This holiday in Hobart has made me realise one thing.
Melbourne is as flat as a pancake. Sometimes you think walking up Collins St between Swanson and Russell St is a bit rough. HA!! I shall never complain again.
The last day in Hobart started easy enough, a fantastic breakfast at Mummies in Battery Point (although what cafe these days doesn’t accept cards?). A quick trip to fill up the car and we were ready to check out.
We dropped off the car to Avis back in the city and then the walking began. For the next four hours we walked. And walked. And walked. Next holiday we may not choose a city that’s built clinging to the side of a mountain, although my doctor will be happy with the amount of exercise I had.
Most of the walking was around the Salamanca Market, a fantastic market on the city fringe and close to where we’d stowed our bags. We wandered around for a couple of hours, and Phee finally found something interesting – of all things she was captivated by a blacksmith. We stood for twenty minutes and she didn’t shift her eyes once as he banged, bellowed, forged, bent and sizzled molten metal in to two hooks.
We walked over to Constitution Dock for fresh fish and chips at Mures. After a quick stop to pick up a new chopping board and it was time to head back to collect our bags and we were only steps away from the motel when disaster struck. Phee stepped in dog poo. Lucky we’d packed the emergency sneakers for Phee along with my emergency jeans so we managed to avoid a potentially smelly flight home, although the stinky taxi driver unnaturally obsessed with his welsh plugs made for an aromatic, and bizarre, journey to Hobart Airport.
Now we’re home, it’s as wet here today as it was in Hobart yesterday. The cats have forgiven us, the television has forgiven us, our own bed is waiting and there are two bottles of Special Stout tucked away in the fridge for when we are awake enough to enjoy them.