I had been somewhat surprised on the way back to Strahan when a fellow traveller said he might find a different way home in order to avoid the hundred hairpin bends: I had seen none of any great significance.
So I set off confidently to make the 300km journey to Hobart. The day on the river had been energizing and I was ready to move on and experience life in a bigger town. Little did I know what was ahead of me!!
Humming as I drove up to Queenstown I followed the signs for the main road to Hobart. Half a tank of fuel should get me to the next filling station along the highway.
Once I was out of the town, I saw them – the mountains typical of a mining area and the road following the contours and taking me ever up to the summit. But there was nothing for it – I had to go that way and there was no option. On I went, fairly slowly but surely and grateful for the cosy little Barina that kept me hugging the road as far away from the edge as possible. The man was right about the bends – double hairpins all the way. And there was nobody to help if I got stuck….
Then they were past, I was safely through and able to appreciate the dense forest that surrounded me, lush and stretching as far as the eye could see. The forest went on and on, there were more mountains and valleys and the road itself was in no sense a true ‘highway’. This was wilderness. There was nothing. And the fuel gauge was getting worryingly low…and lower..and well into the red sector. There was plenty of fuel for a motorway, of course… but this state highway was in no way comparable to a British motorway – more like a highland road, weaving and bending and then going for miles up and down the hills in a straight line, like a mini-big-dipper. Yet the speed limit was still 100kms per hour. Most of the time I managed to keep fairly close to that so after a couple of hours began to look for a filling station – neither one by the roadside nor any community appeared before the red light signalled that the fuel supply was nearly finished…. and I began to think it was going to be necessary to spend an extra night in the wilderness when I had been hoping for a day by the sea in the city. Half an hour later panic was setting in and this driver’s eyes were fixed in the far distance on the empty road when, just in time, a road station appeared out of the trees. I had reached Derwent Bridge, the almost halfway settlement. I put the pedal down and hoped I would at least make it to the filling station. I did. The pumps were padlocked! Business over for the day! BUT there were people in the cafe: a group of roadworkers enjoying a meal before working until dark and maybe beyond. The chef brought his keys and filled the car for me – what a relief! A soft drink and some chewy sweets and peppermints provided sustenance for the remainder of the drive, which continued in much the same vein – no ‘motorway’ or even dual carriageway until just before Hobart.!! Lesson learned – fill the tank before you leave anywhere. I was very grateful that the chef at the Happy (or was it Hungry?) Wombat was willing to spare those extra few minutes to send me safely on my way.
After driving around Hobart Harbour for a while, the Hotel Grand Chancellor called. I had stayed in their hotel in Launceston and they should be able to offer me a deal. They did – a great one – but only for two nights. I took it and within half an hour the car was safe in the undergound car park and I was safe in a room with a harbour view. So the next day saw me sleeping late and then setting off to do a few essentials – like my hair! The very experienced owner of the salon in the hotel lobby took one look at it and said, more or less, ‘let me get my hands on that!’: I did and have felt much tidier since. The scissors worked overtime and I did initially feel she’d taken too much off, but now it’s growing back and everyone who knows me here has commented on how much better it looks… It’s certainly easy. If I lived in Hobart, I’d definitely go there regularly. Where else does a hairdresser who has never met you before get her car out to take you to the shops instead of explaining?!
In the evening, I walked the harbour and shared a bench with a couple from Michigan as we ate our road – sorry quay-side fish and chips. They were on their way to visit a daughter in Melbourne and the husband was on his way to lecture to a conference of teachers. By the end of the day I had also booked accommodation in Swansea and the Wineglass Bay cruise in Freycinet.
I was sad to find myself leaving the next day but made sure I got to the Salamanca Markets before setting off for Richmond and Swansea. I had really not got a clear picture of the distances and was happy I had not left earlier as the journey, even with a long stop in the fascinating little town of Richmond, took no more than three hours. I was also still getting used to the length of the days. November here is like June in the far north of Scotland – days are VERY long.
Salamanca Markets open every Sunday and provide a showcase for local arts, crafts and produce to the accompaniment of local musicians.
While the market was fun and I found some things I had intended to buy, I will always remember this as the day I began to understand how it feels to be the parent of a blonde ( or ginger!) haired child and travel with that child in Asia: all because of a camera! I was stopped by at least four people, one even sitting down by me at the table where I was eating lunch in a roadside cafe, all of them wanting the lowdown on my camera and its performance!!!! It’s been a theme of the trip!!
Living the Journey 