How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.
In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.
I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.
Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.
There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.
Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.
It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.
For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.
It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!
It is not raining when we woke, but it had been most of the night. After a cold start, the weather, seems to have improved, if only for the time being.
Today’s expedition is the Cascade Brewery, which doesn’t have tours at the moment because of staff issues with Covid, but does have a bar and restaurant. There is also a historic site, an old women’s prison, and botanical gardens. I’m not sure how far we’ll get in the gardens, but the bar and restaurant is looking good.
We get there and decide on lunch first then a visit to the women’s prison.
Fail. The bar and restaurant are packed and there are no tables left. Time for a photograph of the old brewery, and move on.
Instead of going to the prison, just down the road, we go off in a different direction, to Mt Wellington, thinking it might give excellent views of Hobart.
Only a sign says the road is supposed to be closed, but it is not, so we and a dozen others are venturing up the road towards the summit.
The road was probably opened temporarily, but it is getting more treacherous as the snow appears and the road is wet. We make it about 2km before deciding it’s unsafe.
The adventure continues because at the bottom of the hill we decided to go to Huonville, hoping to chance upon the apple orchards and all things apple.
It was an immense letdown. There was nothing, except for one innocuous building with a sign out front saying it was open, but for all intents and purposes looked like it was completely empty.
Until you drove around the back to the carpark where there were hundreds of cars, and inside, totally packed.
It’s where everyone in Huonville had gone.
And not where we were going to get a distinctly Tasmanian meal.
We had to settle for another pie from Banjo’s in Sandy Bay.
We’re up early because there’s an informal breakfast put on by the resort at 9, with waffles, ice cream, and berries.
It also meant that we will be able to embark on an adventure a lot earlier than we have been previously, somewhere about 10:30.
Breakfast ends at about 10 and we take a few minutes to decide what we’re going to do. The best option is the go-to Port Arthur, nearly 100km away, about an hour and a half drive.
The weather is great considering so far we’ve had rain and more rain, insidious cold, and snow, so for the day to be sunny with blue skies is as if the planets have lined up.
Nearly 100 km driving in rain to visit a penal colony 8n the rain was not a good prospect.
Along the way, there are a number of scenic points and intermittent views of the water which in places gives views out to sea, but it seems mostly over estuaries because the water is quite calm.
Only as we approach Port Arthur do we get to see the ocean stretch out to the horizon, and there are lookout points over rocks that display the end result of the ocean’s fury with land.
There are several viewing points for landmarks such as the Blowhole. These we will stop at on the way back
Along with a lavender factory and cafe.
Not far from that lavender factory is a Tasmanian Devil union, which seems to be an odd name for scything, but we don’t stop to see exactly what it is
Just at noon, we arrive at the Port Arthur site to be greeted by two overflow carparks, then a three-tiered carpark. We try for the first, and closest, and get a park, more by good luck than anything else.
Good luck getting into the settlement other than through the edifice built across the whole front. This is how you make people feel secure. Not even an ant could get past it.
There us a restaurant, a Cafe, a gift shop, and entrance. The cost is $45 for an adult, $20 for children, and $36 for us.
And from what I can see if the settlement, and the activities included in the admission price, we could not do any of it, so coming was not exactly a waste of time, we had to come to at least see it.
Maybe when Rosemary can walk again.
We spend time in the gift shop, I get a book that had photos of what we’re missing, sad then we head back.
Lunch at a seafood restaurant beckons.
On the way back we visit the Lavender farm, and, of course, pick up a few lavender items.
Hotel Dunally Seafood Restaurant, or so the sign outside says.
We saw this place on the way to Poet Arthur and if time allowed, we would check it out for lunch.
About 1 30 pm we go in.
Sadly, the locally caught Flounder is unavailable, no one had been able to go out and get it, so there is no fresh fish at all, not even the flathead.
Asked about the flathead, but it’s frozen seafood out of a bag and fried. For a seafood restaurant, it’s very disappointing that it lacks fresh seafood.
We opt for the seafood bake, with chips and salad. It’s not going to be fresh seafood, but maybe the closest thing to it, with prawns, scallops, and calamari, as well as fish pieces.
WE then decided to go back to Daci and Daci again, for another cake.
We agreed not to plan what we were going to do today, but I had this idea we should go north or the opposite direction to yesterday.
That meant our destination, following the hop on hop off bus route was to head towards the Botanic Gardens.
Bur first, Rosemary had expressed a desire to go down to the water’s edge to have a look, giving an excellent view of the coastline at what was called Battery Point.
I tried to get there, but there were no roads that specifically went down to the water’s edge, but we did eventually drive-up Salamanca place, where we had walked a few days before.
It was not the same, but it did give us time to look at the line of sandstone buildings that had been there a long time and had been repurposed as Sn arts precinct.
Of course, there was only one flaw in the plan, Rosemary was not able to walk any great distance, so we were limited to what could be seen from the car.
But…
There was really nothing to see, just cars parked haphazardly on the side of the road near an entrance that led down some steps, or a few cars in a proper car park too far away from the entrance.
I was not sure what to make of it other than it was an exercise-intensive effort just to get from the car park to the gate, and then you had to walk around the gardens.
It was all too much.
Government House was on the same road, but it was not open to the public, nor was it in sight of the road, do no photographic moment there, so we were doubly disappointed.
The next phase of our unplanned tour was to go over the Tasman Bridge, perhaps to see the other side of the bay that we could see from our apartment.
Except…
When we got over the other side we veered left to follow the Derwent towards Lindisfarne where there was a yacht basin and several yacht clubs, one of which promised a view while you drank coffee.
Only problem, no parking spaces.
A good idea, unable to be acted on.
Instead, we drove around the esplanade, and continued on our way to Glenorchy, after not being able to get that coffee with a view.
Back on the main road, we take the Glenorchy exit and doesn’t take long to get there, though, by the time we’ve driven through the suburban area, we’re back on the main Hobart Road.
It was a case of don’t blink or you’ll miss it. We missed Glenorchy.
Change of plans, looking for that elusive coffee, we head for the center of Hobart shopping, Centrepoint, hoping in that center there will be a coffee shop. Of course, it’s Queen’s Birthday holiday so it’s possible nothing is open.
In the end, we found a parking space nearby. And a Hudson’s. Coffee and a toasted sandwich went down very well.
So, once again, we didn’t get to the places we were hoping to get to. This is what tomorrow, we’re not going to state a place to visit.
A lot of locations for stories are based on places that I’ve visited. So, any time I’m on holiday, I’m also discreetly observing, and noting, the places with an ulterior motive.
At some point in time, they’ll finish up in a story.
Places like Florence, London, Paris, New York and Venice have all been used in recent stories.
Of course places change, and there are some that I can’t get to, so it’s useful having Google Maps and Street View. These can either make up for lack of memory and a be a refresher.
Especially if you need to visit Africa. Parts of several stories are set in Nigeria, not exactly a place I would go, no matter how much I wanted to get the lie of the land, nor would I go to the Democratic Republic of Congo.
Rwanda, maybe, but in investigating locations, it is interesting to discover that places like Kenya and Rwanda are reasonbly safe. Uganda is more or less the same, but whether I’d visit, as inviting as it might be to see the wildlife (animals that is) I’m thinking Google Maps will do for now.
And, of course, at the moment there is another reason why I can’t get a practical look at overseas locations. Covid-19.
I have always had a fascination for other places, from way back when I was in school and we did a subject called geography. Back then, nearly 60 years ago, we had school atlases that had all of the British colonies, even if they had become independent, coloured red on the maps, and there was a lot of them.
Places like London, of which we also studied in history, always held a fascination for me, and, in particular, the royal family. Oddly enough, I knew all of the kings and queens from 1066 onwards, and yet had no idea who our Prime Ministers in Australia were.
It wasn’t until much later we learned about Australian history.
But seeing places foreign are only part of the story. I have had time during the pandemic when we were not allowed to leave home, to delve into the historical side of Australia, and it has created a fascination for writing a story that has basis in fact.
This was unwittingly pushed along when my grand daughter came home from school with the assignment of writing a story about a character that was affected by a historical event. Thus Eliza at the Eureka Stockade was created.
I remember back in university days when working on the narrative part of my literature stream we were set an assignment based on pictures from a certain period, and a series of written documents to put together a story. Mine was about a passenger on a ship from Melbourne to Geelong in the days before rail around the time of the gold rush.
I’m guessing that’s what is called historical fiction.
We agreed not to plan what we were going to do today, but I had this idea we should go north or the opposite direction to yesterday.
That meant our destination, following the hop on hop off bus route was to head towards the Botanic Gardens.
Bur first, Rosemary had expressed a desire to go down to the water’s edge to have a look, giving an excellent view of the coastline at what was called Battery Point.
I tried to get there, but there were no roads that specifically went down to the water’s edge, but we did eventually drive-up Salamanca place, where we had walked a few days before.
It was not the same, but it did give us time to look at the line of sandstone buildings that had been there a long time and had been repurposed as Sn arts precinct.
Of course, there was only one flaw in the plan, Rosemary was not able to walk any great distance, so we were limited to what could be seen from the car.
But…
There was really nothing to see, just cars parked haphazardly on the side of the road near an entrance that led down some steps, or a few cars in a proper car park too far away from the entrance.
I was not sure what to make of it other than it was an exercise-intensive effort just to get from the car park to the gate, and then you had to walk around the gardens.
It was all too much.
Government House was on the same road, but it was not open to the public, nor was it in sight of the road, do no photographic moment there, so we were doubly disappointed.
The next phase of our unplanned tour was to go over the Tasman Bridge, perhaps to see the other side of the bay that we could see from our apartment.
Except…
When we got over the other side we veered left to follow the Derwent towards Lindisfarne where there was a yacht basin and several yacht clubs, one of which promised a view while you drank coffee.
Only problem, no parking spaces.
A good idea, unable to be acted on.
Instead, we drove around the esplanade, and continued on our way to Glenorchy, after not being able to get that coffee with a view.
Back on the main road, we take the Glenorchy exit and doesn’t take long to get there, though, by the time we’ve driven through the suburban area, we’re back on the main Hobart Road.
It was a case of don’t blink or you’ll miss it. We missed Glenorchy.
Change of plans, looking for that elusive coffee, we head for the center of Hobart shopping, Centrepoint, hoping in that center there will be a coffee shop. Of course, it’s Queen’s Birthday holiday so it’s possible nothing is open.
In the end, we found a parking space nearby. And a Hudson’s. Coffee and a toasted sandwich went down very well.
So, once again, we didn’t get to the places we were hoping to get to. This is what tomorrow, we’re not going to state a place to visit.
Television is a great recorder of the past, and most channels, and especially cable tv have great libraries of films that go back more than a hundred years.
And, whilst it’s possible that modern-day films and television series can try to recapture the past, the English as an exception being very good at it, often it is impossible to capture it correctly.
But, if you have a film shot in the moment, then you have a visual record of what life, and what was once part of our world before you in all its dated glory. The pity of it is that, then, we never appreciated it.
After all, in those particular times, who had the time to figuratively stop and smell the roses. Back then as life was going on, we were all tied up with just trying to get through each day.
Years later, often on reflection, we try to remember the old days, and, maybe, remember some of what it was like, but the chances are that change came far too rapidly, and often too radical, that it erases what we thought we knew existed before.
My grandmother’s house is a case in point. In its place is a multi-lane superhighway, and there’s nothing left to remind us, or anyone of it, just some old sepia photographs.
I was reminded of how volatile history really is when watching an old documentary, in black and white, and how the city I grew up in used to look.
Then, even though it seemed large to me then, it was a smaller city, with suburbs that stretched about ten or so miles in every direction, and the outer suburbs were where people moved to get a larger block, and countrified atmosphere.
Now, those outer suburbs are no longer spacious properties, the acreage subdivided and the old owners now much richer for a decision made with profit not being the motivator, and the current suburban sprawl is now out to forty or fifty miles.
The reason for the distance is no longer the thought of open spaces and cleaner air, the reason for moving now is that land further out is cheaper, and can make buying that first house more affordable.
This is where I tip my hat to the writers of historical fiction. I myself am writing a story based in the 1970s, and it’s difficult to find what is and isn’t time-specific.
If only I had a dollar for every time I went to write the character pulling out his or her mobile phone.
What I’ve found is the necessity to research, and this has amounted to finding old films, documentaries of the day, and a more fascinating source of information, the newspapers of the day.
The latter especially has provoked a lot of memories and a lot of stuff I thought I’d forgotten, some of it by choice, but others that were poignant.
Yes, and don’t get me started on the distractions.
Overnight the rain began and hasn’t stopped. It is cold, and the heater in the room is not quite adequate for the space it has to heat up. Fortunately, the bed has electric blankets, and it was warm, lying wake listening to the raindrops. That warmth makes it difficult to get out of bed, but this is a holiday, and we have to get motivated.
We have a balcony, and from there the bleakness of the early morning is stark, but at least the rain is light if not a fine mist.
Worse, it alternates between this fine mist and a short downpour, which means the umbrella goes up and down until you give up. Later, the rain is not heavy, and just tolerable.
We head off to the Salamanca markets, happening only on Saturday morning. Unable to walk long distances, we drive, about four minutes from our apartment, but miss a turn, it takes 10, then and 5 to assess the parking situation which, in the end, was the easiest part of this expedition.
The hardest part, walking among the very large crowd of people defying the rain and cold. I can tolerate large crowds but today, they seem to want to stop suddenly, and just stand and talk in the middle of the walkways making it difficult to impossible to maintain any sort of continuity.
There were hundreds of stalls, the most predominant, micro distillers for some odd reason, selling expensive spirits for about $90 a 700ml bottle, which I regard as overly expensive. My son has made Bourbon some years ago and it cost him about $10 for 4.5 liters, so it must be a lucrative sideline, even after you’ve added the excise.
There were a great many food stands, and choices, one of which was a curly potato skewer, which was interesting to say the least. On a meat pie quest, we found a stand that sold pies, but they were warming a new batch, and the waiting line was about 50 or 60 people long.
I went back a half-hour later and they had sold out. They must be one of the highlights of the market to be so in demand, and that people would stand in the cold and rain just to get one.
Having been defeated by aches and pains, the cold and rain, as well as the large crowd, and the absence of anything we wanted, it was fortunate that time had expired on our parking space.
We had contemplated finding a restaurant to have lunch, deciding it was time to have a proper meal rather than a snack, there didn’t seem to be any places open, and the cafes were packed.
This sparked off an odyssey to find a decent restaurant.
After leaving the markets, we find a road that follows the coastline. Aside from houses either side, and at one point a marina and the Wrest Point casino, which was not a place we intended to visit, the further we went, the less chance it seemed of finding what we were looking for.
But we did find a tourist attraction, a shot tower, and a museum.
And a tea room that had afternoon tea. Not exactly what we were looking for. That said, and feeling like going any further would not fix the search parameters, I go to Google maps and search for restaurants near us.
There’s a Vietnamese restaurant, 6.1 km back the way we came, and being the best choice out of five or six others, we go.
And here’s the thing, it’s just around the corner from where we’re staying. Go figure.
But, there is a twist, we drive past one of the hotels that were recommended to us back at the apartments, so we go there, the Hotel Doctor Syntax. We figure we’re more likely to get the vegetable component there than the other place.
It turns out to be a master stroke, getting steak, pork belly, roast potatoes, gravy, asparagus, and seafood on the side. All having generous servings as one would expect from a hotel bistro.
The food must be great because they were full and had to turn people away. We were very lucky to get the last table but one, and that one didn’t last very long.
After a long, leisurely lunch surrounded by warmth and atmosphere, we had one more stop. Coffee and cake at Daci and Daci, a café recommended to us.
It was worth the experience, although it took some fortitude to fit it in after such a large lunch. I suspect before we go back for a second visit, yes, it was that good, we will make sure we are less full of lunch first. The cake I had was delicious but very filling. The coffee? Excellent.
A lot of locations for stories are based on places that I’ve visited. So, any time I’m on holiday, I’m also discreetly observing, and noting, the places with an ulterior motive.
At some point in time, they’ll finish up in a story.
Places like Florence, London, Paris, New York and Venice have all been used in recent stories.
Of course places change, and there are some that I can’t get to, so it’s useful having Google Maps and Street View. These can either make up for lack of memory and a be a refresher.
Especially if you need to visit Africa. Parts of several stories are set in Nigeria, not exactly a place I would go, no matter how much I wanted to get the lie of the land, nor would I go to the Democratic Republic of Congo.
Rwanda, maybe, but in investigating locations, it is interesting to discover that places like Kenya and Rwanda are reasonbly safe. Uganda is more or less the same, but whether I’d visit, as inviting as it might be to see the wildlife (animals that is) I’m thinking Google Maps will do for now.
And, of course, at the moment there is another reason why I can’t get a practical look at overseas locations. Covid-19.
I have always had a fascination for other places, from way back when I was in school and we did a subject called geography. Back then, nearly 60 years ago, we had school atlases that had all of the British colonies, even if they had become independent, coloured red on the maps, and there was a lot of them.
Places like London, of which we also studied in history, always held a fascination for me, and, in particular, the royal family. Oddly enough, I knew all of the kings and queens from 1066 onwards, and yet had no idea who our Prime Ministers in Australia were.
It wasn’t until much later we learned about Australian history.
But seeing places foreign are only part of the story. I have had time during the pandemic when we were not allowed to leave home, to delve into the historical side of Australia, and it has created a fascination for writing a story that has basis in fact.
This was unwittingly pushed along when my grand daughter came home from school with the assignment of writing a story about a character that was affected by a historical event. Thus Eliza at the Eureka Stockade was created.
I remember back in university days when working on the narrative part of my literature stream we were set an assignment based on pictures from a certain period, and a series of written documents to put together a story. Mine was about a passenger on a ship from Melbourne to Geelong in the days before rail around the time of the gold rush.
I’m guessing that’s what is called historical fiction.
We agreed not to plan what we were going to do today, but I had this idea we should go north or the opposite direction to yesterday.
That meant our destination, following the hop on hop off bus route was to head towards the Botanic Gardens.
Bur first, Rosemary had expressed a desire to go down to the water’s edge to have a look, giving an excellent view of the coastline at what was called Battery Point.
I tried to get there, but there were no roads that specifically went down to the water’s edge, but we did eventually drive-up Salamanca place, where we had walked a few days before.
It was not the same, but it did give us time to look at the line of sandstone buildings that had been there a long time and had been repurposed as Sn arts precinct.
Of course, there was only one flaw in the plan, Rosemary was not able to walk any great distance, so we were limited to what could be seen from the car.
But…
There was really nothing to see, just cars parked haphazardly on the side of the road near an entrance that led down some steps, or a few cars in a proper car park too far away from the entrance.
I was not sure what to make of it other than it was an exercise-intensive effort just to get from the car park to the gate, and then you had to walk around the gardens.
It was all too much.
Government House was on the same road, but it was not open to the public, nor was it in sight of the road, do no photographic moment there, so we were doubly disappointed.
The next phase of our unplanned tour was to go over the Tasman Bridge, perhaps to see the other side of the bay that we could see from our apartment.
Except…
When we got over the other side we veered left to follow the Derwent towards Lindisfarne where there was a yacht basin and several yacht clubs, one of which promised a view while you drank coffee.
Only problem, no parking spaces.
A good idea, unable to be acted on.
Instead, we drove around the esplanade, and continued on our way to Glenorchy, after not being able to get that coffee with a view.
Back on the main road, we take the Glenorchy exit and doesn’t take long to get there, though, by the time we’ve driven through the suburban area, we’re back on the main Hobart Road.
It was a case of don’t blink or you’ll miss it. We missed Glenorchy.
Change of plans, looking for that elusive coffee, we head for the center of Hobart shopping, Centrepoint, hoping in that center there will be a coffee shop. Of course, it’s Queen’s Birthday holiday so it’s possible nothing is open.
In the end, we found a parking space nearby. And a Hudson’s. Coffee and a toasted sandwich went down very well.
So, once again, we didn’t get to the places we were hoping to get to. This is what tomorrow, we’re not going to state a place to visit.
.jpg)
