The red devil

Well - after a week of zipping round Tassie in my little red hire car (aka the red devil) my transportation fate is back in the hands of others. God help me...

I'm currently in Melbourne airport waiting for my flight to Byron Bay to meet up with Neil, Gemma, Michael and the newly named campervan - Henrietta Wilberdash Flash. See what happens when I am not around to add some sanity to campervan-naming discussions...

It feels like a long long time since I left Sydney, but it's only 2 weeks.

So anyway - Tassie. I may be missing out on the big Mardi Gras parade in Sydney tonight, but I was well chuffed to be in Evandale for the National Penny Farthing Championships last week. I didn't know Penny Farthings could go so fast. It was such a lovely cool, late-summers day and it was great idling about watching the slalom, sprint and 'slowest cycle' race.

It was one of the highlights of my week actually. Along with the trip to Port Arthur (where they used to send really, really bad convicts) which looked surprisingly like an English village but had so much history and was so well presented. Exploring the Huon Valley and winning multi-nation trivial pursuit was also a bonus. As was the NE coast which was stunningly beautiful and provided the opportunity to watch 'La Vie En Rose' at the local film club (in the community hall) accompanied by confused commentary from pensioners getting confused about the plot jumping around between various years.

But mostly, the thing that stole the show in Tassie was the scenery. The beautiful golden beaches of the east coast. The lush Huon Valley with it's wide meandering river and acres of orchards. The mountain pass between Hobart and Queenstown with it's lakes and rugged peaks. The coastal road down the Tasman Penninsualr which was, at points, so much like driving alongside Loch Fyne I wasn't sure if I was dreaming.

I've been re-reading 'Road to McCarthy' by Pete McCarthy whilst I have been here. It only seemed right since it was the book which inspired me to visit Tasmania in the first place. I met pete McCarthy once but I still kick myself for missing out on his reading at the Edinburgh Book Festival a few years ago (I'd seen Roddy Doyle already that day and had intended to stick around but got festival-fatigue and never made it). Sadly, he died not long after and I never got to meet him again. He's such a good writer and he really made tassie come alive for me, so I guess this trip felt a bit like a pilgrimage in his honour. I don't know how he'd take that. Humbly I would guess.

Anyhow - one of the things he says in 'Road to McCarthy' is how disturbing the landscape is to the European eye. Because it looks so like home, but you're pretty much the furthest away from home you'll ever be. It's so very true. And so very disconcerting for someone who has been away for 23 months.