Day 20: 12 march 2010 En route to Hobart

We farewelled the Boroughs and Freycinet, and headed South for Hobart. The goal was of course, Salamanca Markets, tomorrow.

Its not often you get the chance to see a grape vintage in the process. At Freycinet Winery, just as we pulled up to the tasting room, the shed nearby was busy. Someone was backing up the trailer full of boxes of purple black pinot grapes hand-picked that morning, and others were tossing the contents in a huge vat. These were the first picked of the pinot noir, for sparkling wine, we were told. In a couple of weeks, the rest would be harvested for red wine. Taste them they said, so we did. A tough skin, but surprisingly sweet, raisinny, and very juicy.

Swansea is a tiny coastal town with a big history and lots of national Trust listed buildings. We took the walk to Waterloo Point and read the tragic story of the loss of six children from one family in a shipwreck of The Resolution in 1850. Later we found their headstone in the old cemetery. The father, it is said, was “all done in” by the loss and never returned to the area. On the highest hill in the town stands the stone Anglican church. In the visitor's book is a page of “in gratitude” writing, done recently by a Japanese visitor, who translated various bible texts onto the page in hiragana text. I'm sure every listed building has a library of such stories to tell. We reflected again, on the variety and richness of the history of Tasmania. How can people imagine they can “do” Tasmania in a week or ten days.

Spiky Bridge is a quirky remnant of convict times, a peculiar stone bridge with jagged rocks embedded upright in the mortar capping. Why for heaven's sake? No-one seems to know, except that it might have been a “folly” of the landowner. You can imagine someone going quietly crazy and having such a thing made in the early days. And what about the odd names in these parts? We passed through “Break Me Neck” and “Bust me Gall” - had these ridges been named in bullocky days?

Triabunna is the little port from which the Bruny Island ferries depart. We ate fish and chips at the wharf and ogled the big ocean going boats moored, and watched the huge Pacific gulls mooching around. Then, on to Hobart where David lived in 1983 and where Julian was born. We arrived late on a glorious afternoon and discovered we had booked into a lovely little listed cottage in Battery Point. Barton Cottage is “a gentleman's residence, restored to its former glory” according to the the ad, because it was up for sale for over $1.25m. But in the meantime, it was a very satisfactory place to stay. Bit of a change from a tent in a camping ground.