A raucous duck woke me this morning, having a hissy fit about something before retiring from sight and sound once we were properly awake; it was only about 6.30 am, far too early for us retirees! There are large numbers of ducks, coots, plovers and other water birds about the park, and a couple of lawnmower bunnies, the latter far more timid than the ducks who obviously consider themselves the custodians of the park.
The weather has discouraged me from singing the
parks praises because despite its faults, I do think it is rather wonderful for
a city caravan park. We certainly like the price, compared to others anywhere
near, and were very pleased to find that by booking for a week, we had only to
pay for six days.
From our windows we have wonderful views of Mt
Wellington and others to the north, the famed MONA we have yet to visit and in
the opposite direction, the gleaming white structure of the Cadbury factory,
also a tourist attraction. If the wind was to abate, and the sun to shine more
than a few minutes, we would enjoy setting off along the path past MONA, on
past the Botanic Gardens and all the way into the city, if we were feeling the
need for a ten kilometres wander, that is.
None of the stars were lined up for that
activity this morning, so we drove into the city in search of a more central
parking. This proved to be more problematic that we thought because many of
those we targeted were only for two hours; we needed a safety net of at least
three. After winding our way through the narrow lanes above the waterfront and
the Salamander Market avenue, we found a perfect spot very close to our
destination; the Parliament.
We arrived just in time to be searched for
guns, bombs and knives before being escorted up to the public gallery in the
House of Assembly with about four others. We arrived as the mace and speaker
were entering, in time for Christian prayers and the tedious business of
motions being put on notice. This was the first sitting of this session and
parliamentary business must be adhered to. After just over half an hour we were
treated to the business we had come for; Question Time.
The Tasmanian House of Assembly is a touchy
feely affair, perhaps because the government is in the hands of a Labor-Green
Coalition. There were motions to offer congratulations for the recent wins by
football teams, awards to business and anything else that came to mind. There
was much consternation about the $100 million (or was it billion?) that the
Federal government have promised the State, the delay causing the horrendous
unemployment rates, high smoking deaths, sluggish business development and
anything else that came to mind. There seems to be a beneficiary mind-set here
very much in contrast to that we observed in the Western Australian parliament.
I was impressed by the gutsy fluent performance of the Premier, Lara Giddings,
a pretty little thing with a massive back end. (Now isn’t that a sexist thing
for me to say!) I do believe she has been taking lessons from Julia Gillard,
she does the negativity speech very
well, but did thankfully stay away from any reference to misogyny; she may save herself from a defeat in next year’s State
election after all.
We decided to have lunch with the best views
Hobart could offer; surely at the top of their mountain, so set off up the
winding narrow road through Wellington Park, a drive of about fifteen
kilometres from the centre of the city. We had glanced up to the mountain top
on our way back to the car and seen clear skies and plenty of promise.
Yesterday morning’s snow had melted by that
afternoon, or so we thought. By the time we reached the 1,000 metre mark today,
there were clumps of snow all along the roadside and occasional pockets of the
same in rocky hollows. By the time we reached the summit at 1,270 metres, snow
lay everywhere, deep and white, cold and impressive. Showery squalls passed
over, one after another, gusting at 50 to 60 kph. We sat in the landcruiser
surrounded by cloud, looking out at the snow covered heath and glad to be in
shelter. However there came a time when we had to venture out, to at least one
of the lookouts, having made the effort to get up here. I donned a second
jacket over the first, my gloves, wound a scarf around my face and over my hat,
pulled the hood up over my head and rushed out into the mad weather. From the
one lookout we sought refuge, we were able to see through the rain mist a hint
of the splendid views available in better weather. We watched a little Indian boy delight in the
snow, obviously a first for him and his mother. His father wisely stayed in the
warmth of the car where the cold soon drove his family. Another couple
delighting in a first experience (of snow) threatened to stuff a handful down
the neckline of the other. I was thankful we were older, wiser and slightly
stuffy.
We did learn from the interpretative signs in
the lookout that the mountain road was constructed in the 1930s, controversial
in its development in that it might create an eyesore on what was an untouched
natural wonder. In the 1950s there was
further defacement when television aerials were erected.
We were disappointed the weather had come over
so as it was evident that this really is a fabulous spot from which to view the
entire area, but will return if time and truly clear skies coincide before we move
on.
On the way down we checked out the Cascades Female
Factory, Australia’s most significant historic site associated with female
convicts. Chris suggested that I visit this museum alone,
however I thought this rather unfair. Isn’t this such a typical attitude from
woman! It is okay for him to go visit the motor museum while I wait outside but
when the tables are turned, I see it as unjust. Perhaps this only something a
woman of a certain age or era would say; young women would mock such a
statement. I am obviously still old fashioned.
The Cascades Female Factory was built in this cold
valley at the base of Mount Wellington and operated between 1828 and 1856. It
was separated and hidden from the main settlement, yet played a pivotal role in
the penal transportation system. Approximately 25,000 female convicts were
transported to Australia, making up about 15% of the convict population.
However convict women made an important contribution to the development of the
colonies through their labour and their vital role in family formation,
ultimately leading to greater social cohesion. Concerns about the potentially
corrupting influence of women led to the establishment of female factories to
house, employ, manage, control and reform female convicts. Here they provided
laundry and needlework services, offsetting some of the Colony’s penal costs.
Quite recently I read Bryce Courtney’s The Potato Factory, half of which was
set in Hobart and about this very Female Factory. It was interesting therefore
to see its actual whereabouts however as I peered through the walls and about
the peaceful gardens, I was not moved to pay the money and have much of what I
had learned in that novel repeated by a guide.
A little further up the gully is the Cascade Brewery,
the oldest continually operating brewery in Australia. On the site of a saw
milling operation, the brewery was established beside the clean water of the
Hobart Rivulet in 1824. Today aside from producing a variety of beers and
ciders, the estate offers tours, meals and a museum, and has now been immortalised
in the novel I mentioned earlier.
Note the word “rivulet” used above; it seems that Tasmania has its own geographical
vocabulary: tier for escarpment, rivulet for creek. I
wonder what else we will discover.
Still needing the daily newspaper and a loaf of
bread, we decided to head across the Derwent River to the Eastland’s Shopping Mall,
Tasmania’s largest shopping centre in the suburb of Rosney Park. It probably
is, or should I say, must be, because the tourist brochure says so, however is
not very impressive to those of us who have travelled the Australian mainland,
or dare I say it, even Auckland? I should not be dismissive, because most of
the fashion chain stores are there together with BigW, Coles, Woolworths, JB
Hifi, Dick Smiths, Kmart, and all the others one has come to expect in these like
centres, although we couldn’t find a MacDonalds which was probably just as
well.
Chris upset one of the locals at the checkout
who was oblivious to the fact there was a queue of people waiting for service.
She was catching up on a decade’s domestic happenings with the shop assistant.
There were words between the discourteous customer and my husband. Alas, the
floor did not swallow me up although other waiting customers applauded my
husband’s audacity. I prefer the robot checkout machines however they do tend
to stuff up and then there are words again. Shopping is not always a pleasure.
We decided to return home via the Bowen Bridge
further upriver and so drove on up through the suburbs of Lindisfarne and
Riadon. The route proved to be a delightful alternative offering a different
view of the city and adding to our good impressions.
As I write this and glance out the window, Mt
Wellington appears so very benign. I am also reminded that the first Europeans
who saw this mountain referred to it as Table Mountain; from this angle it
appears to have a wide flat top.
Tomorrow morning we will be up and out early. The
landcruiser has had a quick clean, lunch is prepared and sitting in the fridge
and our coats are packed in our backpacks. Alas, the weather forecast is not
looking good.
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