Back in Hobart and fortified by excellent dinner my companion and I abandoned our little car to the tender mercies of its slave masters and gathered along with thirteen presumably like minded souls for our quick tour of Tasmania. An individual approached and announced himself as our guide.
Once informalities had been completed our guide herded us and a collection of random strangers (henceforth to be known as CoRS) onto a minivan and we set out on our journey.
Five minutes later we stopped again outside a museum where we popped in to see how appallingly our ancestors had treated the local indigenous population (although the sole German amongst us can probably get a pass). After a grim but informative hour our guide rounded up the CoRS while the Pilates instructor and I went to find a post office.
Our minivan was still waiting when we returned so we climbed aboard and were transported to the charming colonial town of Richmond. Richmond has a bridge, a lolly shop and a bakery that sold curried scallop pies. To me that latter sounded appalling but my companion ate it with every evidence of gusto. I saved my gusto for a more appropriate subject.
With the colonial charm of Richmond finally exhausted the minivan pointed itself in the direction of a winery and we all went with the flow.
At the winery we were presented with a series of wines to taste apparently on the principle that if they got us drunk enough we’d buy more wine. Most of the wine seemed to involve Pinot noir. I didn’t like the Pinot noir but one of the Rieslings was nice and the cheese selection was excellent. I didn’t buy any wine but one of the CoRS did so I guess mission accomplished for the winery.
Our guide finally managed to drag us out of the vineyard and back onto the minivan and we headed for Bicheno, a town largely famous for being the place where we were stopping for the night.
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