It’s 6am. And I’m awake. It’s unholy, unhealthy, and all of those other “un” words. And it’s not even that I’m only just getting to bed – that sort of thing is much better for your reputation. But apparently an early start is what’s necessary for this trip, so with reluctance I emerge from my cocoon of unconsciousness.
Fast forward a few hours, and we’ve stopped at the lovely little town of Evandale for a cuppa. Evandale is so twee it’s almost painful. Flat-fronted old stone houses, gorgeous gardens, and honest-to-God lampposts. I felt like I should have been swapping my brightly coloured tights and torn denim skirt for petticoats and a bonnet. However, sadly, the coffee shop cum corner shop that we visited for our caffeine hit was a little bit historical too. My request for a mocha was met with confusion, reluctance, and disapproval. Actually, I lied about the disapproval, but the other stuff is true. “Isn’t that the one with…. ummm…… chocolate?” Then Susie had to go and blow this ladies mind by ordering a half-strength mugaccino, extra-hot.
Back on the road, we arrived at The Hobart Show at midday. Out first port of call there was the dog arena, to meet up with some family members of Susie’s that had flown down specifically to show their giant schnauzer. If you haven’t seen a giant schnauzer, they’re cute, have eyebrows, and are freaking massive.
I’ve come to the conclusion that dog shows are all quite a… *searching for a suitable non-offensive word, and failing*… wank. All of the handlers get kitted up in their glad rags, the dogs have been washed, blow-dried, hair sprayed, clipped, brushed, and basically groomed to within an inch of their lives, and then they all go out and prance around in a ring. This giant schnauzer in particular had brought along more toiletries than I had. Then again, I wasn’t being judged on my coat, teeth or stance. It’s all very unnatural. I DID manage to get a giggle a few times though. Those times were pretty much the moments when the dogs remembered that hey, I’m a dog. They would look elsewhere, or try to deviate from the nominated prancing path. Risking the ire of the dog handlers, I laughed quite a bit.
Anyway, the rest of the show was all very usual show stuff. Rides that made me feel a bit queasy just to watch (yes, I’m soft), enough junk food to clog the arteries of a small country, spruikers yelling at people to come play games that they’ll be sure to win, and a Rastafarian stall. Yes, that’s right – Rasta culture is living large in Hobart. I’d never realised before, but will be sure to add Bob Marley to my playlist.
The rest of the day was taken up by Susie catching up with the family, talk of how the giant schnauzer was robbed of first prize by another dog, lovely wood-fired pizza for dinner, and more family gossip.
11pm. I’ve forgotten my toothbrush. I’m now regretting ordering garlic pizza…
It’s 6am. And I’m awake. It’s unholy, unhealthy… you get the picture. Especially when one of the first things said in the morning is, “I still can’t believe that other dog won… that’s what happens when you use local judges…”
We hit the road bright and early, and made our way to Salamanca Markets. I love Salamanca Markets. Hobart is just such a nice city, with all of their historic buildings and whatnot, and the markets have such a nice atmosphere, with a good mixture of stalls, and buskers around most corners. Not surprisingly, I managed to drop a bit of money on some goodies there. But I was quite proud of myself for my restraint – I could have dropped all of my money on a LOT of goodies. We were a bit rushed though due to parking meters and time constraints, so we only saw about two-thirds of the market. Not enough, in my opinion, but we’re hoping to get back before Christmas to get a bit of present shopping done (that’s one present for THEM, and one present for ME, and one present for THEM, and one present…).
We ended the afternoon catching up with my Nanna, and uncle. It was all very nice, and Nanna Vera had even made lunch for us – a casserole, with bread rolls.
Sarah: “Oh, I’ll just have a bread roll – I’m actually a vegetarian.”
Nanna Vera: “Well that’s ok – the casserole only has fish in it.”
Sarah: “I don’t eat fish.”
Nanna Vera: “Oh well, it’s not REAL fish. It’s only salmon.”
And so I sat perched on the couch with my partially frozen bread roll, and a smile plastered on my face. We left shortly after lunch, and started winding our way back to the north coast. You know, that place we call home.