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!