After a fond farewell to our Canadian
duo, we high-tailed it out of Hobart leaving a Hansel and Gretel like
trail of money behind us. We planned to cover the state in four days
and were aware most of that would have to be spent in the car.
Luckily enough, the Tasmania countryside is so beautiful and varied
that each day of driving presented so many interesting things that
just driving made the trip worthwhile. And other than fuel costs, it
minimised our contributions the state's economy.
Whenever we did stop, one could feel an
impending rip off waiting at the next decision to do or eat anything.
First of these stops was Coles Bay, a divine piece of the bluest
ocean sitting beneath the imposing pink granite Hazard mountains.
Someone more adept than me at beach evaluation had listed the nearby
Wineglass bay as being on of the best in the world. The $11 I paid
for a foccacia lead me to believe my lunch would lay claim to a
similar title. It didn't, and was almost as bad as the microwaved
salad foccacia containing only avocado and tomato I had eaten the day
previous. Admittedly, the 3 hour walk to Wineglass Bay scared us off
as much as the cost of admission to the park but the futility of this
expensive detour continued to sour my opinion of Tasmania.
Nothing of particular interest aroused
our curiosity on the east coast beyond the attractiveness of the
coastline itself. It was by no means exceptional though, and a
Melbourne-esque change in the weather made me think more highly of
similar beaches in the north of Australia not blighted by such an
unpredictable climate. We stopped for the night in St. Helens out of
fatigue and saw the best the town had to offer while reading the
brochure and getting pissed at the hostel.
Rising early against the infliction of
a hangover, we took a detour to the Bay of Fires as it was also in
the mix when it came to best beaches in the world. Counting against
it was its southerly position, and again adverse weather removed the
gloss from what would be a beautiful place in prevailing conditions.
Another detour got marked down as a waste of time and we headed over
to Launceston through some bucolic farmland that looked unchanged by
the ending of the 19th century, let alone the 20th.
Seeing as the whole of Tasmania could
be seen as a sleepy little backwater, it wasn't at all surprising to
find virtually nothing open on Sunday in Launceston when we arrived.
We could only find one shop open for lunch, and they made the most of
the absence of competition by charging me $9 for a salad sandwich
that was mainly egg! Egg? A standard salad item? I don't think so.
Lonely Planet's cartographer must moonlight for Tasmania tourism as
all the free maps got us hopelessly lost trying to find Cataract
Gorge. That was mildly interesting but we spent most of the afternoon
checking out the Japanese Macaques in City Park as it was a free form
of entertainment.
Final destination was Cradle Mountain,
the hoover deluxe of money siphoning. A single bed in a dorm cost
$40, and by not letting you keep the bed, coverings or wall fittings,
the place claimed the title of most expensive hostel I have ever
stayed in. A $15 a night hostel was available 20 minutes down the
road, but no one told us about that because everyone benefits from us
spending more money in Tasmania (pronounced Tas-money-a).
Budget 2 minute noodles took a 300% hike to become $2 noodles, a
frozen McCain pizza was the same price as a store bought made and
cooked fresh pizza and I didn't dare inquire about the price of
alcohol for fear just asking may have cost me something.
The only kitchen we were allowed to use
had no utensils, so we pretended we were convicts and stole some from
one of the kitchens reserved for tours. None of the white goods
worked either so we just pretended we were renegade members of the
tour group and used their kitchen to prepare all our food.
The only bad weather we were to see for
the entire week came on the day we had set aside to do some of the
famous Cradle mountain walks. Morning fog reduced visibility to zero
and afternoon rain reduced motivation to more than zero. We took a
two hour drive to Devonport to find cheap groceries, well aware of
the irony, and brought a debilitating amount of alcohol for half of
what it would have cost at Cradle Mountain.
The next morning we sped through the
plains of the central midlands and would have just kept driving to
another state had it been possible. Touring around unseen lands is
always rewarding, but never have my travels been so rewarding for the
local population. Tasmania is undoubtedly a beautiful state but I
won't be returning until I have so much money that it has lost all
importance to me. Or more exactly, I've seen more than enough of
Tasmania and I'll never have enough money to convince me to invest
any more in that budget black hole of a state.
