Finally Hobart, and heavenly lodgings at Flourish, a heritage-listed Georgian building. The owners, Tracey and Barry, were splendid absent hosts - there were welcome messages, bowls of fruit, plentiful fresh coffee and helpful local notes and a basket of toys. The two-bedroom cottage was full of character and decorated in a quirky style with original art works and knick-knackery everywhere. I could have bunkered in for a fortnight on that leather lounge. We all could have played house there, although the children were slightly alarmed by the cow's hide rug in the sitting room.
While trying to hunt out a supermarket for supplies, meandering through the back streets of South Hobart and going in circles, we ended up taking a detour on the hair-raising, wind blown 21 km, 20 minute drive to the summit of Mount Wellington.
I'm thinking groceries, it's late, we've been driving all day and here we are, right on the juvenile's dinnertime, zig-zagging up a mountain, around hair-pin bends with sheer precipices on one side. We pass through temperate rainforest to sub-alpine flora and glacial rock formations - stunning, unexpected - but I'm still making shopping lists in my head. Tuna, milk, pasta, oh my, lean hard to left. Where ARE we going? I don't think there's a Woolies up here.
Rising 1,270 metres (around 4,000 feet) above Hobart's harbour and the wide Derwent River, you gain a bird’s eye view of the intricate pattern of islands and estuaries that reach out to the sea beyond. The panorama takes in Hobart, Bruny Island, South Arm and the Tasman Peninsula. Which is where you might be lifted up and off to, if you don't walk with your head bowed down and shoulders braced against the wind.
