Tasman Island Cruises

I've started to “like” pages on Facebook. This is new for moi, as I've really only been a passive FB user in past and never understood the point of liking until this trip, when our podcast lifelines pointed us to their tweets and FB posts. Now having liked a scant few podcasts, bands, and personalities, I get it: they tell me what's going on, so I don't have to remember to check in on what's going on. Genius!

Just yesterday, I “liked” the Tasman Island Cruise page. Not because I need to receive updates about what's happening on the east coast of Tasmania, but because I want to give them due PR. 

During our time in OZ, people have hammered home a ton of “MUST DOS” - a helicopter ride above Cradle Mountain, harness climbing the Sydney Bridge, ferrying to the Kangaroo Island, I could go on... This is one of the few tourist offerings that we've taken up. And it was worth every penny.

Ed and I were last to board the 40 ft, super maneuverable boat with rubber bumpers because we were, as usual, peeing it forward. As a result, we ended up in the front two seats; the otherwise tough Aussies didn't want to be dampened by sea spray.  Bundled and poncho'd, we were thrilled to be crammed right up front. No heads in Ed's picture, no voices in our ears.

The boat went crazy fast, and soon we were pulling into the rock caves we had glimpsed from above. Each time the skipper steered toward a white water filled hole in the 10 story high rock cliff, my heart pounded. My brain was screaming - “don't go in there” and then, immediately, “go in there."  What came out of my mouth was “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

We reached Tasman Island to see hundreds of fur seals draped across the rocks and dozens more playing in the water alongside the boat. An albatross with a 6 foot wing span flew past us, and the whole group went nuts.

Our adorable co-captains looked like surfer/models and happily talked about the birds, phyto plankton, and currents throughout the ride. They also handed out Timtams and high fives at the end of the tour. Not one of us disembarked without a smile on our face. Happy as the seals.

M-O-N-A, MONA

On a rainy day in Tassie (as its abbreviated round these parts), we ventured to the newly opened and slightly misguided Museum of Old and New Art in Berriedale. I'd read a feature story about the iPod touches provided for navigating the space being stripped of their security chips and ripped off by the dozen, so I was intrigued.

The MONA hasn't yet figured out what it wants to be. The extensive art collection sings back up for the on site winery, high end accommodation, brewery and collection of serviceable, if pretentious, dining establishments. The buildings themselves are modern and stark and quite a contrast to the rolling hills of farmland that surround.

One can opt to take a ferry to the MONA directly from Hobart, but we drove. Like an unpopular kid who doesn't expect guests at his party, the MONA is completely under-prepared for the number of visitors taking it up on its free admission. The parking lot was too small by a hundred spots, thus the surrounding grounds had been turned into a mud pit. The museum cafe cranked out food far faster than ample seating became available for the diners. Some of the exhibits themselves felt more like an elbow to elbow opening in Chelsea than like a fine art museum.

The reason I thought the MONA was blog worthy, though, was nothing to do with any of that. What's interesting is the founder's attempts to weave high techery and self mockery right into the experience. The author tags, work titles and descriptions can only be viewed by updating one's location on the iPod and choosing the piece from a thumbnail. Once there, a couple of other tabs become available; one titled “Art Wonk” that has a quote from the artist, a snoozy interview, or a theoretically charming anecdote about the acquisition of the piece. The other tab is titled “gonzo.” I'll let that one be.

The museum seems like the aspirational collection of one dude that needed storage. And this dude's tastes run to boobies, poops, humping, and dead stuff. There is an entire floor off limits to kids or requiring parental supervision. And while I'm not bothered by the inclusion of menstrual blood in art, it does seem like well trampled ground. Perhaps in Tasmania, where the small city art scene is still fetal, shock and awe is new.  Funnily, whether because of discomfort with the subject matter or just excitement about about the handy device they'd been leant, the majority of patrons seemed far more engaged by the iPods than by the cocks and balls and slashery on display. 

While Ed and I found the need to hold a device a distraction from enjoying the exhibits, the masses seemed to love it. We talked for a while afterwards about how technology could be employed to enhance the work rather than steal from it. We didn't arrive at a solution, but it was fun to test drive one art wonk's hypothesis, if only to decide that it failed. Perhaps its an Australian thing. 

One metal poop, smiling.  By Nell

Red Brier Happiness, Richmond, Tasmania

(lest I confuse anyone, this is an old post... We're in the Barossa Valley in South Australia, but I'm going to try to catch up chronologically)


We haven't stumbled on somewhere this magical since the House Hostel in Sokcho, Korea.  Our host, Vianne, was concerned that we might not immediately fall in house love with the 1834 cottage that she rented out in historic Richmond village.  I'm not sure what wouldn't be to love about wide plank floors, huge fluffy beds, and nearly 200-year-old details including an old bread stove in the living room. 

Vianne has 2 other well established accommodations on the property; one an old school cottage and the second a contemporary villa.  Judging by the interiors mags overflowing from the magazine racks, I'd say the whole complex is her creative playpen.  The main house (where we stayed) is her newest addition.

I've said it before and I'll say it again - I may yet be cutout for small town life.  After an unbelievable Italian dinner at Anton's our first evening, I wasn't even angry to find it randomly closed when we tried to go back a couple of nights later.  Know why? Because that's what people in small towns do.  They close their shops so they can pursue their hobbies and see their friends and maybe their kids instead of grinding it out making pizzas every night of the week.  Someone remind me of this when I start interviewing, kay?

But I digress.  The cottage, the town, the magic.  The view out our bedroom window.  When we had the window cracked the smell of lavender filed the room.

The 3rd bedroom in the little cottage, which Vianne had converted to also be used as the breakfast room.

Each time I slide the automated key into the slot of another crappy Australian motel room, I momentarily squint in hopes that we're back at the Red Brier.  Sadly, once I take in my surroundings, very few places we've stayed since have come close to being as lovely.

Weather related poetry

We're staying in Cradle Mountain National Park for a few days and the weather has not been conducive to nature loving.  Or even nature making out.   On the upside, the season does change about every 4 minutes.  The I composed these haiku while staring out our cabin window waiting for the sleet to subside so we could get on the trails. 

big hike planned today

sleeting on Cradle Mountain

every fucking time

momentary sun

quick, before it hides again

run for the summit

wilderness village

stupid name for these cabins

but, there's a heater

Tasmanian woods

weatherproofed my new hikies

now, about my face

Old hikies.  No treads left on the heels.

New hikies.  Ready to climb shit.

Tasmaniacs

Hobart, Tasmania is now seeded my #1 favorite city on earth.  It has all the ingredients for greatness: near water, 200+ year old architecture, a fab food and wine (and whiskey) scene, museums a plenty, and some requisite hipsterness so we feel at home.

We spent 3 glorious days in (mostly) sunny Hobart.  We wandered the historic area by the marina and through Battery Point where the homes haven't changed since the 1800s.  Right next to the marina is a boutique whiskey distillery where they pour some truly outstanding spirits. 

We took a couple of epic walks out of town and were well rewarded for our kilometerage.  One direction took us to the Cascade Brewery, where we sampled and lunched and walked the immaculate 23 acres of gardens.  Its a shame they don't take care of the place:

On our one rainy morning we spent a few hours in the maritime museum where we learned about some of the truly hair-brained shit the Brits did in the name of empire expansion back in the day.  Ed bought a knot tying book and rope in the gift shop and we had some, um, slightly disjointed convos with the salty old volunteer working the till.

North Hobart is where the hipsters live and work and make the arts.  Tomorrow we'll be heading to the home town of a waitress we met there at an AMAZING place called the Raincheque Lounge. We had a lovely chat with her and she recommended Dover and thus tomorrow we will drive to the southern most point of Australia.  Straight shot from there to Antarctica.

This is the post office in NoHo:

There are also plenty of drool worthy boutiques in the neighborhood.  I've done more than a little stalking of these chairs I peeped in a design store in North Hobart.  When I have an income, I will be working out how to adopt one of these to come live with us:

If it weren't half way around the world, we'd be looking for an apartment to rent.