Travelling Hopefully - Arrival Edition

 My journey of a thousand miles began with the traditional step towards Sydney airport but rapidly improved as we were rapidly herded towards a modest sized aircraft that surprised everyone by being on time. I was also pleasantly surprised to find that in defiance of rational expectations 

Also defying rational expectations was the sudden presence of the Pilates instructor who had unaccountably rejected multiple opportunities to flee for the hills and joined me on the flight. 

We landed in Hobart slightly early, picked up our rental car and set off for Bruny Island. Thirty seconds later we stopped again and referred to the vehicles manual to identify such useful things as the indicator controls and why the hell the car kept beeping at us.

With cheerful enthusiasm and frequent cursing we eventually (and by “we” I mean she) worked out how the car was meant to work and we pointed our nose in the direction of Bruny Island. My role was to simultaneously keep an eye on the map and the speed limit signs and warn her if we ran anyone over.

We headed through bustling, downtown Hobart and two minutes later had left Tasmania’s glittering, cosmopolitan capital behind us heading for a car ferry that would carry us across the storm tossed waves to Bruny Island.

Actually the whole trip was remarkably painless despite my propensity to shout “wallaby!” every time a marsupial got within a hundred metres of us.

Middle afternoon saw us crunching up the drive of our rented cottage as wallabies fled in all directions. We got out of the car, rhapsodised about the view and the quality of the accommodation and promptly drove off to see a lighthouse.

My companion was much taken with said lighthouse, with the view and particularly the clouds and the sunset. I having followed her eager ascent perhaps a little too vigorously simply gasped for breath and tried not to vomit.

With shadows lengthening and park personnel glancing meaningfully at their watches we clambered back into our faithful if somewhat undersized steed and returned to our cabin. Along the way wallabies scrambled out of the way with sufficient frequency to explain the roadkill littering Tasmania’s streets and, not infrequently, driveways.

That night I dined on most of a sheep while my companion seemed a little miffed that wallaby had been removed from the menu. My suggestion that she simply scrape some off the road was not met with favour.