November 1
Sydney to Hobart
A slightly improved night's sleep left me feeling ready to go at 7 in the morning. Checkout was easy and I staggered up the hill to Liverpool Street in a fine drizzle. I had hoped to use the escalator down to Museum Station but only the upwards one was working. I dragged myself and my bags down the steps and along a maze of corridors. Museum is a very old station.
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Some of it has been refurbished with lots of old pictures and period adverts having been used to decorate the walls. This has not, however, been taken as far as improving access for anyone not in the peak of physical fitness.
The train arrived in five minutes and I was at the airport soon after, where I had to climb up lots of steps because the up escalator wasn't working.
The check-in area was heaving. There were lots of ladies in posh frocks and fascinators, presumably heading for Melbourne. I remember my last dalliance with Virgin Australia and they were just as bad this time so I stood in the queue for 25 minutes before completing the formalities.
I remembered a cafe near to the departure gate so I walked to that and had a coffee, very good although in a paper cup, and an adequate sandwich. I then sat and waited for something to happen. We boarded on time. Then waited for 20 minutes for passengers to appear from a connecting flight, then pulled back from the gate and waited another 30 minutes on the tarmac to take off. If Australia is to be a popular tourist destination, it needs to gets its airlines sorted out. This is worse than Heathrow!
The flight was completely uneventful and we finally landed about 30 minutes late. Hobart Airport is tiny and tatty. Dunedin is bigger and the ones in Poland much smarter. My bag appeared, didn't excite the sniffer dog and I climbed into a shuttle outside the terminal for the trip into town.
Drizzle was falling and the road into town resembled the one into Dunedin from the airport. Even the weather was similar! We swept over a huge bridge which crosses the harbour and into Hobart. The abundance of stone and masonry buildings and the slightly "down at heel" appearance made it seem like many a small town in the UK.
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The hotel was a concrete monolith, slightly worn in the public areas but with a smartly attired room. The external appearance wasn't too different from the one that I stayed in at Olesnica last Christmas. The staff were friendly and efficient and I was soon into my room and out again. The town centre was completely uninspiring, a few interesting and a lot of uninspiring - even by Porirua standards - people. Westport springs to mind.
It being 1.30, lunch was top of the agenda. Not having passed a pub since I left the shuttle, I headed for the water and spotted the Lark Distillery, which also offered beer, wine and food.
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It turned out to be an inspired choice. Friendly staff, an excellent local pale ale from Moo Brew, and a huge plate of local cheeses, bread and pickles. What more could a boy require. It's just a shame that I don't like whisky. On the other hand, the quality was excellent. Probably the best ploughman's lunch I have ever had.
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Having sought advice on a good place for dinner, I walked for about five minutes, found that I was in Parliament Square by accident, and then went on to Salamanca Square. This is a strange mix of the old and the new. I must try to be back here by Saturday lunchtime in order to visit the famous market. |
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The waterfront was full of boats - there's a surprise - and it even boasted a double decker bus.
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In the gloom, however, it wasn't that exciting. The most interesting part was the gathering of star fish on the harbour floor. I wonder if they are edible?
I found a few more old buildings and then entered the museum for a local ginger beer and a peruse of the exhibits. It was small and not very exciting. There was a good Antarctic display - there are lots of those in NZ - lots of art and some other bits and pieces, but nothing about the history of the island or the town that I could find. Perhaps there is another museum nearby.
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With the drizzle apparent again, I walked back into the town centre, extracted some cash from a machine, photographed lots more buildings and collapsed at the hotel with sore feet.
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After a lie down, I rang the residents of Wanstead Park and had a very lengthy conversation with them, arranging for my visit at 12 on Friday. My next task is to plan the remainder of the trip around it.
After a quick change, I retraced my steps to Salamanca. The town was still very quiet except for the more popular of the bars. There were lots of people congregated around them, still dressed in their Melbourne Cup finery.
Service at Smolt was excellent and everything was explained to me. I was assured that the wine was better than in New Zealand. Time will tell!
The Bay of Fire sauvignon blanc was good at the front of the palate but lacked both weight and depth. The spring salad was beautiful to look at and the mixed fish had lots of interesting flavours. The granita resembled mushy peas but may have been constructed from something else. The Laurel Bank Riesling was dry and appley. Pleasant but not exciting.
Three Wishes Chardonnay was dry, hard on the finish but with gentle oak. A relative of my distant relative has just produced the winner of the Jimmy Watson Trophy, the biggest thing in Australian wine making, a Tasmanian Shiraz. A very rare beast. I had a glass but it was far too young for either the waiter or myself to tell if it was really good.
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The food was very good but wildly over-complicated. The chef seemed to have swallowed a food dictionary & was determined to use all of the ingredients he could find in it in every meal. It might have been better if he simplified the flavours a little.
The town was almost empty as I walked home but it was still and almost warm. Back at the hotel, I paid $6 to use the internet for an hour but it crashed after ten minutes. The wi fi here is on a par with the airlines - 3rd world. Australia needs to get its act together.