Devonport, Tasmania - Bright Lights Big City
Greetings from Tasmania!
We left our hotel in Melbourne early this morning (after I endured a 4 am conference call), heading out for the airport with plenty of time. As we found out, Melbourne is bigger, more complicated, and more poorly roadsigned than we anticipated. Even with multiple maps, directions, and good intentions, we had a difficult time finding the airport. Incidentally, there are four airports in Melbourne, which added to the complication. But we made it, with only a few moments of pilot-navigator unpleasantness. Fortunately the kids slept through it all.
Even in a little turboprop puddle jumper, the flight to Devonport only takes about 90 minutes. We flew over the Tasman Sea, and landed almost immediately after we were over land again.
From the air, Tasmania is a rural idyll: rolling hills, patchwork farms, small country roads. As we landed, I’m embarrassed to say that the first thing I thought of was the mythical Island of Sodor, from Thomas the Tank Engine. Toot toot!
The title of this blog post is ironic. We are in a tiny town at the edge of the world. It looks and feels like Maine in early October, but with more sheep. The air is brisk.
We rented a “Holden Commodore” station wagon for our drive down to Freycinet National Park. Holden is GM’s Australian brand, and I am pretty certain we have rented a 1994 Chevy Malibu. Styling.
The drive is supposed to take about 2 hours, and is supposed to be very beautiful. Our eyes are peeled for Tasmanian Devils. This all feels somehow pretty exotic.
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