The weather here, like the scenery, changes dramatically-today it was overcast/windy and grey, just like home.
Driving west towards Deloraine the landscape becomes gentler and even more English, even down to the local WI markets in village halls. There are only a string of villages, all historical legacies from colonial times, literally living museums.
The village greens, complete with cricket/bowls/ surrounded by roses and cottages (Chudleigh is the country’s ‘Rose’ town; I could have been in Devon , even cream tea on sale in the tearoom,)
Deloraine is the country’s arts and crafts centre, thinks Lewes but with more galleries, folk shops, tribal art and health food delis everywhere, sculptures line the ‘main’ street, I spent a happy hour or so wandering around the local art works.
On to Mole Creek, and up the Alum Gorge; an ancient aboriginal site that ends with a stunning view over the cliffs with the western mountain ranges towering beyond.
Like other preserved sacred sites, this too felt special, though I can’t explain why.
Launceston and surrounds generally is more insular than Hobart , the townsfolk seem more self contained, and I feel an outsider here in a way that I haven’t anywhere else.
Tonight the youngsters from nearby Devonport have hit town (here-literally, most of them are in the hostel!) and the riverside town has become nightclub Mecca .
Ah well, who needs sleep anyway…I wandered up the floodlight creek walk to the bottom basin just as the sun was setting, and listening to the water rushing past and the lights reflecting on the red rocks above, so silence was golden for a while!
Being in touch with home feels strange; so close and yet so far. Talking about everyday domestic matters is weird when sitting in a hostel on the other side of the world. The time difference is challenging, the seasons are polar opposites, nothing matches, it’s disorientating.
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