A weekend getaway
Is a weekend off Tasmania essential to a balanced islander life?
One of the Two Girls flew the Tasmanian coop for a long weekend; destination Adelaide
with a Melbourne stop-off en route.
It started with the 6 am cheap-arse Virgin flight out of
Hobart. STOP. Correct that. It started
with insomnia the night before followed by the 6 am cheap-arse Virgin flight.
Six hours of sleep turned to three. Not to be defeated, I slipped
into my new David Lawrence dress and to my delight discovered that it matched my eyes.
They were both red.
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The cab ride to the airport
alone was a trip.
Scene: red eyes, red dress, 4.50 am
Taxi driver: So this man got in the cab one day and asks me if I
wanted a tip. I said, yeah. He said 'Don't pick up strangers'. I said 'Well
that's f'en stupid mate, I'd never make a living!'
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Taxi driver: You know it's gonna be bad when you they get in the cab
and call you cock.
Duh…I could have told him that.
Taxi driver: A man got in the front and his girlfriend in the back.
He said to me 'That's my lady there in the back'. I said yeah. He said 'Talk to
her!' I said 'Mate, she's your lady, you f'en talk to her!'
There were more of these stories, but the others involved threats of
violence.
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How far are we from the
airport?
I managed to get ladders in two pair of fishnets; stockings that are
born with holes. But not before a sinking feeling...when one of your pushups
start sliding down your leg as you’re walking. For the record, not the look I
was going for but it sort of worked with the eyes.
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In Melbourne I bought a new
pair and paid extra for the holes.
On the plane, the man in front of me, sat down and promptly fell
asleep with his forehead pressed against the seat in front. I wish I could do
that. Instead, my head tends to loll around uncontrollably, gob open.
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As I was awaken with each neck snap, forwards then backwards, I am aware of Anxiety Man seated to my left. He goes through a series of movements: fists clench; fingers straighten; hands rub face; hand rub thighs; repeat.
Was it the plane, his destination or me?
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Inside I’m pleading he doesn’t
suddenly lose the plot.
But the journey is not more important than the destination. Really.
We got to eat hot chips and cheer the sixteen-year-old swimming champ in her races like the crazy proud aunties we are.
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She’s over the far side!
Marc had his first photography exhibition. A very proud moment in a young man’s life. Check out his site:
http://marcdbowden.com/
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We're now the proud owners of a
little piece of Victor Habour.
And we
got a ride from the gallery back into town with the very kind Mel and her
lovely girls who dropped us to the door of our restaurant.
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I’m not above name-dropping,
apparently she's married to Jay Weatherill. I googled it so I know it to be
true.
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We ate some pretty good food.
Enoteca was the first night’s dinner destination which we made it to
because I found their number in my recent calls, not because I remembered where
I’d booked. Enoteca is a restaurant where you can order a whole suckling pig for a $1000.
I
ordered a small quail instead and an individual portion of tirimisu.
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Tip: for something different
load up your mascarpone with orange flower blossom.
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At Panacea the following night we had a fantastic goat tajine and churros which
should make the chefs at Hobart's Ethos blush (sorry boys but even the second serve you sent
the Two Girls were simultaneously over and under cooked).
When I asked
for the toilet at Panacea, the comedian table attendant said, we don't have one,
you'll have to go behind the tree.
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Neil Perry you MUST release a
south of the boarder cookbook.
A weekend where I pondered animals kept in captivity. Something I do every time I visit a zoo but loved
every minute of it anyway.
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Kluet’s cold or playing hide
and seek
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A weekend where I talked to too many random strangers to recall and realised I have become my mother.
A weekend of family, friends, food, sightseeing, and shopping.
They’re all good.
What’s your favourite mainland
escape?
