Hello from Tasmania. You should come here. It's windy. You won't find me here though, as I'm leaving in the next few days.
We landed in a small city called Devonport. It's one of those Australian towns that consists of a splatter of low rise, low density housing that eventually gives way to a few strips of drive thru eateries, before spluttering into a half hearted city centre and then falling uncerimoniously into the sea. Bob likened it to Chester-le-Street, except with a port, and in all honesty he's not far wrong. It's not a bad town, nor is it a good one. It's one of those places people come from, rather than go to.
The hostel, on the other hand, is a bit shit. It has the clinically threadbare air of a second rate care home, is at least five degrees colder inside than out and the hob in the kitchen is so crap I am unable to boil water on it. Oh, and it smells a bit. They did, however, help us find work on a nearby farm peeling leeks, plucking carrots and getting very, very muddy. It was bloody cold work, but easy and compared to the banana farm the atmosphere was much more positive.
Unfortunately we're only employed on a casual basis, which means that we could work forty hours a week or we could work six. This became an issue for two reasons. Number one we received our visa extension forms back from Greg, our employer back in Mareeba (henceforth known as "the fat prick"). For reasons that I am charitably putting down to incompetence rather than maliciousness he has credited us with working fifty three days rather than the eighty four we're legally entitled to or the fifty eight that the fat prick initially said he'd give us. This isn't much of an issue for me as I don't intend to extend my stay, but it's a kick in the nuts for Bob. Secondly, Bob's English bank have shafted him, removing his overdraft without informing him and charging him a small fortune for the privilege.
Therefore the work we've got is not going to be enough to get us either an extension on our visas or allow us to save enough for further traveling. Bob therefore wants us to return to the mainland, where he's confident that he can find a fairly well paid computer doctor thingy job with a minimum of fuss. Personally, I'm leary about leaving paid employment as I don't share my traveling companion's confidence that I'll find a new one. But if I stay here I'm essentially going to be doing little else but tread water for the remainder of my time.
It's a bit of a shame though, as I quite like Tasmania (or the little I've seen of it anyroads). It's very green and reminds me of England. The rest of Australia seems to have two cliche's about here. Number one it's climate is subartic (which is melodramatic bullshit) and number two it's inhabitants are weird. I don't know if the latter is true. Beardier? Yes. Given to a slightly more *ahem* husky build? Perhaps. But generally the people here seem incredibly genuine and friendly. That said I did pass a wifey the other day, feeding a mob of seagulls through her car window with a spoon, which struck me as a tad unusual.
So it's been a bit of an abortive exhibition. Never mind. On to wherever.
Love and Fishes.
Dave Denton
P.S.
Here is a short educational film about Tasmania:
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