The most alarming thing about Tasmania is the moustaches. They’re good old old 70’s porn star moustaches. Thankfully they weren’t on the sex-kitten hosties on the Virgin flight but from the Premier down to the weather man on local television they seem to be every where.
Of course they may not be the signs of virility they once were, they could be just to help ward off the cold; and it is cold. Freezing winds blow straight off the snow capped Mt Wellington through your polar jacket and in to the marrow of your bones. And then the rain starts.
The only thing to do to stay warm is to drink or walk and thankfully the tour of the Cascade Brewery incorporates good lashings of both. It may be a tad cruel to force people on an hour long tour, no matter how fascinating, before getting to the tastings but it’s well worth the slog. And if you’ve ever wanted to know what 50,000 litres of beer looks like then this is the tour for you.
If you prefer fudge, or traumatic parts of Australian history, then the Female Factory is just down the hill. Standing reading about the horrors the unfolded as the wind roars around you realise in a tiny way the trauma these women and children must have faced. I wonder what they’d think of selling fudge to help restore and re-discover their hell?
Now it’s time for bed after a couple of hours walking around the city and waterfront. We’ve been to Battery Point for food., but the one place we wanted to go was booked out. We may not have found the food we were looking for but I found something even better. A fellow Tiger supporter. Hiking up a hill to ‘home’ there came a familiar sound from the other side of the street. A Nokia ringing out the Tiger them. Rae and I started singing before I yelled ‘Go Tigers’ and the distinguished looking owner of the phone waved his yellow and black flag in solidarity.
Tomorrow the plan is for chocolate, more history and more walking.
And hopefully some more Special Stout to get caught on my almost Tasmanian mo.