Tasmania - Days Five and Six - Washing Machines and Berry Farms

Today we travelled to Swansea, a beautiful little seaside village on the east coast of Tasmania.  We were booked into “Swansea Cottages”, a delightful holiday village where we stayed in a tastefully decorated and homely cottage.  We even had our own washing machine, which after five days of travelling, was hugely welcomed!

We were staying here for three nights, so we decided to venture on down to the local supermarket for food.  We had a BBQ that night, spoiled only by our neighbours - two little boys who insisted on standing in front of the BBQ and pulling strange faces at us.  Maggie was horrified, but Alice told them in no uncertain terms that they weren’t being very nice.  I just told them to go away.  I thought they might cause trouble for us later on, but they ended up being very sweet indeed.  On our last day there, Alice refused to leave until she had said goodbye to them!

The following day we went to visit “Kate’s Berry Farm”.  We’d heard about this place - freshly grown berries and a good, old-fashioned country welcome!  Well, maybe we were there on a bad day because none of the staff seemed terribly interested in making us feel welcome.  I must add that there were many tourists there at that time, and their behaviour was not something they’d be keen to write home to Mum about.   So I guess maybe Kate and company weren’t feeling all that welcoming.  Twice, I got pushed in front of as I was lining up to order ice cream and coffee.  I was distinctly unimpressed, but I must say, the ice cream made up for it.  Maggie and Alice were a bit shocked by the presence of real fruit in their ice cream, and were so traumatised by it, they couldn’t eat any more.  So I had a lovely coffee, and two strawberry ice creams in cones.

We were now a bit over the fresh fruit and bad manners, so decided to leave Kate and the pusher-inners to their own devices.   Our experience there had left us in need of some reviving, so we decided it was time to check out some Tasmanian wineries.  Now as much as I enjoy a glass or three of the red stuff, I’m certainly no expert on wines.  But I will say respectfully, that I don’t believe the Tasmanians do wine as well as the South Australians.  We did buy a bottle, just to be polite, and asked the lady how to get to Wineglass Bay.  She gave us directions, but did say that it involved a lot of walking and it can be a bit tricky for kids.  She also said it was “snakey”.  We didn’t know if that meant there were lots of snakes around or whether it was a windy track, but regardless, we didn’t end up going.  Instead we went as far as Coles Bay, which was pretty damn beautiful.

Eventually we got back to our cottage and decide that, even though it’s New Years Eve, we’re either too tired, too old, or just don’t care much about it, so we’re all in bed and snoring by about 10.30 pm!

Tasmania - Day Four - Port Arthur

The Port Athur Historic Site was a place I’d wanted to visit for as long as I can remember.  I’d always thought of it as a sad, depressing place with a tragic past.  Having now seen it, I still think the same.  I was astonished by the feelings I had, just walking through the ruins.  I tried to imagine the despair and the fear felt by many of the inmates so long ago, but it’s hard when the sun is shining and there are happy people with cameras walking around.

We started off on a guided tour, but what we really wanted was to go off on our own and explore for ourselves.  I’ve never been one for guided tours, and it was a bit hard for a 6 year old and 4 year old to sustain that level of attention for very long.  We waited until the guide and the rest of the group moved on, then we snuck off behind the ruins of the Penitentiary.

The Penitentiary is an amazing place.  Although there’s not much of it left, and what is left is held up by scaffolding, it’s still staggering to just walk along and get a feeling of how it may have been when filled with convicts.  There were tiny cells on the ground floor.  These were used to house the worst criminals.  Upstairs were dormitories, kitchens, libraries and a reading room.  (I have a book from the Port Arthur Reading Room, which I bought many years ago at an Antique Fair;  I was so excited to be standing in the very place it came from.)

We moved onto the ruins of the Church.  Unbelievable.  Destroyed by a fire in 1884, all that was left were the walls.  But there were lovely little white flowers growing that seemed to add an element of sweetness to it.  Maggie and Alice decided to play a game they called “Princesses and Queens”.  It seemed just the right setting for it.  I felt a huge sense of reverence in the Church, almost like I was tresspassing and had no business being there.

We came across a place called the Separate Prison.  This was where new arrivals were first sent.  If anyone misbehaved, they were sent to the Punishment Cell, a tiny room where they were kept in completed darkness and fed only bread and water.  Just near this were the exercise yards.  Again, only rows of bricks left now, but this was where they were allowed out to exercise for just one hour a day.  Somehow, I don’t think weight gain would have been much of an issue for them.

We hadn’t allowed enough time for Port Arthur and had to leave without having seen so much.  I’ll never forget the place and I’ll be back as soon as my ticket of leave expires.

We went to a Wildlife Park just down the road.  We were keen to see a Tassie Devil.  Unfortunately it was going to cost us around $60 to get in.  It was late in the day and the park was only remaining open for less than an hour.  Try as we might, we couldn’t get the lady in charge to let us in for free or a discounted rate, so we left, hoping to find a cheaper place we could see a Devil.

Unfortunately we did see one on the side of the road, but he wasn’t doing any tricks for us.

Tasmania - Day Three - Beer, Old Buildings and Roadkill

One thing we were hugely keen to see in Launceston, was the Boag’s Beer Factory.  Anyone worth their hops and barley knows that Boag’s Beer is well-established in Tasmania.  You can’t stagger down any street without seeing a Boag’s Draught, or Boag’s Lager or some such sign as large as day, staring you right in the face.  We were keen on this for two reasons: (1) We love beer; (2) My maiden name is Boag.  Try as hard as I have all these years, I’m yet to find conclusive proof that we’re related to each other, but I’ll keep looking. 

We declined to go on the tour of the brewery.  It would spoil our holiday no end if one of the kids fell into a fermentation tank.  Instead, we checked out the “Centre for Beer Lovers”, located across the road from the brewery, and housed in what was once the Tamar Hotel.  The Centre is on 3 levels.  The ground level is a shop.  The upper 2 levels are a museum, detailing the history of the Boag’s Factory, and lots of pictures and displays of brewery stuff.  It just so happened that a group of tourists had just been touring the brewery and were now over at the Centre, sampling a brew or two.  They were all looking very impressed, but I resisted the urge to tell them they were standing in the presence of a person who was quite possibly related to the Boags, because, well, I’m not really one to seek out attention.  Also, it’s not positively true.  And I’m not one to lie.

We eventually left Launceston, full of new-found enthusiasm for beer and me seriously considering going back to my maiden name.  We drove through Richmond, where Australia’s oldest bridge is located.   Built by the convicts in 1823, to bridge the distance between Port Arthur and Hobart.  Richmond is such a picturesque town.  Beautiful, and old.  Older than old.  I even saw a horse and buggy taking people for rides.  You can’t help but be entranced by the clip-clopping and the sound of the huge wheels turning.  You can almost see Lizzie Bennett skipping gaily down the street, browsing in shops for ribbons to impress Mr Darcy.

 We continued on to our home for the next two days - the Lufra Hotel in Eaglehawk Neck.  I’d read somewhere that a famous person (whose name I unfortunately can’t think of at the moment), called the Lufra Hotel “the hotel with the best view in the world”.  It is.   Right on the beach with a wide, blue ocean ahead; nothing to distract you except the need to refill your wine glass.  Our apartment was new - brand new.  So new, the workmen were still there when we arrived.   When we finally got inside, I was gobsmacked!  I felt like I’d stepped into the pages of “Much Better Homes and Gardens”.   A balcony with a 5 piece outdoor setting, bedding that looked much too gorgeous to sleep on, the softest towels ever, carpet that your feet literally sunk into, everything modern that opens and shuts, and best of all - wall-mounted TVs in both bedrooms and the lounge area!  I decided that I could quite happily remain encased in here for the rest of our holiday.  Never mind the view outside.  Check out the inside!  There was however, one small thing that concerned me.  There was a smallish hole in the bathroom ceiling, about halfway between the shower and the toilet.  I hoped fervently that the workmen had merely forgotten that bit, and that there really weren’t people secretly filming me and about to premiere me on youtube!

 We headed off for a drive to see some local rock formations, and started to notice the inordinate numbers of dead animals on the side of the road.  They are everywhere in Tasmania.  The one place we never saw any was a section of road where there were intermittent signs showing a picture of a wallaby bouncing off the front of a car.  Well I guess the animals in Tassie understand what this means, because this seems to be the only part of the state where they don’t get hit by cars!

We arrived at a rock formation called “The Blowhole”.  Now I’ve seen a few blowholes in my time, and whilst they’re rather interesting, they’re all pretty much the same.  So then we moved on to “Tasman Arch”.  Now this was a rock formation!  Over the years, the waves have eroded the softer rock, leaving the stronger top layers, to form an arch.  “The Devil’s Kitchen” was formed by a similar process, and it’s said that if Tasman Arch ever collapses, it will become a Devil’s Kitchen.  Apparently these formations were created about 250 million years ago.  It was stunning.  The only person who was disappointed was Maggie.  Her expectation of the Devil’s Kitchen involved Tasmanian Devils showing off their culinary skills.  I think she was slightly saddened to see “boring old rocks”.

Ah well, you can’t please everyone.

Tasmania - Day Two - En route to Launceston

On our way from the ship to our motel room, we noticed a children’s playground right by the beach.  Now Maggie and Alice can sniff a playground out from 100 kilometres away, so we knew there was no escaping it.   The next morning, we grabbed a newspaper, bought two lattes, and drove to the playground, thinking that we could have a pleasant morning sitting in the sun drinking and reading, while the girls played happily.

However, this playground, being near a beach was a totally different story.  It’s funny how playgrounds fade into insignificance when there’s sand and sea water close by.  All the girls wanted to do was roll up their jeans and paddle in the ocean.  Okay, so as I’m watching them to make sure no-one drowns or gets carried out to sea by a rogue wave, I notice a group of very handsome men in the water.  (Well I say handsome but I couldn’t see their faces because they were too far away.  But their shape was certainly very handsome.)  Six of them, with the water bouncing right off their bulging muscles.  I wonder if I should do something spontaneous, like jump into the water right near them.  But then I realise I’m still wearing all my clothes, plus my black winter coat, and that I’d most likely look rather silly doing that.  So instead I just gaze at them, but for some reason, none of them seem to notice me.

We tell the girls that it’s time to leave and after much whining and wailing, they trudge unwillingly to the car.  Just as we’re driving away, the six muscley men come out of the water and onto the beach.  Damn!  If only we’d stayed a couple of minutes extra I could have struck up a conversation with a strikingly good-looking man, instead of sitting in a car with two wet, bedraggled youngsters who have sand stuck in every orifice of their body.

From here we drove on to Launceston, and arrived just in time for lunch.  Lunchtime in downtown Launceston is not for the faint-hearted.  There are people everywhere, too many cafes to choose from, and too many people in all of them.  We hurriedly make our choices and find a secluded park bench to eat at.  (Secluded, meaning propped in a side alley and slightly away from the tide of pedestrians.)  Although we’re in holiday mode, I realise it’s only the 27th December, and some people actually work between Christmas and New Year.  I snigger to myself smugly, knowing that the hardest work I’ll have to do all week will be to figure out how to work the DVD player at the apartment we’ll be staying in.

Aah, it’s a hard life for some.

Tasmania - Day One

Okay, so I’m not writing this as it happens, but that’s because I had no internet access while I was away.  So I’ll remember as best as I can, and endeavour to give you a day-by-day description of our fantastic Tasmanian holiday.

We began by lining up with about 10,000 or so other cars waiting to board the “Spirit of Tasmania”, the ship which runs daily and nightly between Melbourne and Devonport.  As we inched closer and closer, an official looking man told us to go to the side car park and wait.  We waited for close to an hour and had nothing to do except answer Alice’s constant questions of “Are we in Tasmania yet?”

Finally it was our turn.  Back on track again, and so close I could almost smell the sea water and feel the sea breeze on my face.  But no, we were stopped again.  This time by another official looking man wearing a jacket that said SECURITY in big black letters (just so we knew how important he was).   He asked us if we were carrying any food, fruit or firearms, and wanted to look in our boot and under our bonnet.  These official looking people were everywhere and I was starting to feel a bit like Schapelle Corby at the airport in Bali.  Finally they let us go, and we dutifully set off in the direction they pointed us in.  We lined up at last, having satisfied the SECURITY that we were not intending to shoot anyone or bring any diseased fruit into Tasmania.

We made our way to our cabin, dropped our bags and headed out onto the deck to wave goodbye to Melbourne.  Unfortunately, everybody else had much the same idea, so it was very hard to see anything at all, except the back of people’s heads.

There’s lots to do on the Spirit of Tasmania.  Several bars, a cafe, a restaurant, a children’s playroom (which the girls were decidedly unimpressed with), a shop and lots of TV screens at various points.  We listened to a band up on Deck 9, which Maggie and Alice danced to, much to the delight of the audience.  (Well they clapped, so I assume they were delighted).

We arrived in Devonport about 6.30 pm and were amazed to see how close in the ship gets.  We were so close to land, you could almost have jumped out of your cabin window and landed in the street.  No-one did though.  From the Mersey River, Devonport looks like the most quaint, lovely little seaside town.  As soon as I saw it, I wanted to live there.  So did Alice, because the first thing she saw was a McDonalds.

When we finally got to our cars and drove off the ship, we were in what appeared to be a giant car park.  Hundreds of cars, just sitting there.  But no, it was no car park.  These were all the cars that had come off the ship.  And we all had to go through Quarantine.  There were 5 rows of cars.  We were in the second last row.  We waited a long time.  Once more, the SECURITY people asked us if we were carrying any food, fruit or firearms.  Eventually we satisfied them that the most dangerous thing we carried was a pink fluffy Care Bear, and they let us continue.  However we were stopped yet again, this time by a happy, smiling lady who handed us a plastic bag full of brochures and information about things to do in Tasmania.  - A nice touch.

We drove excitedly through the streets of Devonport, soaking up the beautiful old buildings that were all around.  Eventually we found our way to our motel.  It wasn’t old; it wasn’t beautiful, but it was clean, and it was only for one night.  We looked for somewhere to grab a bite to eat, and found a gorgeous Irish Pub, complete with a lady sitting at the bar, speaking in the most charming Irish accent.  I like to think she’d been placed there especially for our benefit.

 The day had been long, and we had 8 more of them ahead of us, so we finished up, went back to our motel, and readied ourselves for the next day.

I’m dreaming of a White Christmas….

22nd of December - and it’s raining.  Well, not just raining.  It’s bucketing!  Then it stops for twenty or so minutes, and begins again.  And again.  And again. 

It’s also freezing.  Well, not just freezing.  One could say, glacial.  And windy.  A bracing, blustery wind.  In December. 

And the weather bureau says there’s the possibility of snow in the Alps.

I’ve always wanted to experience a white Christmas.  Ever since it snowed during our first winter here, and I fully expected to see reindeer prancing past the window.  But like most of Australia, every Christmas is sweltering.  We drive to our family get-togethers with the air-conditioning as high as it will go, and spend the day eating too much, drinking not enough, and shooeing flies away.  Then we drive back home, gossiping about Cousin Belinda’s new boyfriend, or how Uncle Trevor always drinks too much and Auntie Beryl never seems happy.

Just once, I’d like to spend Christmas Day in front of a cosy fire, decked out in a horribly unfashionable but warm woollen jumper, while the snow falls down around me.

 Maybe next year.

Softer, Dora, Softer!

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not one of those mothers who sit their children in front of the TV all day long.  I confess I do sometimes strongly encourage them to move in the general direction of the TV, which coincidentally just happens to be already switched on and tuned to the kid’s channel, at just the time when their favourite show is about to start.

But I don’t do that every day.  I only do it when there are things I just have to get done, or the prospect of playing Barbie dolls for the eighth time today is just too much for me to deal with.  (And I can’t play with Barbie without getting insanely jealous of her long and shapely legs!)

So when I’ve picked up Alice from pre-school and she says “Mummy, can I please watch Dora?”, I quickly realise that the smart thing to do is smile sweetly, put on an expression of thoughtful concern, and answer “Of course honey.”

At last I can do the washing, the dishes, the vaccuuming, the beds, the ……

“Mummy, will you watch it with me?”

“Oh.  Um…well…alright.  I’d love to.”  This is not turning out as expected.

So we put Dora into the DVD player.  Today’s episode is about going to the beach.  Within a minute and a half of the opening credits, I’m not coping so well.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but Dora has an extremely grating voice.  If she was friends with one of my kids, I’d be packing up and moving to the South Pole.

So today, Dora says “How do we get to the Beach?”  She waits politely for an answer.  “Say Map” she says.  “Louder” she says, a little forcefully, in my opinion.  Next, along comes a rolled up Map, complete with eyes, a nose and a mouth, and a basic drawing of some yellow hills, a blue wooden path and the beach beyond.  

“Dunes, Boardwalk, Beach” becomes the catch-cry for the next twenty minutes.  “Dunes, Boardwalk, Beach”  “Dunes, Boardwalk, Beach” with intermittent cries from Dora of ”Louder!”  At some point, along comes Swiper.  Swiper is a fox, intended, I guess to show that life is not all sunbathing and splashing in the water.  Dora tells us to keep an eye out for Swiper.  When he finally appears on the scene, Dora and Boots (her little monkey friend) begin a chant ”Swiper, no swiping!  Swiper, no swiping! Swiper, no swiping!”  Knowing he doesn’t stand a chance with the commanding Dora against him, Swiper mutters “Oh Man” and runs away.  I don’t see why Swiper is the bad guy.  I think he’s rather cute, even with his balaclava over his eyes.

On this occasion, Boots had received a floatie from Dora’s backpack.  Speaking of backpacks, there’s another adventure in commando-style entertainment.  “Say backpack” says Dora.  “Louder!” she says.  Oh God, why can’t this kid be content with saying things normally?  So anyway, Boots has got his floatie around his waist, and the beach is in sight.  “Tell us if you see Swiper” says Dora.  (Yes Dora, we wouldn’t dare not to.)  Right on cue, Swiper appears, and despite being confronted with the “Swiper, no swiping!” warning, he grabs Boots’ floatie and throws it onto a nearby shelf full of similiar looking beach toys.

“Oh no!” bemoans Dora.  “How will we ever find Boots’ floatie up there?”  (Well I’m sure you’ll find a way Dora.)  “We’ll need your help” she yells (and yes, I mean yells).  She finds a couple of items, including an inflatable snake that co-incidentally has exactly the same pattern as the missing floatie.  Finally she locates it, and Boots and Dora are back on track.  They kick off their shoes (or boots) and run toward the water yelling “ow, ow, ow, ow”.  The hot sand is no match for Dora.  At last, they’ve made it!

As for me, I think I need a lie down and an aspirin.

Happy Birthday Jane!

Austen, that is.  Jane Austen.

I confess I’m a Janeite from way back, and the fact that today is her birthday makes me want to walk through the English countryside like Lizzie Bennett, or sit in my front room and take tea or play at cards.

 Happy Birthday Jane.  To celebrate, I think I’ll go and re-read Persuasion.

December Goals

Okay, I know the month is half over, but it’s been a bit hectic.  So, this month, I’m going to:

• do some freewriting every day;
• try a short story (something which I haven’t done for close to 15 years);
• get stuck back into my Two-Act Play;
• work on some creative writing prompts.

I recently saw a documentary on the ABC about some woman writer, whose name I can’t remember.  It told how she and her husband went off to live in the hills above Spain, or somewhere equally exotic.  And they both used to write.  For a living.  All day.  Just sit and write.  How’s that?  Even more amazing is this.  They had kids.  They had kids, and still they found time to write.  Every day.  I just don’t get it.  Am I just making excuses as to why I’m not writing much?  Or did they just have incredibly understanding children who knew to stay away when Mummy and Daddy were writing?

Interesting.  So anyway, as I watched this documentary, I thought “why can’t my life be like that?”  And then I thought “well it could be.  Why don’t you just write?”  But I worry that I’m not talented enough.  I worry that I’m not clever enough.  I worry that I’m not good enough.

I worry too much.

We won!

The Gippsland Associated Theatre Awards were held this past weekend and we scooped the pool, winning 4 out of the 5 awards we were nominated for.  We won Most Outstanding Production, Most Outstanding Director, Most Outstanding Lead Actor and Most Outstanding Support Actor, all for our recent production of Frank McGuiness’ “Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me”.

A wonderful night, despite the fact that I had to step well and truly out of my comfort zone to get up on stage and make a speech!