TAS - And a bit of Sydney as well - from William Haller
From: William Haller - Travelling around Tasmania (with a brief stop in Sydney) (William Haller

Getting there is still the only deterrent to going, although Qantas's Longreach model 747-400's have cut the actual air time to 13 hours, down from the former 18 hours, which included 2 hours in Tahiti airport (but usually at 4 am). Another new change is with the greatly reduced seating for airline mileage redemptions; Sydney is a really hard locale to win. Melbourne flights seem much move available and much less crowded. While still ahead of US flight service, you're not as pampered as a decade ago.

The new tunnel from the Sydney airport in Botany Bay reduces the transit to the Rocks (harbour area, downtown Sydney) from 45 minutes, down to about 12 minutes. In Sydney, we expended the last of our Frequent Flyer "chits" for a hotel upgrade, and really hit the jackpot; the 33rd floor, plus a full harbour view! Eighth time over maybe 18 years, and this sight never fails to produce Goosebumps.

After a very abbreviated night's sleep, we hit the Rocks (literally) by 8 AM, hiking over to the Botanical Gardens, which were just opening. A full sun rising, a clear and invigorating 45°F., the wild birds chirping - and (to us) tropical plants all so colourful, even in the middle of winter; wow B+E, welcome to Down Under!

- the birds included ducks, swans, ibis, lorikeets, Indian Mynah, yellow macaws, and Kookaburras. The fruit bats didn¹t chirp; they just stretched their wings in the sun. I told Elle that you could become a "birder" in an environ like this -

We continued our walk to Macquarie Park where we again almost had the world to ourselves. A few non-threatening street people on a park bench here or there, but as it was a weekday, and too early for Tour buses, we just shared the park with some runners and one group of training Olympiads. We're on the edge of the harbour, which is coming alive with commuter ferries. Back towards the Opera House, the infamous (coathanger) bridge is loaded with morning commuter cars and trains, plus a newer commuter: bridge crawlers!

Some enterprising Aussie has created an adrenaline attraction, as they are called in New Zealand, by selling group walks up the top side the coathanger; ten to a party, and US $100 a head ­ videos are extra (seriously). It seemed like every half hour a new group of what looked like "ants" were inching up the arch. We were later told by Aussie friends who have done it, that you are given a breathalyzer before you're linked up with the climbing pitons.

In compliance with the ground rules of obsessive / compulsive, we had a full agenda of Plan A activities, plus Plan B reserves; maybe enough for a fortnight, but certainly ample for three days.

The next day, the weather was so perfect, but promising to go down hill, so we moved our visit to the Blue Mountains from later in the schedule, to next in line. Hiring a guided SUV proved to be such a value. Not only did I not have to deal with driving "left side" out of downtown Sydney early on, but we saw areas of the Blue Mountains that are not accessible by the usual routes; these little known back roads produced unreal views. Ask Elle for pictures of these and any others that are of interest; she only shot 9 jumbo rolls of 35 mm, but we¹ve pared these down to 82 pictures that are viewable. (82 for the whole trip, not just the Blue Mountains, whew!)

We also stopped at an animal shelter where we held and petted more koalas that I've ever seen in one place, along with froggy-mouthed owls, roos, wombats, emus, and Tasmanian devils (didn't pet).

One final bonus of having a private guided tour was that we actually stopped on the way back and viewed the heart of the Olympic Village. All the above in one full, 8:30 to 5:30 day; our driver wouldn¹t even let us treat him to lunch, as he was comp¹d where ever we went.

An unscheduled Sydney event was my locating old Sydney-sider friends whom had changed both home address and Company affiliation a dozen years ago. This phone conversation took almost five minutes before we agreed to a night out!

"We'll come by your 'otel mate, no worry, spot on at 6:30"

Elle didn't know just what to make of this unexpected event that she'd been dragged in to. It's tough to be a stranger at a Class Reunion and it probably took her all of three minutes to feel like family with this couple. The meal was unusually bad, even with three bottles of wine, but we were reminded that we'd be walking past the oldest pub in Australia on the way back and that we had to at least have one shout for old times sake. I could see the Jet Lag fairy had dusted Elle, but we did have to walk right past the pub Š. plus, I'd taken a snooze anticipating the night!

We had one more drink, which managed only to be two more, but me mate missed and put us in the wrong pub (thank goodness he didn't catch this, or we would have to atone and start again, down the street).

And so another day begins, with Elle slightly hung over down underŠ. Or maybe it is still jetlagŠ Transiting across Sydney harbour even by ferry is a rush. They¹re really inexpensive and seem to run almost every half hour weekdays from 6 am to maybe 9 pm. The fingers of well-vegetated land projecting into the harbour, the startling punctuation of rock cliffs, an occasional sandy cove, the north and south Heads and their breaking waves, all were magic. The bay town of Manly (across Sydney Harbour) was on Elle's "to do" list. Its east side is on the Harbour, whilst its westerly side fronts on the Pacific Ocean; the entire width being maybe _ mile. Manly¹s gone more "beachy" than I recalled, like seaside southern California with the skateboarders, surfers, and the like.

Getting grouchy after wandering a half hour looking for a "closed on Monday restaurant," I finally realized that: 1) it was Monday, and 2) that I was starved!

In a maze of "take away" Kiosks, we finally found a vegetarian health food shoppe that had six stools for the "eat in" trade. Elle had an Aussie "rocket" sandwich, while I settled for a puréed organic soup out of a Styrofoam cup that was actually great. Being a flesh-eating male; this was only a temporary fix. Not exactly red meat, but we located a Burger Jack ®, just in time.

Elle's editorial note: in times gone by, the word King couldn¹t be used as it would be disrespectful, so Burger King was called Burger Jack. Now a day, however, new franchises are opening named Burger King.)

After another day of exploring the city proper and its many shoppes, time to say good-bye to Sydney, feeling like we gave it a good exploration and now ready for a new adventure. Look out Tasmania, here come the Clampetts! - From the old television series "The Beverly Hillbillies". We adopted this nickname for our continuing habit of carrying a wide variety of "munchies" and clutter in the back seat of our rental cars, only to forget same when pulling up to check in at hotel with a doorman. Why is it always at the swankiest hotel of the trip? It never fails.

The next thing you know, we're at The Hobart Hertz desk hoping that our car will have a trunk large enough to hold all our gear. Leaving home, Elle pared down her largest bag to just over 50 pounds. Part of our problem was that we were packing for two different climatic regions; we now needed serious rain gear and bulky sweaters, as Tasmania is at the southern 40° latitudes. I still personally question the need for the dinner gown, Š.. probably just a male thing. (Elle's editorial comment here again: I'm not even going to honour that comment with a response!) We got lucky in that our rice rocket (Japanese) rental had a "boot" just large enough to close the lid.

Remember Bill, left is right. Okay, okay Elle, driving on the left just takes a little practice, kind of like turning circles ŠŠ but do I have to have turning circles and left side driving within the first 5 minutes out of the airport? Stupid car, why are the windscreen wipers on? Elle, did you do that ? Just don't touch anything else! Hey truck, stay on your side of the road. Damn, do they have to be so big?

For the next two weeks, we continued to experience the windscreen wipers coming on every time we made either right or left hand turns. Reminder: tell Hertz. Fortunate for us, we saved this embarrassment by learning that we were turning the wiper lever, when going for the turn signal. A sure warning to oncoming drivers that there's a Yank on the road!

Hobart, Tasmania's capital city, is on the inland bay of the Tasman Sea and is complete with downtown fishing docks. As a backdrop to this picturesque little seaport is snow capped Mt. Wellington ­ maybe a twenty minute winding drive. Such a contrast, sea level to snow capped mountain. An atmosphere even clearer than Sydney¹s, which is hard to believe; it just looks painted on. We're in the heart of fresh seafood country, which is really great for us mid-westerners.

We're booked into what we'd call an efficiency motel: full equipped kitchen, pots, pans, etc., and a free laundry down the hall. Really free ­ free machines and, free soap. Time for the realities of life, vacation or not: Laundry. Mentioning realities, did I mention there's no History, Discovery, or A+E on cable Š. Bummer. [Editorial note from Walkabout: I don't know what service they were getting as History and Discovery are part of the standard Foxtel package in Australia]. Worse yet, tonight's Survivor is the same one we saw back home. I considered taking odds at the local Aussie pub on who'd go off the island tonight, but decided against it. Survivor II is already scheduled to be played out in Oz early in 2002.

First light, and we're off to the penal colony in Port Arthur; a magic 1 hour drive that will last all day. Sea colonnades, natural arches, desolate beaches, tessellated pavement, flowers + fauna, Š.. what's missing ? The other tourists! Good thing we call ourselves "travelers", and not "tourists", although based on the amount of 35 mm film that we're going through, we might lose our amateur status. Again, if you ever come here, allow a full day and "bootles" of film; this peninsula is extremely photographic. Being off-season, the most cars we ever encountered at any scenic point, totaled two. (buses: zero)

Next day, as we had a light travel schedule, we took a shot at going up Mount Wellington; Hobart's backdrop of 4,127 feet. Early on, the clouds were "off 'n on" over its top, but we took the chance anyhow. We did manage to get up to the third level, just about twenty feet under the clouds, before the road was closed by the park because of snows (all of 1/8 inch), about a _ mile higher up. The wind was fierce, but the view of the City and harbour in the sunshine under the clouds were dramatic. The winding downward drive, with the non-guard railed roads edge being on Elle's side, brought back the giant hissing sounds (Elle here: that's me, very audibly gasping with fright), last heard in the Andes. (memo to self ­ buy some blinders before our next vacation)

Once back down to sea level, we're off on another day trip from Hobart, over to Richmond, a very old rustic village in the wine country. Lucked into a great (empty) food shoppe just in time to avoid a major shower; couldn't believe that we'd located such a great lunch in such a charming "small town" spot, until we got the check; I think we made their Augusts mortgage. Outside of Downtown Sydney, this was the only time that I felt that we were paying tourist prices Š. Does the bottle of wine count? Oh well. We're in horse and wine country, with a very balmy climate. Settled early on in Tassie history, the only bridge crossing the river is an 1842-convict build solid stone structure.

A new day, a new chance to practice loading the car. As we're heading inland and upland, I did manage to get an empty banana box to contain our Y2K stash of road munchies. Some people travel with bottled water, but our international rules allow for peanut butter, oatmeal cookies, Australian V-8,oranges, bananas, wine (for evening consumption only), cheese, and of course, water. Australian V-8 juice is soooo much tastier than our domestic version. We almost consumed a litre a day.

While the quality of roads in Tasmania is world class, they are however limited routes, especially inland. This drive out of Hobart follows the Derwent River valley with rolling sheep pastures and apple orchards -- even in the middle of their winter, the fields are verdant.

Winding ever upward from sea level, tonight's destination is Queenstown, via the Lake St. Clair National Park; the longest single day drive of our trek. We stopped at the Park Station for a look-see, but the weather was really closing in over the lake at this elevation. Not much to see, even from shores edge. We're inland enough now to start seeing Wombat caution signs along the road ­ a sure sign that it¹s not Kansas, Toto.

Still climbing higher, evidence of a hydro-electric project is noted with a substantial open water cement raceway (flume) running parallel to the highway. Within a few kilometers, the water is now contained in a pair of 8-10 foot diameter pipes, laid on top of the ground. With these massive conduits now turning overland, we detoured along its service road, to the point of which the road stopped and the massive pipes plunged over the mountain; continuing to a generating station in a rivers gorge several hundred feet below. Back to the main highway, and fifteen minutes later, we're at the bottom of this gorge, ready to wind back up the other side.

Lots of unclaimed land; a mixture of pines and eucalyptus. Soon to come is an evident change in topography, along with a road sign stating the while the last half of Tasmania was of sedimentary origin; the upcoming half is volcanic in origin and forms a "continental" divide of watershed. No sooner warned than "wow", massive graphic granites and glistening quartzites at every road cut; we¹re definitely entering mining country.

It was an old dilapidated, out of print copy of "The Peaks of Lyell" ; the history of the mining that opened Tasmania, that is responsible for Elle's wanting to come here. Elle had struggled to read this in spite of its signatures ("book speak" for folded gatherings of pages) continually falling out, and really got "bitten" about this little island.

The road (locals call it "99 curves") into Queenstown skirts the mountaintops, with a view minimally hindered by guard rails; Elle's least favorite type of Interstate Š. The cloud cover and misty rain obscure just how desolate this countryside is after decades of wanton smelting pollution, dating back to the 1850s; a totally eroded landscape, likened to the moon. The road suddenly diverts down to the town (pop. 2600) where its obvious Centre is the classical two story Australian hotel in all its corrugated tin roof and veranda¹d splendor. What a stereotypical Wild West memory to us.

A one-industry (mining) town with minimal tourism in the summer and none in winter. We are booked into a motel that's reminiscent of a "50s" type back in Americana Š.. One sole soul acts as waitress, receptionist, bar maid, and events manager and lives on premise. After experiencing her reluctance to share any of the bar's one bag of ice (for our room), we elected to forage in the rainy mist for dinner, in town.

I'd honestly either just forgotten how good Aussie outback Hotel grub can be, or we were starved, and/or got lucky. This hotel was a time warp from "Somewhere in Time"; circa 1850s. The back room contained a spacious dining room complete with a working fireplace and an eighteen foot high ceiling (I asked).

The front foyer staircase (up to the rooms) is listed in their National archives, having been carved from local timber that was shipped to England for carving, and subsequently returned and installed; again circa 1850s. A side foyer facing the old (long defunct) train station, was an open marketplace for "drummers", fresh off the train and in town to offer their wares; Queenstown being end of rail. Wow, what a spooky and spiritual find out here in the middle of all this desolation. An interesting economic principle here, which the locals call "the roster system" Š. With Sunday overtime being mandatory TRIPLE TIME, the merchants have worked out a compromise in taking turns being open, i.e. one gas station, one coffee shop, one drug store is open each Sunday. This insures an "open" functional service, and hopefully enough business to support one supplier. A pretty no nonsense approach.

While we'd read somewhere back home that mine tours might be available, a hand printed placard in the hotels window gave us a real live name + phone number. It's Saturday night, and we're only here tomorrow (Sunday), but we took the chance, and called anyway. While we didn¹t get a no worry mate, we did get an agreement to take us in tomorrow Š. It is off season for tourist A$$$.

Returning to our 50s room, with both a tummy full of "tucker" and a game plan for tomorrow, we found that we'd failed to check for open windows Š. Which there sure were. Who'd have thunk ? It's 35° and rainy outside, more or less the same temperature on the inside. Much grousing Š. I thought you checked the windows Š.. Well, turn on the heat! Eloise, this is Australia ­ there is no central heating. That night, the rain continued to return in torrents, with at least a half dozen squalls coming through.

Morning found the sun emerging, and a Kookaburra proclaiming his territory, that, or bragging rites for having survived the return of the Ice Age. We (I) loaded our rice rocket chariot, and we hit town before Sunday morning "rush hour", looking for a "Take Away" coffee shoppe with an "Eat In" facility. Note to log, the Mining Museum opens at noon. Hearty breakie fare, with the "bangers" being definitely tastier than the strange cut of bacon found all over Oz. Also, should mention, all coffee in Tasmania is instant Nescafe� . The sweet grilled "tomats" are habit forming.

A little nervous banter is now coming to the fore ... Questions such as:

E: Just how deep are 4.5 kilometers?

B: Do you have a calculator?

E: Just how long do you think that we'll be underground?

B: What, do we have a curfew?

Thank goodness our guide soon appears, and we're distracted trying on pairs of knee-high gum boots and searching for a helmet that¹s a snug fit. After the obligatory exchange of $US (please, no Visa) , in the SUV we go; this puppy's soooo tall, I'm waiting for either a nose bleed, or an oxygen mask to drop.

More nervous chatter from the back seat ŠŠŠ.

E: has anyone ever been lost on one of the tours?

(tour guide) Rob: Not on any of mine.

Enter a security card at the gate, and in we go.

B: Isn¹t this exciting Elle?

E: Bill, exciting is not the word for it Š..

Bill, note to file: the temperature could get much colder today.

Up to the mine headquarters office to put our brass on the board, indicating that we're underground in the event of any (Eloise, don't even go there) event, and to pick up our obligatory belt mounted re-breathers, in case of fouled air. " Š which hasn't happened in years". In addition to feeling like the Pillsbury doughboy, we¹re now starting to look like him. Even the cavernous SUV seat seems cramped with our newly acquired girth. Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's in the mine we go ŠŠŠŠ. A relatively smooth and winding drive, into the abyss. Oh, Eloise, I just converted the depth from kilometers ŠŠ it¹s only 3.1 miles. At this point, Eloise is, as they say "en rapt" . She's got all the makings of a natural spelunker ! She just thought she was claustrophobic.

Seriously folks, unlike either an Epcot�, or an I-MAX ® production, somehow sensing that you are really here like a mole, only adds to the experience. After a relatively short drive, a well-lit mini-metropolis emerges, with everything on a mega scale. Three miles underground is a self-contained installation complete with machine shop, explosives storage shed(s), massive spare parts, lunchrooms, you name it.

The 50 tonne dump trucks hold 110,000 pounds of copper ore per load. The trucks are loaded at the ore face, and merely transport it to the (underground) crusher, after which it goes via a vertical lift shaft to the surface for further size reduction prior concentration via the flotation process. These beauties are complete with television covering their rear field. Quoted cost of A$ 1.3 MM, or just over $ 860,000, whitewalls optional.

The air is refreshingly cool, fresh, and moving. Hazards abound with 1800-volt overhead lines on the roof looking awfully close to the top of the loads in the trucks. Everyone is cross-trained in handling explosives, so as not to be a threat to one another. Knowledge is power, no pun intended.

Any broken or disabled equipment is repaired here at depth, without the luxury of being towed 3.1 miles up to the surface, which would also block the one-way access. Wow -- what a life experience this is, think our home-owners insurance would cover any claims if¹in we told them where we were? Don't ask, don't tell Š

Heading back to the surface, our heads are still spinning with sensory overload. Somehow the appearance of a faint white light ahead, ever increasing in size, is a comforting sight. We were now driven over the grounds of the original open pit mine, circa 1850s. We're talking some real four-wheeling here folks! Good thing Elle doesn't notice the lack of guard rails, or just how deep it is just off the edge of the road. (Elle¹s editorial note: No giant hissing sounds Š Bill wasn't driving!)

The colours are all the hues of oxidized copper and iron sulfides; burnt umber, ochre, -- almost like autumn leaves. A stream off the heights is cited as carrying some 4400 pounds of dissolved copper a day , but not enough to be economical to salvage. Bet it keeps the algae in check ! Further discussion indicates a contaminant level of cobalt, worth even more than the annual millions of A$ worth of gold that is recovered by the parent company¹s smelter back in India. Boy, I secretly wish I could have about ten gallons of the run-off water to play with back in the lab, remembering some dated Dithizone technology for heavy metal separations. A couple of Dr. Flynns wouldn¹t hurt either. Sorry readers, but as if you couldn¹t guess, my life-long hobby, in addition to chemistry, is mineralogy.

Exit to a real surprise "once in a lifetime" experience, and on the road towards tonight's destination on the western seacoast, Strahan, via one more stop inland, in Zeehan, the historical home of the area¹s lead, zinc, and chromium mining.

I met a kindred spirit with the curator of the Mineralogical museum in Zeehan. This was the original training school for the mineralogists and assay chemists for the State of Tasmania, back before the turn of the century. Typical of the era, was the extensive collection of minerals from around the world used to teach identification. Collected over 100 years ago, some of these exceeded those in our own Smithsonian collection! Banks of period muffle furnaces filled one room, while some glassware from the period filled another.

Hey, Peter + John ­ when's the last time you saw a nascent hydrogen generator for the Marsh (arsine) test? I'd pre-warned Elle that I might ask to borrow a rock hammer here, (I forgot to mention, at the mine tour earlier, I'd picked up some "take home" specimens, only one was just about twenty pounds of country rock, way too heavy to take home.) While she shuttered to think me that forward, she hadn't seen the collector side of me Š.. This museum was two stories, with just room after room, of period mining related objects. We probably spent several hours here, before continuing our drive.

A new problem is emerging Š.. a shortage of Aussie $. This kind of snuck up on us. Without realizing it, the daily out of pocket lunch and misc. had depleted our supply of Aussie $. Our problem now is that the towns we're in are not only too small to accept US$, but also too small to have full time banks Š. Banking windows are like for only two hours a day, and never for the two hours that we're in that town, i.e., town "A" hours might be 9-11, while the next towns' hours may be 2-4. In one case a banking crew (of 2 people) actually closed one town's bank, and commuted over to the next town to open their two-hour window. Resourceful, these Oz.

My better half advised that somehow or another, our PIN number for international withdrawals was in-operative Š. Not the news that we wanted to hear. Our Visa still works, its just that on the really small purchases, many places won't take it. Increasing purchase sizes wasn't considered an option. Oh well, maybe tonight's hotel in Strahan, ( pop 500 ). ya, right

Strahan was the historically "very precarious" shipping harbour that serviced all the mineral wealth of the inland mining area. A narrow gauge cog railway had once run from Queenstown and Zeehan. While twice the size of Sydney¹s harbour, the dynamics of the coastlines' weather and typography make this a very unpredictable port. Much needed supplies were often stranded only hundreds of feet off shore on ever moving sand bars, only to be dashed to bits. Another trick of mother nature was that while it only took three days to sail to Hobart, the return trip (into the wind) could take up to three weeks.

The only reason that Strahan has survived is its proximity to the original penal colony on Sarah Island, up the Gordon River back into the rain forest. This Penal colony pre-dated Port Arthur, and was closed once Port Arthur was opened. A first class modern (harbour) cruise ship plies through "hells gates" to the ocean, and then takes you to Sarah Island, for a 45 minute walk around; in the rain as it turned out. Huon pine trees abound; we saw one stated to be 2,000 years old. Their high natural oil (methyl-euginol, very closely related to clove oil) content prevents them from rotting here, even with fifteen feet of annual rain.

After Strahan, we¹re off to Stanley on the northeastern seaboard, home of the "Nut", a basaltic monolith about as exciting as Ayers Rock. (I still can't believe we went here Š) While I had pre-groused this leg of the trip back six months ago, Elle told me to just bite the bullet and drive, and after her good sportsmanship in the mining segments, I owed her.

Stanley was well, interesting. It¹s rather like a summer beach destination and we're here in the middle of winter. The panoramic view from atop the NUT was most dramatic, as the cable car kept making hissing sounds on both ride up, and back. (must get those blinders) (Elle commenting here: I just don't like heights, especially when Bill is rocking the cable car!)

Due to lodging availability, we're retracing our steps somewhat, driving back inland to the higher rain forest country. We visited King Solomon's cave with a very small group. It was a stellar cave with some very unusual features such as "soda straws": these are hollow stalactites (remember like tite to the ceiling) wherein the mineral laden water flows through their inside, not down the outside.

These are numerous, in lengths approaching ten feet. An interesting note is that they survived an earthquake in this area about a year ago; about 7.6 on the Richter scale, and with an epicenter of only about a mile away.

Now off to Launceston, pronounced "lawn-cest-tun", and are the locals a little feisty about this. The highlight of this drive was while driving through the coastal city of Burnie; we saw our first traffic light in maybe a week Š..

Great accommodations in Launceston, where for the first time on the trip, we cooked in. Going to the grocery anywhere around the world has always been interesting to me: the variety of products, prices, and produce. While I'd talked about "bugs" up in Sydney, we had never seen them on the menu. Here, in a grocery store's deli department, were Moreton Bay Bugs that I could actually show Elle. They¹re an unusual crustacean, I believe unique to Oz and are very tasty and taste a lot like chicken lobster. We're a good couple weeks into the daily eating out bit, and this was both educational and fun; my first batch of homemade spaghetti sauce, south of the Roaring Forties. Spaghetti, toasted garlic bread, and local wine ­ no vampires around this town tonight.

Seeing The Patriot with a theatre full of Aussies was an interesting experience. They are ambivalent about Mother England; adoring the Royals, while at the same time resenting their former Colonial rule. They kind of liked seeing the rebellious Americans, lead by Australian Mel Gibson, kicking the Red Coats butts. Elle too, was in an unusually good mood after watching Mel for two hours, and we have the poster from the theatre lobby to prove it!

Off now, inland from the coast, back into the rainforest and whatever awaits at Lemonthyme Lodge ŠŠ. We're going into less and less populated terrain, and haven't passed either another car, let alone a gas station, in over an hour. Oh wonderful, turn left at the next dirt road. Eight miles (not km) down a single lane primitive dirt road; Elle, how did we find this place again? What a pleasant surprise awaits us at end of road Š. Six or eight two-family modern wooden lodges nestled in the forest. A major sized main lodge. As our lodgings were prepaid, they had already made a fire in our fireplace ­ now that's a nice touch!

Spacious and modern, complete with a sizable back porch and a front porch loaded with split wood. We have a pair of very large blackbirds resting on our back porch railing that are immediately nicknamed Heckle and Jeckel, after the 50s cartoon characters. What "greeters", they are literately watching everything that we are doing.

Bill, the "crows can digest anything, even people food" naturalist, can't stand the stares any longer, and offers up a Ritz� cracker out on the railing. Sooner that you could say Peter Piper picked a Š.. we probably have two, and twenty, black birds swooping our porch ­ right out of a Alfred Hitchcock script. This sends "Woodsman Willie" back inside, on a hasty retreat. What a hoot! Now we're being stared at by dozens of beady eyes. Good job Villie! Undaunted, and trying to atone, we again offered up Ritz�, but this time laden with PB, hoping to slow the consumption rate. What followed was almost malicious, watching these ravens trying to wipe their bills of the PB. Back inside, Elle spots a pademelon grazing about two feet away from our cabins side window. The whirl of the auto-feeding 35 mm. A minute later, Bill spots a larger one grazing just off the back patio. Basically, like kangaroos, dawn and dusk are their prime foraging hours.

Upon being shown to our cabin, we were informed that guests were also expected next door later this evening, so that when Elle heard Bill talking out on the front porch, she suspected that it was to our new neighbors Š.. wrong. Going out on the front for additional firewood, I was greeted by two raccoon sized, bushy tailed possums, perched atop our pile of wood, about waist high (they¹d obviously heard about the PB). Now nerve free, after the Heckle and Jeckel episode, I just gave them a wide path, plus a little soft shoe, reminding them (and myself) that there are no recorded cases of rabies in Australia. Our neighbor¹s pile of wood would suffice after all. The evening diner and service were excellent; as was the floor patio show. Remember, we're a captive audience here ­ no e-mail, no cable, no phones. Entertainment tends to be an interpretative experience.

As it turned out, the lodge-folks too, were (like Bill) also naturalists. Tonight's fare, like every night's fare, is you guessed it , feeding the local fauna at 8:30, after the "primate" feeding. As we finished up at eight, we wandered out on the veranda to secure prime positions. Opening the door, we were immediately greeted with bushy tailed possums on the porch railing, and a growing collection of pademelon, just down the steps. Obviously their circadian rhythms were off, or they hadn't yet adjusted to daylight saving hours.

What ensued at the appointed time was a petting zoo, feeding frenzy. A lot of these guys had been hand reared after injuries and/or abandonment. You could literately hand feed and stroke each and every one. Many, many pounds of fruit were consumed. Foods containing flour give marsupials (but not birds) a condition called LUMPY JAW, which is often fatal. Based on the appearance of the porch the next morning, these animals were more subject to a condition of excess regularity Š..

Being deep in a mountain valley, as suggested, we stoked up the fire before retiring so as to have plenty of hot colds left in the morning for an easy re-start. At least that's what the brochure said ŠŠŠ.

Elle: " How many years again since you were a boy scout? What exactly was your highest rank?" Boy, do the questions get personal when you're freezing cold first thing in the morning. FYI, the mood gets even darker an hour later. Finally the fire's going, and we're warm. [note to self, bring along boy scout water [gasoline] next time). Finally the fire's going, and we're warm. Back to the lodge for breakfast before checking out. Noticing a limited assemblage of ore-bearing minerals on their twenty-foot mantle, we donated our oversized but highly mineralized specimen of molybdenite for their collection.

As Willie Nelson sings, On the road again; next stop the State Park in Freycinet. Back out of the rainforest, this time exiting the interior onto the eastern seaboard. This State Park has a beautiful main lodge and the most modern cabins, again duplex in their construction. The coastal weather isn't good but, Annie, tomorrows only a day away. We did drive a significant off-road trip up to a lighthouse up on a mountainside. Colour us cool and damp.

The two-deck main lodge hangs on the side of Honeymoon Bay, and has a most spacious modern and scenic dining room. We're urged to get reservations for dinner, which Bill feels are somewhat pretentious, considering we're a captive market, with no other options. Then we remember that Oz wait-staff is paid regular wages (unlike U. S., where most of their wage is due to tips), and restaurant management needs to know how many staff to have on duty for each meal. Dinner was good; the only diversion was trying to guess the nationality of the couple off to our right. Bill's jealous of the guy¹s dense head of snow-white hair, and can't quite make the accent; guesses Mediterranean, probably a Greek Tycoon. Another group of eight or so middle-aged business types, all dressed in black, are into themselves at the other end of the room. We learned that a whole 32 people were served this night.

Next morning, it¹s breakfast and hit the road back to Hobart, and the way home. Upon checking out, Bill advises Reception that we have a recent breakfast charge, jokingly adding that "my wife's a terrorist without breakfast". A suddenly ashen-faced clerk recovers and says that it's probably okay to say terrorist now, as the Israeli Ambassador and his bodyguards have since checked out. Zorba the Greek, he wasn't.

The drive back to Hobart was along the seacoast and demanded frequent stops for sightseeing. Being the only car at the parking turn-outs, and obviously, we're the only ones here since the last high tide, the piles of seashells were a collector¹s dream.

Back to Hobart, we pull up to the best Hotel in town, having been saved to last. The top hatted, gloved, and long coated door man handled our arrival better than we did Š. The first trolley for normal luggage was okay, but the second one for our banana box full of food, our loose car trash, and our shell and rock collection, was a little embarrassing. We had no choice but to totally unload the car, as 1) they were parking it, and 2) we needed whatever junk that needed to be packed such as rocks and shells, up to the room for tomorrow¹s flight trip back to the mainland.

(We did this same stunt in New Zealand -- pulling up to a Hotel with a black tie Christmas party in progress, and we're dressed like street people with a car loaded with everything we own in full sight, like the Beverly Hillbillies.) We are wheeled to Reception in all our glory. At two in the afternoon, we're the main event folks! Hey mate, look at the yanks - IF NO ONE SAID IT, THEY WERE THINKING IT!

Being more than a few shades of beetroot, I asked if they were familiar with the old American TV series, the Beverly Hillbillys? oh, sure. The doorman, sensing that no tip had surfaced yet asked " are you as rich as they were?". We got to our room as fast as possible and changed into our best dress (aka, last night's normal dinner costume), anxious to be seen in a slightly better light.

Bill suggests filling out the afternoon's dance card by visiting both the nautical and natural history museums, just a short walk away downtown. The nautical museum was very well done. After finding an unlikely but excellent spot for a late lunch, we attack the history museum. As we approach the main gate, out come two "suits", each one turning a different direction at the sidewalk. Thirty somethings, military haircuts, identical dark suits -- Bill comments to Elle that they looked like Security, adding that lots of museums have some valuable exhibits these days.

Once inside, we get absorbed in the displays, barely noticing the individual "suits" planted here and there. What cute little curly cords they all have on their hearing aids. Hey, isn't that Zorba the Greek? Why are these guys staring at us? Why do they think they¹ve seen us before? Mr. and Mrs. Israeli Ambassador were getting the private museum tour with the Curator. Hey, why aren¹t they wearing the same clothes as yesterday ŠŠŠ.

A last minute diversion down memory lane for Bill, a quick stop at the Wrest Point Casino on Hobart's waterfront. He was last here on New Years Eve in 1982, along with a mob scene of yachties that just finished the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race; a major event in this hemisphere. The only legal gambling in Oz is always at a State franchised facility. Elle's attempt to ask for explanations on Roulette resulted in her being befriended by an Aussie WW II vet. We back calculated his age to be 76, and he's quick to add that without America, that Oz would have been seized by the Japanese. He emotionally mentioned losing many friends, but didn't comment on his four missing fingers. "American threw 70,000 of her men in front of the Japs."

As a further commentary to this emotion, Elle sat next to a young woman returning from Oz on our return flight from LAX to O'Hare. This gal commented that when her sister and Mother had visited, they had taken a train ride in Australia, wherein they too had been reminded of America's commitment to Australia by some older folks ­ in fact, everyone in the train car burst into singing the Star Spangled Banner. Oz must be the only place left on earth, where they still like Americans

Pack it up, move it on. Back to Melbourne this afternoon, and LAX tomorrow. Ever so sadly, we say goodbye to Australia. The Oz hook is in Elle, too. Based on my last seven, or eight, trips to Oz, I'm betting that it will take three, or four, more three- week trips to really savor the full sense of this amazing country and its people.

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