Capital City.... (Tasmania)

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My first opinion of Hobart reminded me a lot of the outskirts of the area I had been living in, near Yellingbo. The suburbs gave the impression of a shanty town built in a woodland, very green. Even the city itself was broken up by trees and vegetation, parks and grass. The bus didn't drop us where the transit centre was marked up my Lonely Planet book. There was however a very nice gentleman in the Redline coach office that gave me very accurate directions as to where I needed to go. I found my way there easily, stepped into the Tourist Information Centre and set myself up on a table with my LP guide and a large map, marking all the POI. 3 ladies in turn asked if I needed any help and it wasn't until the third that I had finished getting my bearings. I explained that I was there for 4 days and needed to incorporate Port Arthur and Mt. Wellington. My trips booked for my visit I asked directions to the Pickled Frog, the lady called and booked me in there and then and gave me directions. I thanked her and set off.

The Frog was hard to miss. The bright green exterior made this old fashioned building look jealous of the slightly newer ones around. Inside there was a large communal area at reception and the staff were amazing. After dropping my bag upstairs I returned to reception and spent then evening having a few beers and chatting with the workers who instantly made you feel at home. The contrast from the unsociable Lloyd's staff was amazing and I instantly knew I had made the right choice.

I didn't put it in my previous post about Lloyd's but I had a pang of loneliness whilst staying there, people partying below and I was in a tired unsocial mood upstairs with my book. It was the first time that I thought I SHOULD be doing something to fit in with what my idea of being a backpacker was rather than just doing what I wanted which was to just kick back and relax.

There I met Becca, also from England and we got on instantly. She told me that she and her friends were going to the Salamanca Market in the morning and I was welcome to tag along. Once Becca had left I decided to have a wash and turn in for the night, I bought a cheap razor from reception and went Barber of Baker Street on my neck. Satisfied that I had taken just enough skin off I turned in for the night, stinging. The market was brilliant, it stretched from the harbour all the way up and out of the pedestrianised area with stalls for everything from hats to food, ornaments to musical instruments. One stall was occupied with an artist that was painting and sketching beautiful pictures however their pious incantations and Bible quotes ruined them for me. I found some T shirts I liked at the top of the market and planned on heading back up once I have some cash. After viewing all the stalls, having some food and saying goodbye to Becca's friends we popped to a book shop where I bought The Angels Game (prequel to Shadow of The Wind which is brilliant). We sat in the park to catch some rays and turn some pages until the gay pride parade descended on Hobart. To this day I don't quite understand what Gay and Camp have to do with each other but the parade seemed to send the message that they are one and the same.

I said goodbye to Becca and we arranged to meet up when I got to Sydney. I joined a gentleman on the bench outside the Tourist Information centre, attempted a conversation but was ignored (you guessed it... he was English). The bus came and we jumped on. The first stop was Hobart City lookout, from there you could look out across the whole city, I bailed out and went 'Japanese Tourist' with my phone taking photos of everything. From there we went up to Richmond Cove, the site of the very first settlement before it was moved to a more suitable location. We were given an hour in the village of Richmond for food and sight seeing. This picturesque village was once a key location on the convict trail and the Gaol (Jail in Australian) once housed convict Ikey Solomon, who is said to be the model for Dickens's Fagin. There were two weddings taking place, one at the church, the other at the Richmond Bridge (Australia's oldest) and I think the bright blue/turquoise sky was a good omen to them both.

We also stopped at the Pirates Bay lookout and Eaglehawk Neck, home to the infamous Dog Line. The narrow stretch of land connected the Tasman Peninsula, and the site of Port Arthur, to the rest of Tasmania. The Dog line stretched from one side to the other with barrels for kennels and starved, beaten, viscous dogs on chains to create a near impenetrable line. The Tasman Arch and Devil's kitchen were the site where the sea was beating the land back. Forming bridges and Archways out of the rocks and pulling the debris into its depths. We made it to Port Arthur at around 17:00 and were given 2 hours to explore. The site was incredible, chills were sent down your spine as you thought of how the prisoners lived on a day to day basis and for those who broke the rules there was the 'Special Prison'. For 23 hours a day you were locked in solitary confinement, referred to by number, never your name. Masks were worn at all times so you couldn't communicate with anyone, no one was allowed to talk. The one hour a day you were let out of your cell you were walked to the exercise yard where you were again alone, and silent. For those who further misbehaved the dark cell was the worst form of mental punishment. A room with 3 doors in series and 3 ft thick walls starved its inhabitant of most of their senses. After you've slept and are fully awake minutes seem like hours, hours like days. Its said that after 2 days it can drive a person insane.

The ghost tour in the evening was good fun. Not being the supernatural believer and with what atmosphere there was ruined by flash photography I didn't feel a presence. Although I did enjoy kicking a heavy door with cast iron knocker door mid talk and making everyone jump. The site houses the Parsonage, the second most haunted building in Australia but I think the 'ghosts' had the night off. We returned home by about 1 am and I crawled into my pit to rest for the next day.

The bus picked us up at 7:30 and our trip to Mt. Fields National Park began. Our guide introduced us to some unique forests and plants within the park from tree ferns to the hug eucalypt trees, growing to heights just short of Redwoods in a fraction of the time. We stood inside a toppled tree, stretched out our arms and legs and still couldn't touch the sides... If I wasn't such a gentleman I'd make a Katie Price reference right about now...

The tour continued up to Russell Falls, Tasmania's miniature version of Niagara and further on Horseshoe falls... bet you can't guess what shape it is. Lake Dobson was the next stop and the group were determined to see a Platypus in the wild (we didn't). The water was clean and clear, we were told that in Tasmania's highlands you don't need to carry bottled water, just a cup to dip in and steam, lake or river. We walked around the lake, through the Jurassic park set scenery, re boarded the bus and made tracks to the Something Wild Wildlife Sanctuary.

There we were able to hand feed kangaroos and get up close to the Tasmanian Devils. The Kangaroos spit on or lick their hands constantly (I assume to keep cool) and paw at your hands whilst eating so my hands were brown by the end. One of the workers there told us that the Devils will eat everything, even bone and apparently many a person has wandered into the outback with a tent and a bottle of whiskey only to go missing and nothing ever be found but a ring or something else indigestible. 'You don't have to be dead, just still' the bloke said... nice! The last stop on our list was Mt. Wellington at 1270m above sea level. The road twisted and wound its way up slowly like a giant asphalt fun slide and when we got there the scenery was fantastic. Even though there was a haze in the distance and clouded over you could still see for miles. Again wished I had bought that camera but I think my phone's camera did well enough. Camera or phone, I think it would still be pretty hard to capture the epic view and that rare feeling of insignificance, when you truly think beyond yourself, that only seeing the world in that perspective can stir.

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