An Island Christmas...

Day 12: (31/01/2010)

New Years Eve!

What can one say!

Still haven’t picked up mobile – walking around house in tights, a jumper and ugg boots. Bit of reading, eating and reeeeelaaaaaxing!

I go into town and browse the antique stores. Whilst I appreciate the beauty of classic crockery and worldy wood, I’m not a fan of antiques because I feel that energy transfers into people’s possessions – so if there is negative energy in a house it will be in the belongings and therefore - buy the wrong piece and you’re going to have a sad home! I know, silly – probably has no scientific grounding – but at least it stops me from buying out the entire store and carting all the cuteness back to Sydney.

By the time I get home, with my weak flat-white (just can’t find a good cafe coffee in Tasmania), My Mum and T are back at Grandma and Dunny’s with their camper van.

We snack and chat, drink and dribble.

Bed before midnight as we are flying out of Launceston tomorrow morning.

An Island Christmas...

Day 11: (30/12/2010)

A quiet day today. Up, breakfast and some exercise – an hour of shaking my booty to a Zumba DVD.

I play with Beau, ‘the dog’, have a coffee and read the paper.

I decide to call Cousin T to check out her plans for NYE and also to ask if there is anywhere I can go for a gallop on a horse, within an hour’s drive – there isn’t – but plans for NYE are clearer. She and K plan to go into the foreshore. I decide to settle on a quiet one at home with Grandma and Grandad, especially since the following morning, new year’s day, I will be travelling back to Sydney.

By the afternoon Dunny gets a bee in his bonnet and wants to go to Burnie for a blind – the sunshine in the patio of an afternoon is just too much! I haven’t changed out of my exercise gear all day, or even brushed my hair. Haven’t picked up my mobile, haven’t checked emails or anything – I’m very much in holiday mode now and decide, why not, I’ll go into Burnie too. But I’m not being bothered to change.

Grandma and Grandad look around the shops. I have a snack attack and get seafood from Octopus, not just any seafood – Tasmanian calamari. OMG! Yum! But not what my body really needed. I do more exercise when I get home.

I make a trifle for desert for the following evening, when Mum and T will be back to collect me for when we return to after our roast tomorrow – another Zumba session – some sewing – some reading – dinner – relax – bed.   

An Island Christmas...

Day 9 and 10: (28/12/2010 & 29/12/2010)

06:00 hrs – alarm chimes. I’m up and excited to trek to Hobart town - 318kms from my present local.

I grab a couple pairs of clothes, not my entire kit dragged down from Sydney – just enough for the over nighter. I chuck some bananas in my bag, don aviators and head to Aunty and Uncle’s to pick up Cousin B.

On my way, as the sun rises, I have a flash back – the streets are wide and vacant – I’m in an old Nissan, just like the first car my Dad bought me when I left home at 18 and moved to the Kimberley. To really spin me out, a track by Incubus, a favourite band of both me and my husband comes on the radio. It was released at the time I was in the Kimberley, when me and the man I eventually married, met. I blast it – dreamy listening to the lyrics “...whatever tomorrow brings, I’ll be there with open arms and open eyes”. It’s my motto for life, particularly travel and I love a road trip – I love driving. I feel so free. I don’t need a fancy vehicle – just a motor on a set of good tyres, a tank of fuel! I feel like me!

Here I am, let’s go Cousin B. For an 18 year old, I’m impressed – in fact age aside he’s one of the best travel companions –  he’s a go with the flow kinda guy with the right balance of common sense and preparedness. He has the GPS, a print out of our pre-booked budget accommodation which at late notice he cleverly found just two minutes walk from Salamanca. (Where I end up leaving a little of my heart – its so freakin gorgeous man!). He even has some ideas of places to go and contributes to the fuel bill. Best yet, he has a spirit of adventure. Love him!

We cruise. Past Launceston! He keeps an eye on my speed – not allowing my lead fit to take hold. He knows where the local cops wait and watch. We eat sweet sugary things. Blast music. Bust dance moves. Sing out loud – apparently I cannot hold a tune, but hey, I couldn’t get all the talent.

We get to Perth. I have to stop and take one of those ‘tourist’ photos. I come from Perth-way, in Western Australia. Its a must that I stop in Perth, Tasmania.

"Epic Food" at Epping Forest

En-route for Epping Forest – or “Epic Food” as we rename it. It’s the ultimate trucker stop – with the ultimate selection of food – every battered blessing, crumbed curse and fatty food you could dream of, or rather, have nightmares of! I order a regular flat white and get something that resembles a shipping container that I passed back at Burnie port. It keeps me going til Hobart.

Shocked by the size of my coffee

Off we go again. Past fields of sheep. This stretch of road isn’t as amusing as the run between Burnie and Launy, which passes apples, berries, pines and poppy plantations. Just flat pasture backed by hills, which are glorious none-the-less.

The historical towns feed my sight and my mind – imagining colonial settlers establishing them and creating communities. I imagine and Edwardian wedding – glad for my tropical elopement but planning a renewal someday in the future with loads of lavender and perhaps this time family present!

Soon we get to newly created road – a sure sign we are close to a city. Cousin B initiates the GPS and seeks the coordinates of Salamanca – where The Taste is being held – our purpose for this visit. We wind our way along the one way roads and find a park out the front of a cottage. A quick call to Grandma and Grandad to let them know we have arrived in one piece. Now onto The Taste.

Its the first year the festival has been held in a giant shed. Its loud with the roar of some 38,000 which I read the next day have patronised the event.

We sample the offerings from Tasmania’s surrounding seas; muscles, oysters, salmon, scallops. Heaven is happening in my mouth. With a belly of food we brave up to taste the wine, beer and cider – a potent combination.

In the meantime Mother, who has been touring around Tasmania, returns from a cold night in Dover. She’s into the salmon too – on pizza – so good!

I sip on wine - I don’t really like the dry wines Tasmania offers but find a sparkling on the fruity side. After a little chat with the chap offering the tastings, he gives me a bottle. How lovely. I enjoy! Later it serves me well to top up with water – and I tease the family, acting like a booze hag, guzzling water from the bottle. They shake their heads in shock. I amuse myself if no one else!

We find a rare spot by the water, in front of the stage. With the affects of the bubbles, the water, sunshine and happy atmosphere I can’t help but get up and move to the beats – first up I groove to the jazz sounds of Melbourne band Lounge. Later, with more people feeling the same fizz I am – I move to reggae beats – Bob Marley mix ups by a white band – no matta what colour, they make the crowd shake wid da muzik! Dah beats drop. Eventually, so do I but not before cousin B drags me to Hobart’s only casino. They call it the Battery – lit up, cuddled by a bay. Its an eye-saw and a cultural faux pas if you ask me.

I don’t like to gamble with money. I find it pointless. I’m a bit of a drag and can’t explain to Cousin B how to play any games. Back to Taste we go. Its quiet now, I’ve lost my mojo, the bubbly affect – and by midnight we are back at our budget accommodation – Welcome Stranger Inn.

We don’t get a restful sleep due to the revilers walking by, inner city traffic and excitement caused by the arriving yachts that were on the Sydney to Hobart jaunt. A magical time to be in Hobart – but not the restful sleep one would have hoped for.

B in the big bed, me in the single – we both have a case of morning ‘wuffs’ (that’s what our family calls gas). Bubbles have to escape somehow I guess! We evacuate our little room for breakfast downstairs and plan our day’s activities.

Botanical Gardens, Hobart

We make a stop for Big W first, since Burnie doesn’t have one. Stationary and supplies for B. Then I insist on being a bit of a ‘Nanna’ by visiting the Royal Botanic Gardens. More gloriousness! Cousin B is very patient as I stroll the garden. What a sweetie! Then back to Salamanca for my lunch date with a mate also down from Sydney. Cousin B makes himself busy at the Apple Store.

I have fifteen minutes to spare before meeting my friend. I decide to have a look at what’s on offer in Tas Books. I’m flicking through the selection when I hear “Hello Gorgeous Girl” – its Miss E, by beautiful performer friend. She‘s wearing those ‘celebrity’ shades, much like I saw on Kirk Pengelly (of INXS fame), the day before, as he waited for his girl – pro surfer Layne Beechly (she was on the celebrity boat of the Sydney to Hobart). Anyway, the shades suit her, and it’s not a carefully crafted persona – the bright red lips and classic black bob are just her, and she rocks.

Miss E says “fancy spotting you here” and it was in the back of my mind that I may see her there too as we met through books – I produced audio books while Miss E narrated them. You, know the type – those glorious books in audio – brought to you with all the performance that such a create type can present with their voice! Miss E has many talents, recently discovered for her comedic delights she is soon off to LA to perform at big named venues there. Miss E is successful and talented, with an amazing media career, yet an Oprah Winfrey waiting to happen. I suspect now is the time. 2011 is her year.

We have many coffees and giggles and discover that we creative types, as funny and clever as we are, all have our doubts. We talk of men for a while and Miss E, a vivacious, sexy women who could knock a man over with a sultry look doesn’t see how beautiful she is – like so many women – I think we deny ourselves so much, including acknowledging our beauty – in case it means we are 'up ourselves' or just wrong – well Miss E, let me tell you, You’re a babe – and it’s not just words! Go gettem ‘Kitty’ (yes, we need a better analogy) – but don’t forget me when you are crazy Oprah rich – you better still have coffee and giggles with me Miss E!

Lunch done, Cousin B and I head to Claremont, just outside of Hobart city, where the Cadbury Visitor Centre is hosted on the Cadbury Estate. We pay a minor $7.50 to enter, take a tag for the next tour and get a free block of chocolate. We browse the chip as, well chocolates, seconds on offer and then sit down and learn how the sweet delights are made. Cadbury has a fascinating history – and there are plenty of benefits to the Tasmanian plant, not just for us people, but the live stock that get the left-overs. Lucky critters.

With an arm full of Cadbury chocolates we depart and head off back to the north coast, back to Burnie, interestingly the home of the Cadbury milk plant.  

We cruise along, beats and singing as we did yesterday – though now a little weary.

A stopover in Launceston to refuel – and I serendipitously, aka, get lost and end up at the Launceston gorge, where there is a most magnificent chair lift. Cousin B and I take the opportunity to experience it. After the driving I have just done, its relaxing and rejuvenating and just what I need to get me back to Burnie way.

We are home by 8pm. I drop off Cousin B and head back to Grandma and Dunny’s just before dark. Some of Grandma’s yummy cabbage rolls and bed – I get the best rest I have had all trip.

An Island Christmas

Day 8: (27/12/2010)

This morning I rise, again to my alarm. I’m so surprised to use my alarm so much on holidays but there is family departing this-morning and I want to be up to say hooroo!

It’s 8am. I grab a coffee. The kettle has had a good work out over this past week and a half, and I make it work a little harder. It bubbles with the goodness it is about to give when mixed with those magical imported and grinded, roasted beans. Ah.

I never used to be a morning person. Well, that’s not actually accurate – morning is my favourite time of the day. I love to get up at dawn and see how a town or city is before the hustle and bustle of the work day taking over, wether its watching street sweepers, delivery people or street present persons moving about (the pc way to say 'homeless') – it’s like looking at a naked body, with all its bumps and seeing it for its raw but marked, damaged and strange beauty.

So, even though I like to get up early, and make the most of the day – I used to grump about (inherited from DP?). After ten years of waking next to a man that always smiles, says good morning darl and gives me a kiss (only occasionally does he sneak out of bed before me to let me have a sleep in), I now rise with the same pleasure and smile. It’s a lovely start to the day. Even though he’s not with me on this trip, he’s my first thought – which country is he in, is he safe, is he happy, is he thinking of me too.

Dunny (Grandad) is up and sitting under the patio, surrounded by plastic blinds. The sun warms the space and Dunny enjoys the company of Beau the beagle. Grandad says he is the best dog and mate he has ever had – except, he says sternly “he’s ruled by his nose.” Beau caused much panic on Christmas day after the scent of wallaby wafted in the wind and caught him by the nose. The “Bloody Dog,” according to Dunny, took off for a good hour or so until Cousin T’s partner K, with a bit of local knowledge and familiarity with Beau (actually – it was he who instigated the adoption of Beau, the loyal, energetic boy covered in red fur – much like K himself).

Little ones K & A come out under the patio, flowed by the Mumma and Dadda, that’s Aunty C and Uncle S. Then their two older munchkins, Cousin J and Cousin D rise from their den, gigantic bags packed to go back to the booming state, WA – back to their crazy hours as chefs, Cousin D in Perth, Cousin J at a mine site at - you would know where even if I said – picture red, red earth and you’ll be getting close.

There are a few more cups of coffee, a little bit more chitchat, plans to keep in touch a bit better in the new year and all those warm gooey feelings of knowing that even though you are all crazy, you are family – from the same stock – held together by the thread that is Grandma and Dunny – who brought over their three little kiddies from Canada some 40 years ago, to set up a life in ‘Staaaalya’! They have settled in Australia, lived all across it – managed pubs and hotels and ran live stock and now they retire in Tassie – they know how to make good choices my Grandma and Dunny! Australia captured their hearts long ago and now they rest in Tasmania – and if I am not careful, the charm of Tasmania will be too great for me to resist!

Hire cars packed, we have hugs and photos – then wave goodbye. Grandma is quite tuff but as the years go on she shows more emotion and at this moment the emotion is too great – her eyes well at saying goodbye to J & D, it is six years since she saw them last after-all.

I’m used to goodbyes. I say them all the time. I’m fortunate to travel so much but it’s hardened me. I know I will see them again. So I’m on with my day. I do some exercise, shower – and call local, Cousin T to meet her in Burnie.

I take ‘Trev’ (Cousin B’s 1987 Nissan Vector) into town. There are only a few stores open today – I follow my nose to the smell of sandalwood and find a ‘feral’ shop, Sri Batik. As I explore the store a mother and her young daughter come in and buy ointments and gemstones for casting spells. Yes, that’s what they said. I buy some body jewellery – a few nose rings – they like to fall out in moments of passion, or even just in the shower.  It’s just six degrees at the moment, with rumours of snow on the hills of Burnie. I spy a cute purple jacket and purchase it too – a little gift for Aunty R for putting on such an awesome Christmas spread – and also for lending me Trev.

Cousin T knows where to find me. We giggle at the ‘Kitchen Witch’ that reminds us of Grandma. Cute and inquisitive.

We wonder through the arcade and cousin T suggests I move the vehicle (Trev,) from the metered street parking to a local car park – for a little town there sure is limited parking in Burnie. Vehicle in a great possie, Cousin T takes me to the water front, to Fish Frenzy – the best spot in town for fish, chips, coffee and a sneaky drink. It’s no secret though and seats are hard to come by.

An older, well dressed lady invites us to sit with her – she has a giggle and says she is just finishing her stubby of Bundy and Coke. We accept the offer and conversation which ensues. She asks us if we are nurses – I think it’s an odd question – I’m often asked what I do – which leads to a confusing conversation about freelance journalism. We hear of the ladies family, how her Christmas was and once again it’s reinforced that all families are insane and bogans to varying degrees.

Fish Frenzy, Burnie waterfront

After a pleasant meal at Fish Frenzy, sitting next to Burnie Life Saving Society, we wonder along a walk way made of Jarrah. Cousin T tells me that it was cause of contention not just amongst locals but amongst herself, as a former West Aussie and her boyfriend, a local. She tells me that he was in support of local timber whilst her and I know that you can’t beat the strength and longevity of Western Australian Jarrah – its strong and beautiful like us West Aussie gals.

The Jarrah boardwalk

We make it to the Burnie Makers Workshop – a new development housing arts and crafts by local makers. It’s beautiful. We browse the displays of paper made from an assortment of poo; wombat, wallaby and kangaroo. I buy one made from apple rather than excrement – for a friend from the apple isle whose books I have borrowed to entertain me on this journey.

Inside Makers Workshop

As I purchase the paper I meet Donna – she asks what I do – I explain that I am a freelance journalist, visiting family but finding many tales to share anyway. She identifies herself as a mainlander, in Burnie for nine years now. She has me and Cousin T in hysterics before long with what could be an act in the Melbourne Comedy Festival. Donna knows how to dish dirt on the locals for their traits. She says they don’t mind gloating about things - like that accent. She says Tasmania, North Burnie especially, is home to the preserved Holden Gemini, circa 73. She says facial hair is all the rage, regardless of gender – something I had noticed but was too diplomatic to mention.


Oh, blessed are the Tasmanians. Who can blame them for their lack of grooming – when surrounded by so much natural beauty and rugged wilderness, you can understand they may want to embrace a little of the rugged charm themselves. Teeth optional! 

Cousin T and I drag ourselves away from Donna just as she explains that every word in the Tasmanian vocab must be followed by ‘F**kin’ – she demonstrates by saying “Goodbye and have a ‘f**kin’ good day.” I almost wet my pants – as she says it in front of a new customer. Bless her and her funny bone. I love Tasmania and the people it attracts!

Exciting shopping!

Next we go to Kmart inside the Burnie mall. Cousin T alerts me to the presence of pee smell and says “F**kin stinky Tasmanian’s” – still playing on Donna’s humour. Hilarious!  I buy some toilet paper – as my husband classily calls it “shit roll” – something Grandma and Dunny have been in shortage of with seventeen bottoms visiting. I also buy a bin to replace the cute ‘VB’ box which was formerly being utilised in the guest bathroom.

Onward and upward to the top of Burnie to see Cousin T and K’s home. Its adorable. A weatherboard cottage – renovated, lawn trimmed – only thing missing is K. We wonder about the house looking for the boy – he’s not in the shed, nor the loo. T looks out the window, here he comes, pushing lawn mower round the culdesac – he returns from mowing a mates lawn. Tasmanian’s are neighbourly. Oh, wanting to move here again to have little babies that will play with their second cousins, or neighbours, no shoes, knotty hair – no hassles – plenty of ocean or even back yard cricket - the way a childhood should be – oh, but there’s the cold again. Brrrrrr!

We have a cuppa – I admire K’s drum kit and guitar! Chat with Cousin T, then toddle back north-west to the town where Cousin T and Cousin’ B’s parents live. I have some Tasmanian cheese and crackers with Uncle T and make some plans for the trip to Hobart which will commence at 06:00 the following morning. Uncle insists I give the vehicle a check over – its no excuse to be a girl – I know how to check the tyre pressure, oil etc - something he and my Grandad insisted I learn to do before I received my licence.

I depart with a plan and head back to the gorgeous spot Grandma and Dunny reside. Dinner, telly, reading, bed. Glorious times!  

An Island Christmas...

Day 7: Boxing Day

The mood is calmer this morning! I chuck on a load of washing and notice the majority of micro families preparing to clear off – to explore the delights of Tasmania.

Mother packs up the camper van and step sister removes herself from the girl den, aka the garage – to hitch a lift with Mum and T to Hobart – I’ll see them down there in a few days.

Everyone takes off and I take the opportunity to clean. With 17 bodies in a four bed room home, as large as it is, it has still managed to become messy.

Cousin T and Cousin B pitch in. We’re good grandchildren – not letting Grandma get up today! She’s done so much and we are so grateful!

Avoiding the busy highway I set up my laptop on a chair in the garage and do some Zumba (think world dance turned into aerobics) – thank goodness no one has seen me in my booty-shaking madness! I just need to get a sweat up for an hour so that pavlova doesn’t take hold on my frontal region.

I put on some washing.

Me and the Couch

Now, couch time – me and the couch don’t meet often – I’m too hyperactive but the things on pay tv manage to hold me momentarily until, serendipitously I switch onto a travel program about Laos (pronounced correctly like, Ciao with an ‘L’). My chest becomes itchy with creativity as I reminisce mentally my visit – I wish I had the contacts back when I visited in 2001 so I could share its beauty - the French colonial influences, the affects of the war that never was (as depicted in Air America). I experience bubbles in my belly that want to come out through my chest – my creative heart!

The travel journo is American – I expect his tales to be superficial but they’re not – he has tracked down some profound people, those affected by the war 30 years on – limbs missing from munitions discovered the wrong way! But there is progress – the journalist tells of the work American volunteer groups are doing to remove the munitions from the land. He mentions that Americans bombed some areas of the country in-effect, every nine minutes for 10 years – so they have still only found and disarmed 1% off the explosives out there waiting to cause destruction.

I dream for a moment of dropping everything to go back to Laos, this time to donate my time to ensuring that children can play in the fields without fear and that farmers can grow crops safely.
If only!

An Island Christmas...

Day 6: Christmas Day

I awake to the smell of grandma’s glorious eggs cooking. I stuff them greedily into my croissant and enjoy – weight watchers can wait til tomorrow.

Everyone finally gathers under the patio – it’s quite the reunion – seventeen souls have come together after a year of planning for this. My mother hasn’t seen her youngest brother for six years – in that time I have lived in foreign countries, gotten married and settled in Sydney – no wonder they end up catching up well into Boxing Day.

I receive phone calls from loved ones – husband back home, sleepy after 29 hours awake with work. He’s happy with the swag Santa brought him and tells me he’s trying it in the lounge room as we speak. I look forward to trying mine beside him when I’m home.

My mother in law calls, heart strings pulled. Missing her and father-in-law and Jack, the Blue Healer who squawks in the background! A call to aunts and uncles on the NSW Central Coast, a call to brother packing for the beach on a hot WA day. A quick chat to my no-nonsense Father – happy to hear I’m well. Missing them all too! Heart tears at the reality that its just not possible for everyone to be together today!

Grandma and Aunty R prepare the fest – a tent is arranged in the backyard – and a surprisingly sophisticated table is set up.

While we wait, a water fight breaks out! After a drenching we have a little backyard cricket.

Food, amazing food is dished up, including that giant crayfish gathered from Stanley. 


   We enjoy!

After a glass of bubbles I get my usual giggles – I have managed to draw attention to myself for all the wrong reasons – Im in hysterics – set off by goodness knows what – people want to know what the joke is. I feel very immature and settle myself to complete my meal.



Im glad I haven’t stuffed myself and fill the last remaining void in my belly with pavlova smothered in local cream and better yet, local berries. Berry blessings burst in my mouth!

Speeches are made in a manner never seen in my family – it’s all very proper and I’m impressed and pleased. There is a lot of love! It’s a change to the farts and fables experienced in the days preceding – but it’s not too long before bullshit and bum trumpets are being blown again! If I have the gift of the gab – it’s inherited!






Fresh Tasmanian beries

 

Our Christmas table under the tent - just a little fancy!

The table setting - cute!

  



The amazing double layered pavlova bursting with berries



An Island Christmas...

John, Wonders of Wynyard

Day 5, December 24: Christmas Eve – History on High!

Today my alarm wakes me at 6am. I’m up early to exercise before heading into Wynyard for a pre-arranged interview for my radio show – Armchair Traveller on Sydney station Eastside Radio 89.7fm. (11.30am – noon on the last Wednesday of each month).

I make my way along the highway at a brisk walk – a few scares from tourists who do not give me much space on the highway. I think to myself that tomorrow I’ll use Grandma’s treadmill instead!

Back home - I shower and change, don my favourite pair of sunglasses, my mirrored aviators which people love to remark on – I care not what they think – I totally pull them off (in the fashion sense)! Cruising into town I take in the natural beauty of the area and wonder how my interview is about to go.

I arrive at the Wonders of Wynyard, town tourist information centre, by 9am. I introduce myself and explain how I was in the other day to find out about the some of the history of the area. John, secretary of the Wynyard historical society is happy to chat. We find a quiet spot and John tells me (and future Eastside listeners) that Wynyard was settled in 1840, originally a timber town, named after a Lieutenant that surveyed the area, it later became a base for fisherman hunting barracuda.

I’m grateful for John’s time and knowledge and humbled by my affect on him. It’s sweet how people are ‘chuffed’ to be asked questions – it’s really my privilege to speak and share their words and also an enormous responsibility – but it just never seises to amaze me, the kick people get from my enquiries.

After making John blush by requesting a photo, I wonder around the information centre appreciating the restored collection of Fords housed in a shed attached to it. They’re beautiful and I can imagine them rolling around the streets of Wynyard in the early 1900’s.John tells me they only get out occasionally at the request of a bride. Bless!

Next, I toddle into Burnie to experience the Pioneer Museum. I’m greeted by a bookworm beauty. She sits at the front counter and compliments me on my dress, saying how pretty it is. I imagine that if she realised just how pretty she is, she’d hold her head a little higher.

I pay a minimal entry fee of $6, hoping it contributes to the preservation of historical treasures and wonder around the dimly lit display. I believe its dim to add to the mis-en-scene.

First is a dentist. A modern day DVD on loop, reminds me I’m lucky to live in an age of technology and strong medication. Apparently the dentist, whose clients slumped into the very chair I spied, did not need a qualification, though you could pay extra for a certified operator. I think I would have if I could.
Onto the next mock up building – a colonial sitting room – cluttered but cosy, with low roof - easier to keep warm.

Around I go, through the Burnie street scene set up in a shed. I feel an affinity with the 19^th century printery and photography collections – they’re beautiful displays of days where the newspaper and printing office played a prominent part in the pioneer community. Again I feel grateful! Grateful that all I need to tell stories is my laptop and iPod and digital camera.

Back to Grandmas and Mother has arrived from touring Tasmania. Big hugs! It’s been six months. Last time I saw her was in Bali for her 50^th birthday. I run her into town to collect some supplies, a few last minute items then back home, retreat for some quiet reading then into town again with the two little girls for the Christmas parade.

Wynyard took the opportunity to show off all its community happenings from Girl Guides to miniature mac trucks.

Crazy bike man at the Wynyard Christmas parade

We giggle at the tall Tasmanian Police officer who is solely responsible for diverting traffic while the parade takes place – someone’s nan and pop managed to get stuck in amongst it going the wrong way – the officer shakes his head and sternly get them out of the precession.

Home for dinner, dress and into town again with the older cousins – this time I take duty as the eldest Granddaughter (on this side of my family) to be the designated driver – anyone that knows me knows I don’t actually need to drink to act drunk anyway!

We start at ‘Maginty’s’ then onto ‘The Beach’ and finish at ‘Greens’. They remind me of the rough and ready pubs I have patronised in the Kimberley – certainly not like Sydney’s Ivy.

Cousin B bust moves on the dance floor like I have never seen before. I’m so proud of him. He’s a lover of life and people are drawn to him – gorgeous girls make their way to him to say hello and guys come and pat him on the back, ‘g’day’! What a rock star! Go cousin B!

I drag the kiddies home by 2am - sober and curious about this generation, I’m rather pleased with myself and snooze well into Christmas day!

An Island Christmas...

Day 4, Dec 23: The Treats of Burnie

Mostly rest today – no crazy characters. Slept in then went for a jog down the highway - avoided trucks and battled wind. Later into town for a few supplies –  and a pie – another jog this afternoon needed!

Uncle got back from mine site – coffee and catch up!

Everyone a bit sleepy!

That Tasmanian accent still prevalent about the place – instead of salt rhyming with bolt it sound more like sold. One uncle teases me for paying out the locals and says I have always spoken rather ‘proper’ – not lately...current work situation as seen my oral language degrade to filth. Cousin B insist I start talking like a lady again.

Cousin B and I burn around Burnie – up to North Burnie in fact – the look out – beautiful view. We stuck the L Plates on the Nissan and Cousin B had a drive for a bit – must remind him to log the time.

Swung around to Lactos Cheese Factory – yummy! Picked up some of my favourites – Mersey Valley Vintage – a blue for Dunny! MMMmmmm – Hellyers – but driving, so just a local ginger beer for me!

Cheese Tasting at Lactos

An Island Christmas...

Day 3, Dec 22: Crazy Crayfish Man     

With all of Grandma’s amazing cooking, I decide the best plan to avoid packing on some extra Christmas pudding, is to start the day with a brisk walk. Behind my temporary home is a disused railway track. Spying steps I make my way onto the track and meander through the countryside.  

The air is crisp, and it’s so beautifully quiet. Up ahead a pademelon (Thylogale billardierii) passes me. I establish that its probably the creator the marks in the mud beside me. I snap a photo of the tracks and even some scat, to help my identification of some of the local native fauna.

It’s just a few steps more along the track that I come across a critter that has been struck dead by something. Its face is distorted and I wonder if the train track is actually abandoned. Not to be morbid, I snap the dead thing and hope to work out what it is later. Investigations suggest it’s possibly a potoroo or a bettong – most likely a bettong because of its brown-grey upper and white belly. The tail and face are too hard to distinguish. 

I return home for some breakfast. Aunty R arrives. She says she is going to Stanley for crayfish. I have visited the home of ‘The Nut,’ a sheer-sided bluff - all that remains of an ancient volcanic plug. I recall its cute cottages and restful cemetery by the sea. Keen for adventure I tag along with Aunty R and Cousin B for the 30 minute journey (57km) down the road, thinking we’ll drop in, pick up the largest of the mornings catch and head back home again.

Opium Poppies

As we head down the highway, rolling green paddocks turn to a haze of pink buds – are they-can’t be – it is! In paddocks signed KEEP OUT, TRESPASSERS PROSECUTED, float pretty pink poppies – of the opium variety. Tasmania is the only state in Australia where opium poppies are legally grown. Across the state there are 6,000 hectares of opium poppies which are strictly controlled to produce and manufacture drugs like morphine and codeine, as well as naloxone (ironically an antidote to accidental overdose of other opiates). The plant is even legally manufactured into medicinal heroin. Its seeds are collected to make to make oil - for cooking and for artists paints. A yummy use of the plants seeds are Yuletide cakes such as Beigli. The floral gem is very versatile and a major contributor to Tasmania’s economy.

Another cute and clever crop I notice is of low green bushes covered with small upstanding white flowers. Aunty R tells me it’s Pyrethrum. Used in bug killer – or insecticide, these daises, whilst not quite as pretty as poppies, have just as special a purpose – replacing harmful chemicals like DDT. Pyrethrum and Tasmania have a special relationship – as the climate in NW Tasmania allows the buds to bloom here to be ‘juicer’ than in any other part of the world – leading to commercial quantities to be produced and shipped to one third of the world’s markets. Brilliant!

Cottage in front of The Nut

Past the clever crops of poppies and pyrethrum we spot ‘The Nut.’ It’s Stanley – home of shanties and sea songs, but as I am about to find – not chivalry. It has been a little while since my last visit, this time I feel more orientated and can absorb just how picturesque the little town is. We step out of the car and notice the warming scent of open fires but still feel the sting of the 16 degrees celsius temperature.

We walk into a store which boasts a giant crayfish on its roof. At first we are greeted by a miniature person – dark hair, blue eyes – obviously school holiday help. He uggs. We ask if there is fresh cooked crayfish in. He says he’ll just get someone from outback. Suddenly appears a six-foot ‘Tasmanian’ man who’s face is etched as though, like The Nut which rests proudly behind the building we stand in, he has been battered by wind and sea.

Aunty R says she’d like a big cray – about 2kg. The man dons a thick rubber glove and lowers his arm into a tank and pulls out a spiky beast which registers as 2.5kg. That’ll do – Aunty says, feeling generous and proud to share with this fresh delight from the sea with family. Aunty R asks how much that will be – and the crazy crayfish man waffles something like a pirate (that Tasmanian accent I keep telling you about) and I make out that he has proposed that we come out the back with him for a transaction that does not involve cash or card. Aunty understands the mans wit and humour, and rather than back hand him she sternly arranges to use the eftpos machine. Crazy Crayfish Man takes the opportunity to perv on my bust and then invades aunty’s personal space – putting his face close to hers and sliding down glasses with that hand donning glove. Crazy Crayfish man soon gets his comeuppance when I ask for a photo of him and the cray – posing like a rugged rock lobster himself, the cray latches on to his finger – piercing through the glove – crazy crayfish man shouts, drops the cray and bursts his own bubble. Sometimes karma works quickly!

Crazy Crayfish Man

Hobbling back to counter with a bruised ego, Crazy Crayfish Man tells us that our cray will be boiled and beautiful – ready to take home in 2 hours. We take the opportunity to stroll the ye-olde town of Stanley! I break off bunches of lavender sitting out-front of cottages, just as they ought. Its a streetscape from the 1800’s. So quaint – words don’t do it justice. We make our way to Providore 24. I am surprised to see a mix of food, wine and clothing – as well as a host of other delights. I try on an eccentric dress which reminds me of something my favourite tv host Maeve O’Meara would wear. My homage to her does not work – so I leave it on the hanger. Next stop Chin Way – a little timber cottage converted to a cafe. We discover something in common with the owner – she too is a West Australian. It seems my family are not the only West Aussies to discover what a treasure the Apple isle is!  


Stanley Hote Historicl Cellar

Fed and watered I decide history should be our next enquiry and we cross the road to the museum. It’s not open. Devastated! I decide to have a peep at the neighbouring church, St Pauls. My Christian Cousin B reminds me to be respectful – and moves me along to explore tourists shops down the road. I side step to the historic Stanley cellar and drag them in to. It’s dreamy if you ask me.

I make a bleak request to go visit Stanley Cemetery. It’s darkly beautiful – somewhere I would not mind my body going to rest – right by the sea.

That’s it – two hours passes, purchased some peonies – Grandma’s favourites (her mother grew them in Canada).

Now we head back to see Crazy Crayfish Man and pick up our catch. He asks where we’re headed, when we plan to eat the bigfella (the cray) – then loads us with ice and the bright orange critter – once a saltwater spiny lobster – soon to be tea. Prize in the back of the four-bee, we coast up and down the beautiful hills home.

Afternoon nap, some reading and more family arrive – cuddles, coffee and catch up has us up til one in the morning – its Christmas. So lovely.



MORE PICS TO COME! 







An Island Christmas...

Day 2: Dec 21

Reminders of a Chevy Chase Film

The Break-In

0730 sunshine streaming into bedroom calling me to rise - peering out the window I notice mist - ahhhh, Tasmania…. Then the cold hits - six degrees - what happen to summer - did I forget to pack it? Back into bed - read a book for a bit - whoops - two hours passes. Cousin arrives - says I can come into town and pick up his car and have it for the duration of my visit. Score - trusted with car - nice! Thing is, cousin just gained learners permit and should be getting practise - so this 28 year old with a little driving experience plans to pass on some knowledge with supervised driving time.

A lift into town with Grandad to go grab the little $500 beauty. Today freedom is a Nissan Vector, almost as old as me!

We arrive - no one home - no keys hidden - that’s ok - this girl knows how to pop a window and wind her hula hips through - aloha house - there you are car keys - lets cruise the streets of Tassy!


Click, click, click - battery dead - car wont start! Time for coffee and a think!

Buying the Battery

Ok - lets try the battery charger! Stalled for a few hours we see if that works before caving in and trying a boost! Ummming and arrrhhhhing the new driver and this older one are fearful of boosting from an automatic - picturing blowing computers in the newer vehicle from which we need the kick. After a call to a blokey bloke we go ahead - ahhh starts! Next stop - Auto One for a new battery and to find out what’s wrong with the current - no pun intended!

With a new battery in place - a grateful smile to local boy Chris who was happy to help install the gear - lets go say hi to cousin T - working at the local butchery. She’s a girl who knows how to handle a knife and how to have a jibe with the boys who like to throw dirty remarks. She’s busy packing Christmas orders - so I say just a quick g’day and having planned drinks for Friday night with all the younger cousins - those between 18 - 30 - cousin B and I grab the Nissan and take off again - ah, and it starts straight away - relief!

We are heading for Latrobe - another quick stop, this time for fuel. Ulverstone. Not much happening there - just more of that same drawn out Tasmanian accent from the local servo operator.

Fuelled up we are cruising - past the strawberry farm, past the cheese factory - next stop, a quirky store famed in my family - Reliquaire http://www.reliquaire.com/. On my first visit to the store a couple of years back now, I was a little ‘freaked’ by it! My memory flashes to my first experience, entering with my brother and nephew - greeted by a store person dressed as an elf - “have some fudge!” Circus music haunts my memory as I recall managing the maze of rooms with a map. A room full of giant ferries, another with antiques and local made jewellery, another with costumes and corsetry. On this visit however, I know what to expect and I navigate the space with interest.

I make it to the counter with some sweet stationary to send to someone special. The proprietor stands by the till - holding an icepack to her face. I suddenly realise that the detective brandishing cuffs that passed by moments ago was not Christmas shopping - something sinister had gone down at Reliquaire. I tell the store owner of my hobby for telling travel tales on radio and how I’d like to interview her - she says she’d love to but now is not the time as she was shop-lifted and struck when she approached the thief. Some sympathy for her - I understand - take a card and plan to call later.

Now bound for Devonport we detour for a loo stop - Anvers will do nicely. A sweet little local chocolate factory. Past the antique chocolate moulds, a peer through the window at the viewing platform I lavish the lavatory.

Anvers

Tasting a truffle, or two we bound to the Nissan keen to make it to the shops for a few last minute Christmas gifts. And we do. Ideal goodies identified and purchased we make pace, past Penguin, to cousin B's workplace to check roster to assist plan to visit Hobart for the Taste festival starting Dec 28 - an extravaganza of food and booze - a festival too good to be true for 18 year-old cousin B.

Back into the Nissan with a few crazy country tracks on the radio - we make funny, driving friendly dance moves to a local watering spot. A gorgeous view of the river running past - I sip a pot of Cascade and shout Cousin B a cider imported from London - it seems the English ties have never been severed!
Brew down, plans for Hobart made - we head home and book accommodation in Hobart for Taste. Then back to Grannies.

Yum.Yum.Yum.Love.Grandmas leftovers. Crash.Out.In.Bed.23:00.What.A.Day.

An Island Christmas...

Day 1: Dec 20

Up at 4am, after arriving home that morning at 2am, I finally arrive at Launceston via Melbourne - I had to dash off the plane at Melbourne and husstle it through two fingers of the terminal, through security check- points, a task that proved possible within the allotted but doubtful 30 minutes provided by Virgin Blue booking system.

 

The hangover from the work Christmas party the previous night seemed some of the heaviest baggage I had ever carried, not to mention the guilt of keeping my responsible husband awake, as he tried to gain rest before 'jetting' off to work in the coming hours.

Food - stomach was asking for balance - nose wanted to detach itself from face - could not stomach food until arriving in Launceston at 0930. Took. So. Much. Effort. To. Smile. At. Strangers. Hello. Friendly. Tasmanians. Please. Excuse. This. 'Drunked'. Sydneysider!

The journey on the Airporter shuttle from Launceston airport into town was a crack up thanks to entertainment provided by locals - an unexpected inclusion with the $15 fare. There was some anti tourist banter - quite funny coming from tourism operators relying on the tourism dollar, but amusing nonetheless. Apparently the harder the sun shines the faster the tourists arrive and it was surely shining! The bus detoured via the Country Club and Im sure the guest headed there was relieved to get off once the destination arrived so he no longer had to face the quips of the driver about his socio-economic status which was apparently indicated by said guests choice of accommodation. Really!

'Launy' - not the most happening town - but it is home of Boags - a fine beer if you ask me! Cute shops. Friendly people and a park full of monkeys - yes monkeys.

After wondering the mall, which covers all of three metres of the town centre I jumped on a Redline Coach. Comfortable, but one would not call it classy transportation. The trick seems to be to get on early and spread yourself across two seats - despite any issues of equity or basic consideration. Nevermind. Just a couple of hours crammed up next to someone I inconvenienced.

I seemed to foster a twelve year old companion for the journey, bless his cotton socks and drawn out Tasmanian accent - he preceded to tell me that Burnie was just around the corner, um, for two hours! Bless! He had been on the bus from Hobart since 10 am - and unlike most kids of his age - he did not have gadgets and gear worth thousands of dollars to entertain him - just a polite interest to be heard. So I listened. I was informed of his parents divorce - the new family members created. They're noisy but nice. He has no preference to live with Mum or Dad - just acceptance of the situation. And, even with a bag of lollies and 'fizzy' he was happy chatting to me. No destruction to property, no disrespectful anti-adult statements - just sharing his thoughts, asking how certain things we passed were made - like cranes, silos, bridges and heavy machinery - if only I had the answers - but at least I could encourage his enquiring mind.

Arrived in North West of Tassy at 16.00! Hello family! Wonderful to see you - thank you for doing a Maccas stop! My hangover loves you for it!

A little bit more driving, past more rolling hills - olive, spring green, crisp browns - auscam displayed in a patchwork of land. Then there were the quaint cottages nestled in amongst the hills - reminders of Tasmania's colonial heritage. I had come to the part of the state that my beloved Grandparent's call home!

Hello goat. Hello lamb. Hello chooks. Hello cat. Hello dog. Hello Dunny. HELLO DUNNY! That's my grandad's pet name - he's a little hard of hearing - but I don't need conversation with him - just a hug and to know he and Granny are well and happy!

Then there's the beds - all awaiting cousins merging from all parts of Australia - some not seen in six years. Unbelievable. When I consider the length of time - the stories - the changes - emotions build and I feel teary. Holding them back though as its a time for celebration and appreciation of the now - the future.