Never have we seen so much automotive money in one place at one time. A vast assortment of motorhomes, campers and multifarious caravans all in the cavernous hold of this huge ferry. All heading cheerfully to Devonport. The trip so smooth and civilised, with hardly any sense of being in the heaving Bass Strait. Reflecting as we travelled on how different it must have been for Matthew Flinders, or for that matter, his European predecessor Abel Jansz Tasman who mapped the coastline in 1642. Tasmania is all about history.
One thing to know about Devonport is that it shuts down completely at 8pm. Tourists or no tourists. So if you are off the boat by 7.30pm as we were, then you had better move fast to get dinner, or its Maccas and no gourmet Tasmanian food for you!
Overpriced and underserviced was our introduction to Tasmanian tourism. Our friendly Latrobe motel hostess, after sharing most of her life history with us, and before scolding us for slamming our car doors too loudly, told us we had better find somewhere else for breakfast as she and her husband had paid off their house, and were frankly not fussed about providing breakfast for guests. But Tasmania redeemed itself the next morning because we ended up at Anvers chocolate factory, sitting in a bay window eating croissants, local cheeses and preserves, and drinking huge hot cups of Belgian hot chocolate. Mmm.
No comments:
Post a Comment