Off to TAZ.... (Tasmania: Day 1 - Hobart)

A couple of weeks ago, I finally got some vacation.  After being here for almost 6 months I finally got some time off from work to do a little traveling and escape the droll of working in the Emergency Department week after week.  Now before you write me a harsh and mean spirited email about how I am a ungrateful bastard and I have no idea how lucky I am, read on.  Obviously I am only kidding.  Lindsay and I remind ourselves almost daily how incredibly lucky we are to be doing what we are doing.  In fact, we very often take "time outs" during great dinners, during runs here along The Strand, during hikes in the nearby national parks, or even during beautiful sunsets on our porch just to reflect on how appreciative we are (and how unbelievably lucky we are).  That all being said, this time off was the first official vacation week of the year.  Just so all the Americans reading can have a better understanding of how backward the U.S. is when it comes to the balance of recreation and vocation, here is what the Aussies get...every year.  Most people get 4 weeks paid vacation, the docs in my group get 5.  In addition to that, they get 3.5 weeks of PDL (Profession Development Leave), which is paid time off to go "develop" oneself professionally.  Usually that means skiing in Japan or sitting on a beach on the Gold Coast.  If the docs dont use up all their  PDL....they can bank it and turn it into Long Service Leave where they can take up to 6 months of PAID leave to go do something "educational" overseas.  This is normal here.  This is why the rest of the world cannot belive that the average American gets 2.4 weeks of vacation per year.  Live to work or work to live?

Anyway, two Friday's ago the sound of the alarm screaming at 4:30 AM signaled the start of our adventure to Tasmania, Australia's smallest state.  Our first stop: Hobart, the capital of Tasmania.  We had been watching the weather prior to our trip and knew that even if the forecasted rain stayed away, we were in for a major change in temperature.  When we left the warmth of our perpetually blue-skied tropical seaside town it was 33C (92 F).  Six hours later, as we made our final descent into Hobart, the captain announced it was 18C (64 F) and drizzling.  Amazingly enough, when I looked at Lindsay, she was smiling.  WARNING: BEFORE READING THIS MAKE SURE YOU ARE SITTING DOWN!  Lindsay was actually looking forward to being cold. 

A quick note on the seasonal psychology of the southern hemisphere.  This has been a bit tricky for both of us.  The weather this "winter" (July-Sept) was perfect.  About 25 C and pinic weather every single day.  Our seasonal confusion began about the time Clemson and Arizona had their first games.  It was football season!  It was fall!  Thanksgiving was just around the corner.  We both had memories of bundling up during a classic Boston October.  Even in the deserts of Tucson we could expect hot chili on a cold night.  Not so much in tropical Queensland.  Every day now it is getting hotter and more humid.  I know its not directly related, but if the world Climate Change Summit was moved from frigid Denmark to sweltering Townsville, those politicians would get something done and fast!  Anyway, Tasmania offered us both a respite from the humid inferno and a reminder of what a coat is for.  That is why Lindsay was happy.

When we arrived we got the car and headed into the city.  In a slightly prophetic move, Lindsay had booked our first room above a bar in the middle of downtown Hobart.  We got settled in and I ventured out to expore while Lindsay sat down to work with a glass of sauvignon blanc and her laptop.  She had an "emergency thingamabob" for work that had to be done immediately.  I walked around Hobart taking some pictures and scouting out the local restaurant/bar scene.  It's a neat little city sandwiched between the harbor and the 4,000 foot Mount Wellington.



I returned to the hotel and Lindsay was ready to go out.  We did a bit of wandering around town and first ended up at a fish n' chips joint called Fish Frenzy where we shared the BEST $17 bowl of smoky fish chowder ever.  (Yes, the chowder was actually $17.  But at least it was about 1.5 liters of soup, which was more than enough for both of us.) After that we walked down to the famous Salamanca Square, the home of some of the city's best wine bars and restaurants, and of course the weekly markets.  We visted a few bars and pubs, sampling the local pinot noirs and sauvignon blancs, enjoying the warmth from the outdoor heat lamps.  In our search for the perfect dinner spot we ventured into a shop that was having a big sale on camping gear.  We purchased an awesome picnic blanket for $19, which proved to be quite handy throughout the Tasmania trip.  We eventually stumbled upon a restaurant called Catch, where we ended up eating dinner.  We were still a bit full from the chowder, so we shared a delicious seafood pasta (with mussels, fish, prawns/shrimp, and scallops) as well as a couple oysters on the half shell. It had been a long day, so after dinner we retired to our "bartel."

The next morning was Saturday, the day of the weekly markets at Salamanca Square.  These markets are listed in all the guidebooks and on all the websites as a Hobart Institution and a must-do.  We were skeptical, but we ventured out in the misty rain anyway.  We both were pleasently surprised at the quality of the markets.  They had nice looking crafts, quality artwork, fresh bread, local cheeses, homemade sausages, candy, and a most impressive display of local produce.  We picked up some fresh sourdough, some strawberries, and some other veggies, and afterwords we went back to the camping store to purchase a small collapsible cooler on sale for $10 (that also proved to be an extremely useful purchase).  At about 11am we packed up the car and headed northwest toward the wilderness of western Tasmania.