Stella and Sydney

Theresa and sleepy Stella

Reluctant swimmer

Other people's toys are great

The Meerkat has muscles now

Chow time at Aaron and Theresa's

3 blokes and a BBQ

Back in Sydney

We hit Sydney at about 11ish at night. We've organised a shuttle bus to a nearby hotel as it's much too late to ask anyone to trudge down from the Northern beaches and pick us up. The shuttle bus is late and is driven by the type of truculent, ignoramus who really shouldn't be dealing with tourists, especially ones who've just travelled about 5,000 miles.

The hotel is, well, pretty crap really. I appreciate functionality and especially in what is essentially a stop-off for businessmen, but this feels more like a disused hospital. The bar is empty, apart from two pissed-up businessmen who feel the need to trumpet their puny attempts at humour as loud as possible to compensate for the lack of atmosphere. They are, of course, POHMs. The 'hilarity' is further enhanced by the introduction of a Swiss man into the bar. Hitler jokes and World Cup jibes abound, which only serves to confuse the Swiss guy, who remains predictably neutral.

The bar shuts early and we head for bed.

The next day we're up and off back to Avalon, where we started this journey, and, weirdly enough, it's a year to the day since we arrived.

We spend some time chilling out and figuring what our next step is.

Strahan to Hobart

This is one of those days that's all about travelling. We've had to squeeze as much as possible into our week on Tasmania, and we've tried to cover all four corners of the island, but this is our last day.

The trip from Strahan takes us right through the heart of the Tasmanian Highlands which is beautiful and bleak in equal measure. I wish we had more time here but at least I know we're heading back to Scotland soon so we'll get plenty of wind blasted moorland and craggy peaks there.

Since we have to hand the van back at 4pm then hop on a plane back to Sydney, there's not a lot of sightseeiong being done today. Though we do make a couple of necessary pitstops in Queenstown, and somewhere else I can't remember.

Queenstown is a mineral mining town and though it's lusher than Coober Pedy it still has that 'South Park' feel about it. I'm never sure how to feel about mining on this scale, on one hand it's visually quite awesome, but not exactly natural.

At about 3 minutes to four in the afternoon we drop the van off and walk across to the airport to spend a couple of hours waiting for our flight to Sydney.

And Tasmania gives us a delightful send off.

Cradle Mountain to Strahan

After our less than successful tour of Cradle Mountain National Park, we saunter down the highway to Strahan.

Strahan is a very pleasant coastal town, marred somewhat by a recent spate of mass suicides by whales and dolphins. Literally hundreds have floundered on various beaches around Tassie as this article shows.

Still, there are no signs of cetacean self-destruction today and we sip a few beers in the hotel beer garden overlooking the harbour before taking an early night.

Devonport to Strahan (and apparently Cradle Mountain)

We head down from Devonport to Strahan, although this isn't our intended destination. The main stop of the day is Cradle Mountain National Park. The road steadily climbs up into the tasmanian highlands through a series of twisty bends, and the scenery begins to remind me of wester ross in Scotland. Though a lot mossier(?)

As we ascend up to the plateau it becomes clear why moss loves it here, it's wet, very wet. And when we leave the camper to buy permits for the national park the rain is horizontal and bloody freezing. The kind of cold that 'would take the face aff ye'. This is more like December in Edinburgh, but it's Australia, but then again we're quite high up and on a small island poised above the Antartic Ocean.

We buy our permits and drive down to the car park which overlooks the Cradle Mountain track. As we arrive the cloud lifts slightly, and gives us a tiny glimpse of thPost Optionse magnificent peak. But only for about 30 seconds. The rising mountainous vista around us is slowly replaced by snow. Snow! In December, in Australia, Paul Hogan never mentioned this. But here it is, a complete whiteout.

The germinating idea about doing some hiking today is speedily withdrawn and we settle into the back of the van with cups of coffee and tea, and laugh heartily at the foolish attempts by a group of students, clad in hipster jeans and waffer-thin blousons, to tough out the blizzard.

So, for the second day in a row, there are no photo opportunities.

Well, not of any great scenery anyway. We return to the visitor centre and take a small walk around the river and through some glorious deciduos woodlands, reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel (if it was set in a forest in Scotland in December). Further adding to the gingerbread atmosphere is the constant presence of wallabies and echidnaes.

And a group of doddery Italian tourists, whether confused by the weather or the wildlife, we know not.

Freycinet to Devonport

There reall isn't much to say about this day and I considered leaving it out to be honest. As we head north from Freycinet we aim for Launceston, but we stay about 15 minutes and decide not to bother staying any longer. The campsite is miles from town and it doesn't look like there's much to do anyway. So we head off to Devonport.

Which is not a great idea either. It's like any port I've ever been to, functional at best, and the weather has deteriorated so we make good use of our little LCD tv.

Freycinet Peninsula

Wineglass Bay

The Freycinet Peninsula is one of those world class destinations which Australia is crowded with.
Again it's a national park so access is controlled, which helps it to retain its natural glory.

Oyster Bay

There isn't really much to say that the photos don't convey better.