When Bill booked our flights the dates were just numbers on the calendar that had to be, if possible, synchronised with the best fare deals. It was only afterwards that he realised we would be flying back to NZ on Easter Sunday.
Bill had arranged accommodation near the airport for the Saturday night, to avoid having to return the camper van and gallop, breathless, to the 'plane. And that's if there isn't an issue with the vehicle or a queue at the depot or ... Again, the public holiday was not a factor in his planning. It was Eve who pointed out that we would need a campsite on Good Friday when throngs of campers would be out for the long weekend.
And it was Eve who found a campground just where we wanted to be on that evening. No formal booking, but an assurance that “We'll fit you in somewhere.”
The last place on our 'must see' itinerary was the Huon Valley, recommended by near neighbours in the Motueka Valley. This is Southwest of Hobart and we had just left Cradle Mountain National Park in Tasmania's Northwest.
Once again we needed to visit a dump station and, as happened a few days previously, the nearest one was in Sheffield. At least this time we could drive straight to it. And afterwards we knew exactly where to get very good coffee. Does two visits to Bossimi's Bakehouse and Cafe qualify us as regulars?
Then we entered the destination campground into the satnav and off we went. It chose main roads as the quickest route, of course, and since it was Good Friday there wasn't much commercial traffic. The main roads took us close to Launceston before turning South onto the Midland Highway towards Hobart.
This is probably the nearest Tasmania gets to an inter-city motorway, but it certainly isn't a motorway. Tasmania doesn't do by-passes; the road goes straight through the centre of the towns along the way. The state isn't keen on rest areas either. We were resigning ourselves to parking on any piece of gravel beside the road when we did find a rest area at St. Peter's Pass. There were picnic tables in the shade of the trees and picnic tables in full sun. There were toilets. Very pleasant.
Nearing Hobart, navigation became tricky. There were road works with diversions and, we suspect, new roundabouts that our satnav did not know about. However, the signposting was good enough to keep us going in the right direction, and the satnav recalculates the route very quickly when its chosen path is unavailable.
The lack of by-passes applies to Hobart. Through traffic has to mix it with the crowds in the city centre. Even on Good Friday the streets were busy.
The campground that had promised us an unbooked site is the Huon Valley Caravan Park in Huonville. They were busy, but they had room. It is their proud boast that no camper has been turned away in 12 years.
We had arrived in time for the Tasmanian Devils to be fed. What? Another wildlife sanctuary? It turns out that when the captive devils are too old to breed any more, the sanctuaries place them with another organisation as a kind of retirement home. And the caravan park was one of these retirement homes. We've previously seen devils being fed at 3 sanctuaries so we skipped this opportunity.
Family camping was the order of the day. Children of all ages were enjoying activities without close parental supervision. Kicking a rugby ball to each other was a favourite.
Although there was a large grassed area there weren't many birds about. A couple of ducks appeared briefly, but probably decided there were too many rugby balls flying around. A pair of Sulphur-crested Cockatoos flew overhead, screeching. Bill picked up the camera, but they refused to come back and, instead, perched in a distant tree. Bill had to try more ultra-long range photography but the result wasn't nearly as good as the sea-eagle in Macquarie Harbour.
For our last night in the camper van we decided on takeaways. We drove into Huonville's main street and selected a place near where we parked. It was a major disappointment. Eve selected a burger and Bill went for fish and chips. He didn't recognise the fish species being offered and the serving girl recommended the “flake”. This was probably a fiction to avoid saying “gummy shark”, just as in England “rock salmon” means “shark”.
The shop didn't seem overly busy, but they mucked up our order and only cooked the burger. So we had to keep on waiting until the fish and chips were prepared. In fairness, we should mention that we were presented with a crab stick each in compensation.
By the time we got back to the campground the burger was lukewarm. Bill's chips were OK but the fish was not at all to his liking. It had neither taste nor texture. Oh well, you can't win 'em all.
In the morning we (Eve) swept out the van and tidied it for its return later in the day. Bill emptied the toilet cassette.
Then we set off to drive the Huon Highway. It mainly runs alongside the Huon River and is very picturesque.
One of the settlements is called Franklin. Franklin is Eve's maiden name so we had to stop and have a coffee, didn't we? The lady in the coffee shop was very pleasant, but the coffee was nothing special.
We followed the highway through Dover, where we could see no cliffs of any colour, as far as Southport. The towns really don't look anything like their English counterparts.
Back up the highway for lunch in Huonville. There was a crowded little cafe beside the entrance to the Woolworths supermarket. It retrieved something for Huonville's hospitality reputation. In the supermarket we bought a ready meal for the evening.
To return the camper van we had to recross Hobart, and for some reason it was easier in this direction. We also had to fill the gas cylinder and the fuel tank. We fill our home gas cylinders at a local petrol station, but in Tasmania petrol stations only swap bottles and the camper van's bottle is a different size. Refills are available from camping stores. We had the address for one near the airport. But the satnav only got us to the general area, not the actual retail centre. Much time was wasted before we located the centre and the camping store. Bill went inside the store to see exactly where gas filling took place and found an apologetic sign to explain that they had run out of gas and could not fill bottles.
We were running out of time now, so we filled up with diesel and hastened to the depot. The lady who did the inspection was not concerned about the gas. “Is the bottle empty?” “No.” Apparently that was sufficient. The trouble we had in Bicheno with the fictitious 'open door' warning was no surprise. The lady knew exactly which sensor was to blame and how to clean it. The various little dings in the bodywork were satisfactorily tallied with those we took over at the beginning of the hire and we got our full bond back.
Our Easter Saturday night accommodation was in a Big 4 campground, but this time in a cabin. A very comfortable cabin in a very orderly campground. Eve had ascertained via the Internet that the campground had a laundry and exactly the coins we needed to do a load of washing. Wash, tick. Tumble dry, oops. Not dry enough – and we didn't have the right coins for another go. A lady in the laundry room offered to give us her coins, but that would still have left us $1 short. So we asked the family camping next to the laundry room if they could change a $5 note. They were really helpful. Between them the 3 adults had $5 in the right coins so we gave them our note and left them working out how much they owed each other.
The ready meal saved a long walk to the nearest restaurant in a Travelodge Hotel. It was easy to cook and tasty. A good option.
As we settled for sleep we heard noises outside the cabin. But no-one knocked at the door and after a minute or two they ceased so we didn't worry about it. And nor should we have. In the morning we discovered that the noise was preparation for an Easter egg hunt. Of course, it was Easter Sunday. Excited children, accompanied by smiling parents, were following clues around the camp and one of the hiding places was behind our cabin.
When we dragged our luggage to the office to check out we found that Happy Easter had been chalked on the car park in huge letters and the Easter Bunny was there for high-fives and photos. The camp staff must have put a huge amount of effort into making sure the kids had a wonderful Easter Day. As a last image of Tasmania it would be difficult to beat.
The reason we had chosen this location for our last night in Tasmania was its proximity to the airport and the fact that it offered a shuttle. Off we went for a long, unexciting day spent in airports and aeroplanes.
In Hobart we checked in with Qantas and then had breakfast in the airport. Our flight didn't take off until midday and then we had five hours to wait in Sydney before the flight to Christchurch. As in Melbourne on the outward journey, transit passengers are prisoners and the price of refreshments is very high.
The international flight took off on time and landed early, but Qantas's knee-crippling seats made sure we did not get any worthwhile rest. It was well after midnight NZ time when we emerged from the airport building to look for a taxi. We were surely ripped off. $35 for a 5 minute journey! But we were too tired and groggy to argue at the time.
The Lylo Hotel at Christchurch Airport has a 24-hour reception, so our anti-social arrival time didn't matter. NEVER STAY AT THIS HOTEL. The 'room' was hardly more than a cupboard. The bed could only be entered from one side, so that if Eve wanted to get out she had to climb over Bill. And it wasn't cheap. $180 for the night. What a welcome back to New Zealand.
In the morning an Uber to Russell and Ivy's house in Halswell, where we had left our car, cost us $32.
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