Fuelled with our French/Belgian/Tasmanian fusion breakfast from Anvers, we launched ourselves west towards Stanley, on the Bass Highway. This part of Tasmania features rolling hills covered with luridly green pasture, prettily decorated with milking Fresians and fat, silky black Angus cattle. The blue strip of the Bass Strait accompanies the drive. At the cute village of Penguin there are cute penguins on the council rubbish bins and cute waving penguins atop verandahs. We had good coffee at the cute coffee shop, “Groovy Penguin”. Reminders of Tasmania's less environmentally aware past are evident in the gantries and wood chip piles of Burnie and the incongruous-looking ore heaps of Port Latta.
Stanley is a historic little fishing village at the foot of a geological oddity called “The Nut”. Stanley was established in the mid 19th century and still looks as if it was painted yesterday. Every photo looks like a postcard and it's all so pretty. We had our first night in the tent and quite enjoyed our introduction to that particular sociological phenomenon, the council caravan park.
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