously retired from the cooking and spent his whole time walking round the tables talking to the guests. There weren’t that many of those, so we had a lot of attention.
Next day, it was threatening to rain. Until we stepped outside when it did rain. Breakfast was, erm, meagre. All of it except milk had been put out the night before. Thankfully the milk was fresh. We tried to check in, only for the girl on reception to look at us blankly and ask what we meant. Never mind.
The helpful signposts said it was 15 min walk to the centre of town, Franklin Square. At 10 min we stopped to look at the map, to find that we were well past it and it was the small patch of what we thought was garden. Hobart’s not a large place. Two main shopping streets and a fairly nice waterfront. And lots of public sculpture. The rain and wind were getting cold as we walked around the harbour so we stopped at a fish restaurant and had coffee. There was an amazing array of fish on display, all the cleaning and filleting was done as you watched. After that we went into the museum. It was the best laid out that I had seen. There was the traditional aboriginal gallery (culture = stories and crafts. Hmm), and the obligatory stuffed animal gallery. I guess it must have been a cuckoo we heard last night. There was also a special display which was part museum, part art on animals which was very interesting, but sadly we ran out of time.
Running being the operative word. We bought some sandwiches in town and realised it was only about 20min until being picked up by Peter. And we hadn’t bought them anything. So I ran back to the bottle shop at Salamanca Quay, then to the hotel, arriving with 5 min to spare. So I had half of the sandwich, and put the rest in the fridge for later, got changed and we got picked up. That sandwich is probably still there.
The house was in amazing place. Right on the bay, only separated from the beach by the road and two trees. I’m glad the sky was grey – I really don’t want to know how nice it could be. The door lead straight to the stairs and to a living room which was really just a balcony with glass all round. What a view.
So we sat and talked about family and things, drank tea (I haven’t had tea in a cup for years, but it made Elizabeth happy), and then wine, and ate dinner. And suddenly it was nearly 11pm and we probably ought to be going. Peter & Elizabeth have 3 children – Michael is a Medical Student, Andrew wants to be. How strange. Katharine had just started her first holiday job, flipping burgers at Hungry Jacks. It’s not a career thing.
The helpful signposts said it was 15 min walk to the centre of town, Franklin Square. At 10 min we stopped to look at the map, to find that we were well past it and it was the small patch of what we thought was garden. Hobart’s not a large place. Two main shopping streets and a fairly nice waterfront. And lots of public sculpture. The rain and wind were getting cold as we walked around the harbour so we stopped at a fish restaurant and had coffee. There was an amazing array of fish on display, all the cleaning and filleting was done as you watched. After that we went into the museum. It was the best laid out that I had seen. There was the traditional aboriginal gallery (culture = stories and crafts. Hmm), and the obligatory stuffed animal gallery. I guess it must have been a cuckoo we heard last night. There was also a special display which was part museum, part art on animals which was very interesting, but sadly we ran out of time.
Running being the operative word. We bought some sandwiches in town and realised it was only about 20min until being picked up by Peter. And we hadn’t bought them anything. So I ran back to the bottle shop at Salamanca Quay, then to the hotel, arriving with 5 min to spare. So I had half of the sandwich, and put the rest in the fridge for later, got changed and we got picked up. That sandwich is probably still there.
The house was in amazing place. Right on the bay, only separated from the beach by the road and two trees. I’m glad the sky was grey – I really don’t want to know how nice it could be. The door lead straight to the stairs and to a living room which was really just a balcony with glass all round. What a view.
So we sat and talked about family and things, drank tea (I haven’t had tea in a cup for years, but it made Elizabeth happy), and then wine, and ate dinner. And suddenly it was nearly 11pm and we probably ought to be going. Peter & Elizabeth have 3 children – Michael is a Medical Student, Andrew wants to be. How strange. Katharine had just started her first holiday job, flipping burgers at Hungry Jacks. It’s not a career thing.
Next morning we still hadn’t sorted out a hire car. So back into town, round the rental places to try and find one not too dear, without a queue that stretched out of the door. The car would be ready at 11, so we went back to the hotel via a coffee shop. Bad idea – it was right opposite a clothes shop. But I maintain that I can’t keep wearing the same top to work when I have an office day.
We drove back to pick up the bags, and could finally go and have a look at some of Tasmania. After a lot of debate we decided to stay local to Hobart. A good idea – you probably need a week in each part of the island to see it. And that’s not including any walking. The weather was pretty foul on the way down, with clouds over most of the hills and there was no point stopping to look at the coast. You just wouldn’t have been able to see it. So after stopping for a toasty or two we drove down to Port Arthur which is the penal colony set up by the British for those who were deported but too dangerous to go free. Much of it burned down around 1895 in bush fires, but as it was a whole village, there’s enough to see. A short ferry trip took us out into the harbour (which is very like the mouth of the Fal in Cornwall – in fact a lot of Tas reminded me of Cornwall, including the weather). The ferry goes round the burial island, and past the prison for boys. The sun was coming out by this time and it got warm.
Many of the houses are open to tourists, the main penitentiary is open to the elements. But the cells are marked. However, somehow, although there are quite a few boards describing, or with pictures of, real inmates, it’s a sterile place and seems to miss something. Interesting though. Unfortunately we didn’t have anywhere to stay and the place we phoned had a curfew of 8pm so we had to leave with a lot still to see. The Governor’s Cottage still had a garden of British flowers, strange to see them all together after this time. The herb garden was pretty impressive too. Then we left.
On the away back we did stop at the coast – the blow hole and a limestone arch that were very close to the road.
We drove back to pick up the bags, and could finally go and have a look at some of Tasmania. After a lot of debate we decided to stay local to Hobart. A good idea – you probably need a week in each part of the island to see it. And that’s not including any walking. The weather was pretty foul on the way down, with clouds over most of the hills and there was no point stopping to look at the coast. You just wouldn’t have been able to see it. So after stopping for a toasty or two we drove down to Port Arthur which is the penal colony set up by the British for those who were deported but too dangerous to go free. Much of it burned down around 1895 in bush fires, but as it was a whole village, there’s enough to see. A short ferry trip took us out into the harbour (which is very like the mouth of the Fal in Cornwall – in fact a lot of Tas reminded me of Cornwall, including the weather). The ferry goes round the burial island, and past the prison for boys. The sun was coming out by this time and it got warm.
Many of the houses are open to tourists, the main penitentiary is open to the elements. But the cells are marked. However, somehow, although there are quite a few boards describing, or with pictures of, real inmates, it’s a sterile place and seems to miss something. Interesting though. Unfortunately we didn’t have anywhere to stay and the place we phoned had a curfew of 8pm so we had to leave with a lot still to see. The Governor’s Cottage still had a garden of British flowers, strange to see them all together after this time. The herb garden was pretty impressive too. Then we left.
On the away back we did stop at the coast – the blow hole and a limestone arch that were very close to the road.
The pub we were staying at was in Richmond which was a very small, rural Henley-on-Thames. Antiques shops and a bridge and everything.. The reason for the curfew was that on a Monday, the pub closes at 9, last food order at 8. The flatlet was in the stables – all you need except a kitchen so the fridge, kettle and toaster were in the lounge. But for a cheap rent it was more than fine. And the food at the pub (well my salad) was actually very good.We went for a brief walk before retiring. Not the ghost walk which sounded... well, a “night of mystery” was promised but you had to phone a mobile number to get it. Hmm.
And the lack of pictures of Hobart is because I had a bit of a blond moment with a camera film. Or no camera film, to be precise. And the digital took that moment to stop working.
No comments:
Post a Comment