On arriving in Tasmania

Australians shorten everything. Breakfast = brekkie. Avocado = avo. Tasmania= Tassie. Tassie is an island south of south Australia. A square sort of thing with Launceton in the north and Hobart in the south. People who live on Tassie, love Tassie. I had been graced with a rough guide from a friend of my friend Carl’s… ( I could actually travel round the world graced with rough guides from friends of Carl’s, but that is another story.) On the strength of this we drove down through the Huon Valley. Leaving behind our modern hotel in Hobart with a jazzy carpet that reminded me of convention center in Birmingham. It was green There were sheep. 

Millions of eucalyptus trees. A fair amount of road kill that was hard to identify but certainly there were a few almost intact kangaroos,and wallabies. The hills rolled, the light was soft. There was this fabulous river that followed us down, wide and blue. Doing my own bit of navigation I took a road that turned into a dirt track alongside water that would eventually became the Tasmanian sea. Stopped at a place called Poverty Point. It felt rich in everything but buildings to me. 

Poverty point. I’ll take the pennies.

People waved at us from their gardens where they were doing something with a spade. Nobody ever looks at you like you are doing anything other than what you were meant to be doing somehow. Down in the south there are fields and fields of apple trees. 

Because this is the land of cider. The King of which down here is “ Willie Smith.” I was always a cider girl. When I went to pubs, which I did when I was younger because everybody else did, I never knew what to drink. I didn’t like beer. I wasn’t a spirits girl and it was before wine entered the world of pub drinking. Mine was a half of cider. Which I would nurse all evening. it was dry and fizzy and packed a punch if you drank too fast or too much. I have drunk about 4 glasses of cider since leaving Britain and they have all disappointed. But let me tell you about Willie Smith’s 2022 sour apple vintage…..Oh yes. Smooth and sharp and tastes like it was made down the road by someone who cares….which it was. 

A half pint of proper cider ,,, be still my beating heart.

All the towns in Tassie were small. There were sheep and barns and shops selling farm equipment. There were small hotels and cafes alongside all the things that people living in a country town would need. Laundrettes, and grocery stores and a shop that I was sure was a hairdressers called “ Tassie Toners,” But no, it was for home office supplies. 

Main Street , Geeveston.

We needed some lunch and we had missed the cafe that was recommended by the friend of Carl’s in a small villlage called Franklin, so we ended up at the place called Geeveston , opposite “ Bears went over the Mountain” and I got the only vegetarian pie and Cynthia , my friend, got a chicken leek and bacon pie.

THE SANDWICH SELECTION

THE PIE SELECTION

MINE

 I had a good time with mine. The pastry was bright and soft and it was filled with lentils and vegetable. Cynthia said hers was missing the leeks and the bacon which was a bit of a let down. The were some women in the cafe with us. One in front, one behind. They were having a conversation about their plans for the day. The woman behind said, “ Are you going to the park? We’re going to the park. Nice day for the park.” The woman in front said “ I’ve got a friend. I’m going to see my friend.” “ Ah well”, the woman behind said. “ There’ll be other nice days.” Geeveston had a Main Street of about 50 feet. At the end of the street was the park. It was a lovely park. Good choice I say.If it is that or the parking. Bring your friend, lady in front.  Best wishes. From lady in the middle.