Australia - Day 3 - Tasmania

12/27/16, “Tasmania”

Hobart, Tasmania, Australia

Today was supposed to be just a footnote of this trip, secondary to the trip’s main purposes of setting foot on the continent, visiting the two Olympic Stadiums, seeing the Great Barrier Reef, and ringing in the New Year in Sydney.  Instead, today became an epic adventure that will likely be overshadowed only by my time in Sydney.  When the reckoning comes, surely today will be remembered as the most interesting day of the trip.

When I wrote from Melbourne the first night, I noted that that was not the urban Australia I had pictured in my mind, though most of the pictures of Australia in my mind were of the rugged outback.  Well, today, after driving 8 hours across 575 klicks through Tasmania, I have found that rugged outback.  I have experienced the natural and cultural beauty I had been expecting out of Australia.  The Great Barrier Reef and Sydney will be unique in their own ways, but this was the classic Australia I had in my mind, and it is a day that I will never forget.

I am now smoking my 2007 Christmas Pipe, and, though Hobart is an unassuming dateline, the story that will accompany it provides good companionship to those that can accompany Ottawa, Budapest, the first night aboard the Corinthian, and Beijing, the other places I have smoked the 2007 Christmas Pipes during my Christmas trips.  Hell, the story that accompanied the Liverpool is of that level, too.  Okay, I have a lot to recount, so I better get to it.

After I closed, I published and posted my photos before heading down to my seat.  I slept fitfully throughout the night.  At one point when I woke up, I, for the first time, started to question the merit of today’s plan.  When I was fully awake, I realized that I had made a major miscalculation or had failed to consider it properly.  My route, as I mentioned above, would take 8 hours and 575 klicks.  My plan was to hire a driver to take me around.  Somehow, in my head, I was expecting that to cost an order of magnitude less than it would actually cost.  This was not a viable plan at all, and I was furious with myself for making such a bad plan.  Usually when I fuck up, it’s in the execution.  Yes, sometimes I create an impossibly tight schedule for myself, but this was different.  I tried to think what I was missing now that I had thought of earlier, but I couldn’t think of anything.

A little before 6 AM, I was fully awake, and I changed into my suit before getting breakfast (various meat-filled pastries) and a flat white.  After breakfast, I went to the ship’s tourist desk.  I had in my mind an upper bound I was willing to pay, and that was a hard upper bound.  Any more than that, and I would forget my master plan and just take public transportation to Hobart.  She told me that the taxi would cost at least double or triple my upper bound.  That was not an option.  She gave me the number for some private tour guides, and we also discussed what I will now call “Plan B”, even though it should have been “Plan A”.  That was renting a car.

That should have been my plan all along, and I should have had a reservation, rather than first thinking about this at 4 AM, two hours before landing at Devonport.  She thought it was not a safe bet that the rental companies would have anything available.  I was not worried about driving on the left, as, I believe, after today, I have actually done more driving on the left than on the right this year.  Certainly, if you only count solo driving, that is the case.  Two trips to Britain, Jamaica, and now this trip.  The private drivers were only doing organized tours to Cradle Mountain, which would take way too long for my grand plan, so that was a no go. 

We soon disembarked, and I headed to the terminal.  Of the four car rental agencies, one was closed, two were booked, and the fourth, Budget, had cars.  She assured me that driving here would be rough but much easier than Jamaica.  I was satisfied.  We made my reservation, and then I learned that it was a manual.  No, I can’t drive stick.  She rearranged some stuff in her system and was able to give me a compact automatic.  That would do.  I was all set.

My first destination was the Cradle Mountain area of the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Site, the inscription spot.  As I drove, listening to Moana and La La Land and smoking a Graycliff followed by a Nub, I was amazed by the scenery.  Yes, at last, this was the Australia I had been picturing.  It looked more like Africa than anywhere in Europe or the Americas.  This was the rugged outback, indeed.

I soon arrived at the VC, and, since it was so early, it was relatively empty, but I knew it would not remain that way.  I showed the ranger the inscription photo, and she told that I would probably not be able to see it due to the overcast.  She knew where the spot was, though, if I wanted to try.  I asked her how far the drive was.  No, I couldn’t drive there.  It was a 3-hour hike.  That wasn’t happening, certainly not for a maybe.  She said I could see the mountain from Crater Lake if the clouds cleared.  I could drive there, and there were hiking trails.  Okay, that would work.  I got my souvenirs and drove the 20 minutes to Crater Lake.  It, too, was pretty empty.  The view from the lake was not much to behold, but I went on my hike, nonetheless, hoping for the best.

It was still clearly the Tasmanian Wilderness, so I claimed the WHS the moment I lit up my H. Upmann.  I went on my hike, in my suit, with my cigar, as is my wont.  It was a glorious hike, and the scenery along the trail was unreal.  Yes, this was certainly the proper Tasmanian wilderness.  I ended my hike at a place called Wombat Pool (or perhaps Wombat Poo, as the signs said, if they were not vandalized to say that), which was absolutely serene.  I turned around and headed back to the car park.  When I got there, all the tour groups had just arrived, and it was packed.

I made my way back to the entrance, stopping at the interpretative center to take my picture with the Plaque, followed by the Tasmanian Devil viewing center, which was exactly what it sounds like.  It was a miniature zoo, filled with Tasmanian Devils.  Somehow, that seemed to be the most popular site with my friends who saw my videos.  I stopped at the VC again to use the Wi-Fi before hitting the road.  It was Avril Lavinge’s “Let Go” and an Aurora this time.

Hunger was starting to become a serious issue after the cigar, and I couldn’t find any place to eat on the road.  Eventually, I found a little garden villa with a café.  I sat outside and ordered a glass of local red, along with their local seafood basket (shrimp and salmon, plus imported scallops).  This would be first Official meal in Tasmania, and it was heavenly.  After lunch, I lit up a Camacho and weant back to the movie soundtracks.  I followed the Camacho with an LFD.  It was a straight shot from lunch to my next stop, Port Arthur, a 3-hour drive, stopping only for gas.

The old Penitentiary at Port Arthur was the inscription spot for the WHS called Australian Convict Sites, which to my readers who remember their history books, is, by far, Australia’s most interesting cultural WHS.  To my readers who do not, the penal colonies played a pivotal role in Britain’s development of the colony of Australia.  This WHS protects what remains of those penal colonies.  I expected Port Arthur to just be a photo op, but it was huge.  It was more like Williamsburg than the photo op I expected.  I lit up a Vegas Robaina and headed down to find the spot where the inscription photo was taken.  It was right by the VC, which was completely bustling and served as a gateway from the car park to the historic site.  I took my ceremonial picture and then explored a little.  I was completely overwhelmed by how massive it was.

I left my cigar underneath a bench and went inside the pen, which was not as well-preserved on the inside as it was on the outside.  My cigar was still it when I retrieved, so I walked around some more before calling it quits.  I now had a bit of a dilemma.  The only way to get to the car park was through the VC, and I could not bring my cigar through the VC.  I looked all around for another entrance, but I couldn’t find one.  I did, however, find a solution.  There was an opening in the fence that had a ledge.  I could leave the cigar on that ledge, and I would be able to access that ledge again from the other side.

I did exactly that.  I got my souvenirs and then went to retrieve my cigar, which had gone out by then.  I relit my cigar, and it was, again, a straight shot to Hobart, stopping only for gas.  When I rented the car at Devonport, they told me I could drop the car off after-hours at Hobart.  When I arrived at the Budget at Hobart, I saw no way to leave my key, so I will have to deal with it the morning.  I left my car across the street from Budget and took the short, 5-minute walk to my hotel.

When I got to the hotel, I learned that reception was closed and the front door locked (it was only 8 PM), but they had a procedure for that, which involved a lock box with everyone’s key.  That hardly seemed like a good idea, but I found mine and went up to my room to drop off my suitcase.  Parliament was a short walk from my hotel, and that was the last piece of the puzzle I needed to say “Tasmania Complete.”  I could get the souvenirs in the morning, but I wanted to say “Tasmania Complete.”

I took my ceremonial picture in front of Parliament and then headed back to the hotel.  I now needed to think about dinner as it was almost 8 hours since lunch.  I looked at Tripadvisor and picked a new, trendy restaurant called Rockwall.  The menu looked fantastic, and it was a 10-minute walk from my hotel, just past Parliament.  I changed into more casual clothes and grabbed whatever I need for smokes and electronics for the night.

When I got there, it was packed.  The hostess (co-owner?) told me that they could have a table for me in 5-10 minutes.  After what seemed like an eternity but was actually only 20 minutes, they sat me.  With some help from the waiter, I ordered well.  I got a local beer, rock lobster pate appetizer, and their signature coffee-rubbed eye fillet steak, along with chips (fries).  The meal was fantastic, and I deserved a good meal after this intense day.

A piece of advice for my readers.  Australia has some great restaurants.  I have eaten as well so far on this trip as I have had on any trip, and the good (as in good quality food, not as in fancy) restaurants are in the same price range as the bad ones and not significantly more expensive than takeout or cafes.  If you go to Australia, do your research, rely on sites like Tripadvisor, and you’ll eat very well.

After dinner, I headed back towards Parliament and filled up my 2007 Christmas Pipe and lit in the garden.  Sitting in the garden would not afford me a good picture for my establishing shot, though, so, instead, I sat down in the parking lot, with my back against the curb, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get back to my hotel and publish and also post some photos.  Today was a crazy intense day, but tomorrow will be a dead day, so I guess it evens out.