a place on the water...albeit borrowed

morning walk along Lauderdale Bay 

Tasmania is great for walking

"old stuff" is valued here

view from my borrowed place on the water

which I have all to myself

except for a few friendly locals

it's hard to move from here

but eventually I go off exploring

and meet some more locals

and eat some amazing local produce

and look at old buildings

in a number of cute old towns

like the town of murals

and one that is "tidy"

it's great driving weather

I've arrived at Stanley

and decide to stay overnight in this cute b and b overlooking the water

it's great for walking

so I check out the "nut"

and the historic cottages

and wake up to a glorious sunrise

before heading back for Hobart's Salamanca markets 

It was just a taste...but Tasmania has lots to come back for

The first “boyfriend” I ever had was my cousin David.

When we were little we used to hang out at my grandparents’ house and play for hours. I was a tomboy then, and very competitive, climbing trees and shooting arrows. Years later David showed me the scar on his shoulder that he still carried from one of my attacks.

Liz was another cousin I was close to, with a similar spirit and love of adventure. David’s Dad and Liz’s Dad were twin brothers. Both uncles died young, leaving behind wives and small children, the tragedy of their early deaths haunting the whole family for years and sadly for reasons I still don’t fully understand, our families became estranged from that time on and we cousins didn’t play together anymore.

David moved away when his Mum remarried and didn’t want to stay in touch, (a rejection I still find painful given how close we used to be) but Liz and I stayed connected, coming together from time to time, when life permitted, or at family funerals, bound by kinship and a shared “black sheep of the family” label, that we both rejected and embraced in equal measure.

For some years she has been living in Tasmania, a place I have never visited, but is on my “list”. She invites me to stay and when she tells me she is right on the water, I need no second invitation.

I am thinking about the past and the family secrets of my childhood when the 737 is on final approach into Hobart airport, coming in across the water. The plane is being buffeted by strong winds and when the wings dip I can see the angry water below. When the plane hits the runway at speed and finally comes to a stop, I realise I have been holding my breath.

Liz is someone you notice. She has a big presence and a big heart. As we drive towards Hobart and start to talk, the years disappear. It is good to have someone who has witnessed who you were and have become.

Her place “on the water” is a dream come true. I can hear the waves, look out across the water to a darkening sky and smell the seaweed knowing that with a few short steps I am on a pristine sandy beach.

I settle in on my own, on her comfortable bright red lounge with a book and listen to the storm percolating outside and when I wake the next morning, for the first time in years I know that I have been dreaming.

Tasmania is full of surprises.

It is much bigger and more diverse than I expected. You need to allow longer for driving than the estimated times, as much because the roads wind and curve over and around mountains, and through undulating valleys, as that there are so many interesting places to stop along the way and the drives are so scenic and picturesque that you want to take your time to appreciate the changing views.

I spend a few days exploring the heart shaped isle, travelling up the East coast to St Helen’s, across to beautiful Stanley (my favourite place, with its historic cottages and sweeping water views from its windswept “nut”) and then through the North West forests south to Strahan before driving through the famous Franklin-Gordon region back to Hobart.

I try some local produce along the way; a mellow pinot noir, double cream cheeses, pasties with organic ingredients made from decades old secret recipes, plump berries and the best freshly shucked oysters (a dozen at St Helen’s and another at Barilla Bay).

Back in Hobart, the famous Saturday Salamanca market in Hobart is a bit “ho hum”. Perhaps I have been spoiled with all my travels overseas, but the best bit is breakfast, a good coffee and reading the Weekend Australian from cover to cover while tourists and locals mingle in the colourful stalls and a scruffy bagpipe player busks outside.

I know there is so much more to see; Bruny island and the Huonville area, historic and tragic Port Arthur and the miles and miles of walking trails through its vast National parks, but somehow I am all travelled out. I decide to spend my last few days listening to the waves at Lauderdale, soaking up the energy and colours and sounds and feel of this idyllic place before heading back to Sydney.    

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