You only get so much time in a weekend, so it’s important to plan things out when you have such a short time to spend somewhere – or so they tell me. I wouldn’t know. We planned to take our trip to Tasmania on Wednesday night, and then only the travel to/from Melbourne. On the way there, we had learned that there is a ferry / cruise ship that has an overnight trip across the Bass Strait to Devonport on the north shore of Tasmania. Sounded fun, so we opted for a two-person cabin. We’d fly back from Hobart in the southeast part of the island, in order to maximize our time there. How we’d get from one part of the island to the other was still a mystery.
The day of the trip, I got stuck at work longer than I anticipated, so I “almost” missed the boat. Fortunately, I had the best cab driver I’ve ever had (in Melbourne or otherwise). He knew so many back roads that I found it hard to believe we were navigating rush hour traffic, until we passed near the MCG (remember from the Footy entry), where it was slow going. With the driving ace at the wheel, I made it to the port with plenty of time to spare.
I met up with my flatmate, and we headed into the check-in area. We ended up behind the largest group of teenagers I have seen in a long time, with the most amount of luggage they could humanly carry, all of which had to go through security screening. You can imagine my comfort when they continued to set off the security sensors over and over again to the point that the security guards just let them through. Not to mention that my flatmate set off the sensors, and they just waived him on. Coming from American airports, where you have to strip down and demoralize yourself, unpack your carryon baggage, justify the extra drop of contact lens solution over the three ounce limit, toss your water bottle into a bin to be discarded (while Victorians are desperate for drinking water), walk barefoot across germ-infested floors, … need I go on? And by the way, recent studies about how well those security measures actually prevent the types of activity they are supposed to prevent are a little disconcerting.
We boarded the vessel, the “Spirit of Tasmania,” and walked up three flights of escalators (we weren’t about to wait for them to carry us up after the security line) to the grand entrance. It was a modest cruise ship, with five floors of car garages, one floor of entertainment areas, and three floors of rooms. We made our way around to check things out, found our cabin, put our things down, and headed back to the entertainment floor to get something to eat. There were two restaurants – a buffet and a fine dining restaurant. We opted for the fine dining, as there were so many people loading up at the buffet that I was afraid I might end up on a plate at some point.
The restaurant was almost empty, with about three couples sitting around, so you can imagine my surprise when the hostess informed me there was an hour and a half wait since they were booked. Booked. I looked around at the thirty or so empty tables and started to laugh at her joke – I thought it was pretty good. Until she didn’t let me in on the punchline and lead us to a table. Long story short, we outwaited her and finally got a table. Beside the rest of the meal, which I will skip, I will make one note: never order the fish.
The travel agent on board helped us plan our trip and rent a car. We would arrive in Devonport, pick up the car, drive to Cradle Mountain, drive to Wineglass Bay, meet some friends in Hobart, head to Port Arthur, and head back to Hobart in time to catch our plane.
Back in our cabin, I had the best night’s sleep I had in all of my time in Australia. Everyone told us not to take the boat, since it was choppy water and people get sick. Not so. Yes, the boat rocked. No, I didn’t have my sea legs, so I fell back and forth a bit, apologizing to people and inanimate objects I ran into. But sleeping was like being in a hammock. Or one of those self-rocking cradles, like the one in the McDonald’s commercial of so long ago, where the child changes from smiling to crying as he rocks back and forth and can sequentially see and not see the Macca’s (the Australian shortname for McDonald’s) sign. With the gentle rocking and the low hum of the engines (perfect white noise), we missed our alarm, and were awakened the next morning by the captain signaling we were arriving at the port.
Arriving in Devonport, we picked up our car, a blue Toyota, and my first car in Australia. Okay, another rabbit trail. Australians drive on the left side of the road. I had been walking/riding for over a month at this point, so driving on the left itself was not much of a challenge. There are two things, however, that I never would have thought of as being issues when driving on the other side of the road, and I want you to be prepared for these if you ever drive in a country like Australia. First, the turn signal is on the opposite side of the steering wheel. Not a big deal, until you get tired of signaling your intentions to turn by wiping the windshield (or windscreen, as they call it) in the direction you want to go. A single wipe means you want to turn left and caught yourself. A series of wipes, or a spray of fluid followed by a series of wipes, means you want to turn right. Second, I have gotten used to the frame of the car where my door meets the windshield as a part of my driving experience. It doesn’t get in my way. But, when you drive on the other side of the car, and you are used to the right side of your view being clear, it is a huge impediment to your view. I kept leaning in and out to try to see what was in my way on the right side of the car. It’s hard to explain, but just be prepared.
Devonport is a quaint town, and we only stopped long enough to get some coffee before heading toward Cradle Mountain. We wound through the countryside, which is beautiful, and headed south-southwest toward Cradle Mountain / Lake St. Clair, which are in one of the World Heritage Areas designated by the UN (there are quite a few of these in Australia, since its ecosystems are so different from the rest of the world).
After a series of switchbacks and some extra time to peel Artie off the window (I may have taken the switchbacks a little fast in my haste to get to our first site, and he has never let me forget), we finally arrived at the park, and wound our way to the base of Cradle Mountain and Dove Lake. So here’s another “almost.” We “almost” saw Cradle Mountain through the fog. Despite the let down of not seeing the full mountain, the lake itself, and the rise to the peak that ascended beyond the low hanging clouds, was beautiful, and the unspoiled air had a chill to it that kept us from adventuring very far.
I think this is a good time to point out something else. The colors in Tasmania were so unusual. They weren’t vivid as people think of some places, but they were rich and full. Deep reds bordering on burgundy. Dark yellows that swallowed up light rather than reflecting it all blindingly back at you. White tree bark that was so full, against darker gray rocks and earth. The trees rose high and spread out branches with just a little foliage at their tips. It was like C.S. Lewis’s From the Silent Planet, where the trees of Mars were so thin and tall – almost otherworldly.
From Cradle Mountain, we headed through another series of switchbacks to Launceston, one of the three oldest cities in Australia (Sydney and Hobart are the other two), and stopped for lunch at the Charcoal Chicken, where they rotisserie chickens over heated coals right behind the counter. It was a pleasant stop, but we didn’t have much time, since we still had another set of sites to see.
We headed down another of the designated scenic drives (the first was the one that led to Cradle Mountain) through the forest area of Tasmania toward the coast. So, I misjudged. I assumed that the forest path would be scenic, but straightforward. Welcome back to switchbacks. I think I have done enough of these near U-turns to last a lifetime. You would see signs for curvy roads with a sign under them that says “Next 14km.” They wanted to save money on signage I suppose. After 14km, you would go a kilometer or two, then see another sign that said curves “Next 20km.” This is no joke or exaggeration. Our short trip was extended by at least an hour.
The funny thing is that the speed limit was fabulous. In most places, I have a hard time just going the speed limit. In Tasmania, it was impossible to survive the speed limit. I would see signs that the speed limit was 80 or 100 km/h (think 50 to 65 mph), in the midst of the switchbacks. I was lucky to get up to 50 km/h for any length of time. And I must give it to the Tasmanians – despite their lack of population, they have fantastic, if a little narrow, roads all throughout the state.
In Haiti, they have a saying. “Deye mon, gen mon.” (Haitian Creole). Don’t worry, I’ll translate: Beyond the mountains, there are more mountains. When I was in Haiti (don’t worry, I’ll come back to Tasmania in a second), I remember taking a trek through the mountains to a clinic where we were to help with various activities. Every once in a while, to get our bearings, we asked how much further it was to the location. Every time the response was, just beyond the next mountain. I think that’s the only phrase they know when giving directions, because each mountain was followed by another one, and I think we gave up asking by the time we arrived.
Tasmanians should adopt the phrase, because I thought we were close to the coast line about 15 mountains before we arrived. So there were two forces working against us – 1) the mountains, which cut our travel speeds almost in half, and 2) the actual size of the island. Compared to Australia, Tasmania looks like an island of afterthought, just a dot in the ocean. However, that dot, in reality, is probably as long north to south as Florida, and at least twice as wide as that peninsula.
We arrived in St. Helens on the coast and headed south along the ocean (or Tasman Sea, as it is called more specifically). We raced the sun down a little peninsula toward Cove’s Bay and Wineglass Bay, another of the major sites in Tasmania. We arrived at the beginning of the walking trail to Wineglass Bay just as the sun was setting, and learned that the walking trail was a three-hour journey, so there would be no point in venturing out. So, we “almost” saw Wineglass Bay. We settled instead for Cove’s Bay, which was beautiful in its own right, and had interesting rock formations that were extremely smooth, almost like pillows.
From there we decided to venture through the night down toward Hobart, where we would meet up for a late dinner with my friends who were visiting for a wedding. Just after starting this leg of the trip, we had to stop the car and get out. Tasmania is so sparsely populated that we could see the brilliant lights of the southern heavens. Looking up we took in breathtaking views of unknown stars and constellations, including the famed Southern Cross. It was strange and mysterious to look into the sky and not see the stars so familiar to me, to take in the wonders of this strange place and try to guess which stars they had connected into familiar lore. I even tried to take a picture or two of them so I could remember my fascination, but my camera was not so fortunate, in that it was blind to these quiet lights.
We found our way into the quiet hamlet / capital city of Hobart around 9:00pm, and headed just north to a little Italian restaurant where we met the remnants of the wedding party and their friends just in time for a dessert coffee. Yes, I drank a latte. We discussed the possibilities for the next day, and determined that we would ultimately part ways, as they would head to Russell Falls, and Artie and I would head for Port Arthur.
We took Bronwin, Kirsten, and Rebekah back to the motel, where they had kindly arranged for a room for us, and we sat around chatting about the weekend events until about midnight, when we all turned in. They had also been kind enough to turn our heater on for us, which was a wonderful kindness, as the evening (okay the island) had a chill to it.
The next morning, the group of us (Artie, Bronwin, Kirsten, Rebekah, and me) met up with Olaf and a few other folks for breakfast, where Kirsten chatted with my grandmother and soaked up a true American Southern accent (I don’t know if she actually paid attention to the conversation she was so enamored with the southern drawl). One chai tea latte later, we separated. Artie and I spent a little time exploring Hobart and filling out postcards before heading southeast toward Port Arthur, armed with the instructions that it was best to head all the way to Port Arthur first, and make other stops on the way back as time permitted.
Port Arthur was a prison for most of its colonial history, and was based on the idea that prisoners could be reformed by providing them with opportunities to train, learn a trade, and earn an honest wage. The court of public opinion eventually turned against it, but it initially helped (as all prison colonies did) in establishing the infrastructure and trade that would pave the way for future colonial settlement. We took tours of various areas (and took a picture in front of the Accountant’s House), including a small cruise by the Isle of the Dead, where they buried people based on social status either higher or lower on the island. We also stopped briefly there for some lunch, where I had a Shepherd’s Pie, and Artie had a pumpkin soup.
From there, we headed back to a few natural sights, primarily sandstone objects that were in various stages of erosion from the pounding sea. I had to take the opportunity to step in the water, which is cold, very cold.
Finally, we darted back up the coastline and back toward Hobart, where we jumped on the airplane and rounded completed our trip with the relatively short flight back to Melbourne.
This trip held a number of “almosts” – almost missing the boat, almost seeing Cradle Mountain, almost seeing Wineglass Bay, almost making it for dinner with friends, almost going to Russell Falls, almost running out of gas, and so on. However, we did more than “almost” have a good time.
1 comment:
You really live up to your middle name. You should your stories down more often. Somebody just might publish them.
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