November 5
Bicheno to Hobart
The in-house free wi fi didn't work in the morning, either. There's a surprise, so I collected some messages from the computer in reception and then departed for the village bakery. I was eyeing the bacon and egg rolls when a man appeared and ordered all three of them on the counter! The nice lady said she would make some more so I sat outside with a very good coffee and awaited the roll's arrival.
It being a public holiday weekend in Northern Tasmania (although not in the South), the village was quite busy. Lots of people joined me outside the cafe and the place was humming. There was even a small market on the green. It was only selling brik a brak so I didn't investigate too closely.
Right: Bicheno market |
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32k down the coast is Swansea, an idyllic place on a bright and sunny morning. The beach was an almost empty stretch of pure white sand and both sea and sky were bright blue.The old general store is a monumental structure although the modern supermarket attached to the side is less appealing. There was also a small market operating here. |
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Opposite was a cafe where I had another very good coffee and a small chocolate. The deli section had an impressive display of Tasmanian wine.
From there, the road followed the coast, offering some stunning views and ready access to beautiful beaches. I pulled off the road at Spiky Beach and clambered a short distance through some grass to the rocks. What a beautiful place! |
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The road continued like this until Orford, where I stopped briefly at Raspins Beach. Yet again, it was beautiful. Tasmania should be at the top of everyone's list of places for a beach holiday.
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From there, the road turns inland, following the valley of the Prosser River, with the river in a gorge to one side and a steep cliff on the other.
Eventually, the road peeled away, crossed some hills and then dropped into Richmond, a small town with supposedly the best collection of historic buildings in Tasmania. The bridge is probably the centrepiece and is a beautiful structure, dating from 1832. Perhaps my great great grandfather crossed it when it was new.
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The town is full of old buildings and trees. A very picturesque place. The Wine Centre looked an attractive place for the oysters and white wine that I had promised myself for lunch. Alas, it was closed until the following weekend.
The pub, the Richmond Arms, built in 1888 on the site of an earlier pub destroyed by fire, gave me six oysters and a glass of Bream Creek Riesling. They weren't as good as last night's oysters but they were good enough.
The interior was very traditional and could easily have been in an old style English pub.
After Richmond, the countryside flattened out, vineyards appeared everywhere and I was soon on the motorway, speeding over the bridge and into Hobart. I could see nowhere to stop within sight of the bridge so it will remain unillustrated.
Without too many problems, I found the Hertz office and then remembered that I had forgotten to fill the petrol tank. Another battle with the one way system followed, not to mention an encounter with a Harley Davidson rally, but I filled the car and returned it to its owner. I stayed for a long chat with the lady behind the counter.
Walking down the hill a couple of blocks to the hotel with all my bags was easy enough. Walking twice as far, up hill, in Melbourne, weighed down with lots of Rutherglen wine, might prove much more demanding. The guy on reception welcomed me back but then gave me the bad news. The airport shuttle would collect me at 07.35 for an 09.50 check-in. Not fair at all.
I had planned to have a beer in the nice looking old pub opposite the hotel. As soon as I walked past the front window, the noise from the folk group performing in the front bar was deafening. No banjo jokes please but it did make me decide that this wasn't the place for a quiet afternoon drink. Walking down the hill into the town centre, I returned to the distillery and had a very nice pint of Kentish beer (brewed near Sheffield where I had been a few days previously). As on my last visit, I quizzed the staff on a good place to eat, this time requesting a good steak.
In the sunshine, the harbour looked great, although there was a chill breeze, even by Wellington standards, whipping across the water. I looked at the boats, at menus, at fish shops and at people. Wellington harbour is beautiful but it lacks something when compared to Hobart.
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On the return walk to the hotel, I checked the recommended restaurant and decided that it looked a bit too classy for my requirements of the evening.
After the driving of the last few days, I felt tired so had a lie down in front of the TV after reorganising my bags for the morning. Then, suitably refreshed by a shower and a change, I departed for town once more.
Folk music was still blasting out of the pub so I continued on my way, taking a few photos in the interesting evening light. There was even a fountain with which to experiment in the hopes of producing a winning photo for the next Club salon. Unfortunately, none of them were good enough.
I decided to eat at the Ball and Chain, in trendy Salamanca. It is a specialist charcoal grill establishment, with a "family restaurant" feel and a salad bar. The food wasn't actually much cheaper than the posh place I had decided to ignore.
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The salad, when I collected it, looked great, an excellent mix of fresh stuff. The marinated octopus was chewy and meaty, of course, but very good. I must try to prepare it at home, if I can source the ingredients. The local unoaked chardonnay tasted a little buttery as if it had received some malolactic fermentation. I didn't know that people did that with unoaked wines. Perhaps it is a flaw in my knowledge. The Chromy pinot noir, from the vineyard I visited near Launceston, was a good and light version of the wine. It won't win prizes but is very drinkable.
The steak was excellent. A good lump of meat perfectly cooked. I wish I could do it half as well at home. It wasn't in the same league as the wagyu beef at Cutler & Co in Melbourne but it bore comparison with the steaks at Jurgens in Douglas all those years ago. The local Cabernet Merlot was a good red plonk. Excellent value for money. I wish I could remember its name.
The puddings looked good but I decided not to go over the top. My coffee kept up the standards of the rest of the meal. The chances of finding a good coffee in a steak house in the UK are very small.
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I walked slowly back to the hotel, took a few more photos and completed organising my stuff for the morning.