tre anni fa

//three years ago

Three years ago, I planned a trip to Tasmania, to walk the Tarkine and drive around the island. Twice, I put it off, and now, finally, here I am. 

Day 1 - Melbourne.

The attractive approach to the city from the airport, with a friendly wink of recognition at the red and yellow spires announcing the city’s entrance. The friendly, well spoken taxi driver. The Federation style terrace houses. The parks, dappled sunlight, trams. Dark buildings that look as though they were transported directly from London. Kitch restaurants, vintage shops, tiny little doll-girls with red buttoned-up mouths and straight fifties fringes. Everyone looking unique but somehow the same. My relationship with Melbourne is like my relationship with London; a wry sort of acceptance of a place that I love everything about, without it being any of the things I love most.

Except food.

My host was recovering from a night playing poker in a bar where the whisky (or whiskey – take your pick) is served by strippers and men sit around smoking cigars, pretending it is still the 1940s. We sat and drank wine, chatted about this and that, then went out to dinner at Gingerboy –just around the corner. Popping just around the corner for dinner in a restaurant? Where in Perth can you do that? Oh – at my new place! (haha)

We ordered the banquet. A degustation style meal that started with what seemed like a scotch egg sort of entrée, but the eggs were runny yolk inside and it was recommended that you eat them in a single mouthful. In spite of my well documented tirade against uncooked eggs – this was something else. Divine. There was tempura squid which I wasn’t as impressed by, but it was preceded by a fruity fried rice, a zesty Thai carpaccio with cabbage salad, and followed by a lime infused rendang that was reminiscent of the stunning rendang at Cottesloe’s Vans. A selection of desserts filled my stomach to the last remaining cubic millimetre, and then it was a short walk home, a few drinks with the girls, and bed.

Watch out Melbourne: Alert Brunswick and Chapel Streets; I’ll be back.

Hobart

4:30pm, which is only just after lunchtime back in the real world. I am sitting in a luxury hotel room (every trip needs at least a couple of nights of luxury) at the Henry Jones Art Hotel. I am developing an affinity for art hotels, after my stay in Melbourne at the Olsen a few years ago, and now the friendly, affable hospitality of Mr H. Jones.

My hotel is on the waterfront at Sullivan’s Cove. My balcony, however, overlooks the atrium. The hotel is part of a complex that was resurrected from the ravages of time to house shops, cafes and a hotel that is pure "now". My suite sits somewhere near the roof of an old building that was either a storage house, a ship chandler, a general store or a depot for immigrants. The glass wall of my bathroom shows the large square stones of an old wall; my ceiling is made of old wooden beams and steel supports. I am luxuriating in a room that is more accustomed to hard labour than long sleep-ins.

Hobart greeted me on arrival with a burst of sunlight that pierced my un-sunglassed eyes. The clouds quickly closed over the sun, but at least he had momentarily proved his existence here at the edges of the Antarctic freeze. This afternoon, after checking in I wandered to Salamanca Place. The chill air carried barely a sound as I ambled, dreamlike, towards the well-known market quarter. I passed a boat called the “Karalinga”, another subtle welcome from this quiet city slumbering through a Sunday.

There is an air of calm, silent self-assurance here. Unlike Perth, Hobart doesn't seem to care that it isn't Melbourne. Today, there is nothing to distract me from the pursuit of the most vital of pastimes: doing absolutely nothing. I wandered into some shops, sat and had a beer (Van Diemen Brewing’s Ragged Jack Pale Ale – yummy and crisp, with a hint of fruit) at Smoult, then dodged through the drizzle back to my hotel. 

Now, Lana del Ray is crooning in the background and I am about to peruse the movie options, check out the room service menu, and investigate the softness of the bed. I am exhausted, and I must be refreshed for tomorrow as it’ll be a big day – visiting MONA.