Wow a busy few months!

 

 Letter No. 286

Dear all,

MARCH 2027 One of Katie’s oldest friends from her university days Mei-Mei visited us in early March, with her kids, Finn and Ella. Katie was very excited to see Mei-Mei and had planned lots of activities to show off Brisbane’s highlights, but the weather did not play nicely. We started off with one of Katie’s favourite visitor activities – sunset cocktails at Mr Percival’s at Howard Smith Wharves followed by dinner at Felons. All the kids got on swimmingly, even though they hadn’t seen each other for many years. There was a lot of reminiscing.

Saturday was drizzly but still good for Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary (obligatory encounter with Australian native wildlife), before dinner that evening at Botellón in our village. The weather really made itself known on the Sunday when we hosted a BBQ with Mei-Mei, the kids, and friends Mel, Bernie, Kylie and Paul. It rained a lot, so we had a damp but fun afternoon. Sadly, someone had to stand at the BBQ in the rain. That someone was me. Plans really unravelled on the Monday when Katie had hoped to take everyone hiking up Mt Coot‑tha. After a full weekend of rain, the first creek crossing was too high to wade through — not something that happens very often – so they had to abandon the hike and drive up to the lookout instead. In fact, the sun barely appeared all weekend, so Mei-Mei, Finn and Ella experienced Brisbane at its soggiest.

By the following weekend the sun was shining again. We went out with the Barrettes (Katie’s Barre Pilates group and husbands) on Friday 13 March to the Sardinian restaurant Pilloni in West End. I went straight from work and the food and drinks were all excellent.

Katie’s ongoing French studies at Alliance Française meant we also attended several films throughout March as part of the French Film Festival. She went to one with her class, and I joined her for two Sunday afternoon screenings: The Richest Woman in the World and A Private Life starring Jodie Foster in a full French-speaking role. Thankfully, subtitles were provided. Both films featured beautiful people suffering stylishly in French; enjoyable but quirky.

On 18^th March, Katie started her new job as Student Services & Engagement Officer at St John’s College, working two days a week in a job share role. A friend of a friend had been offered the role but couldn’t do the required days, so she recommended Katie instead. Katie sent in her application on Tuesday, was interviewed on Wednesday and was awarded the job on Thursday. The job was never even advertised. Clearly it is who you know that matters, not what you know or what you can do.

We went to another Winosaurs evening on 20^th March, which was themed around the letter M and hosted next door at Anne & Mike Poulsen’s house. It was a little competitive again, as everyone tried to squeeze as many M’s as possible into their wine’s label, region, grape and story. I won with eight M’s, although there may have been some creative interpretation involved.

On Saturday 28^th March, I went to a boys’ poker night at Jeremy’s house while the girls were out for dinner. The poker was loud and rowdy but wrapped up around midnight, which was fortunate as we were playing tennis the next morning. I only lost $50 this time, which felt like a win after being $200 up last time. I’m still ahead overall, which is the important thing.

APRIL 2027 The first weekend of April found us back at the French Film Festival for Colours of Time. An entertaining contemporary story with historical flashbacks, featuring Monet’s Water Lilies cycle, displayed at the Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris. Katie is now keen to go there next time we’re in Paris. On Easter Sunday we hosted a family BBQ lunch at our place. It was a nice afternoon, but a little sad as it was the first family event without Dad. It felt a little odd without him sitting at the head of the table.

We spent the rest of the Easter week at Brunswick Heads. Katie had booked a lovely 3-bedroom surf “shack” through Airbnb and it was a perfect beach week. I hadn’t been to Brunswick Heads for about 40 years but I don’t think it had changed much! The beaches are quiet and peaceful, the cafés are organic, and the locals look like they’ve never encountered stress. We spent mornings playing tennis or relaxing on the beach and afternoons chilling in the garden at our beach bungalow. On the Friday afternoon we had an outing to Cape Byron Distillery, for a wander through their botanical “rainforest” and then a tasting of their many different and varied gins.

On the Saturday night we went to the Spicy Cabaret at Brunswick Picture House. It was a glorious mix of circus and comedy, and a very polished show for such a little town. Also on Saturday, Pippa discovered that she could crawl under the fence of our bungalow and managed to escape several times before we worked out where she was getting out. Unfortunately, we didn’t have anything to block the fence with, so she spent the last couple of days locked inside or tied up like a tiny escape artist. On Sunday we stopped in Mullumbimby for brunch before heading home. It was a lovely, relaxing break.

On 21^st April we went to QPAC’s new Glasshouse Theatre to see Sting’s musical The Last Ship, featuring Sting himself in the lead role. It was a gritty story about the final days of the shipbuilding industry in Newcastle-on-Tyne, based on Sting’s own childhood. The singing and performance were both great. It must be nice to be so famous that you can write, direct and star in your own musical.

Anzac Day on 25^th April was wet and dreary. We went to the Anzac Service in Graceville Park in the pouring rain. Afterwards we went and celebrated our neighbour Nicole Gilmore finally becoming an Australian citizen after 26 years in Australia, most of it living on Mortlake Road. She can now officially complain about avocado prices with the rest of us. On 26^th April we had dinner with Matt’s partner’s parents at Stretton, a fusion Chinese restaurant in Fortitude Valley near my office. It was a lovely lunch, excellent company, and the kids even shouted us — a rare moment.

MAY 2027 Matt headed to Canberra in early May for job interviews and returned with three offers from corporate law firms. After months of applications without even a sniff of an interview, he’d suddenly entered a hectic interview round with 12 interviews in ten days, mostly online. This was followed by the trip to Canberra for the second in-person round. It was a great vindication for him and all his hard work over the last few months. He could have had more offers, but with three good offers on the table he had to tell the others that he was not available. On 16^th May we took Kathryn & Matt Donaldson out for dinner. Kathryn is a career and business coach and had done a tutoring session with Matt on interview techniques and strategies. We may have to hire her again for future negotiations.

In late May it was the Winosaurs trip to the Hunter Valley. We flew to Newcastle on Thursday 25^th May with our neighbours Rebecca and Gavin Lee in a little advance side trip to Port Stephens. We visited Gan Gan Lookout, had lunch at Nelson Head Lighthouse together and then checked into Bannisters Port Stephens. It rained much of the day, so the views weren’t great, but the hotel itself was lovely. The highlight was Rick Stein’s restaurant, where we had a fabulous seafood meal washed down by Rick Stein’s own Hunter Valley wines. The next morning, I went for a run along the beachfront and had a swim in the infinity pool just before the rain started again.

On Friday we drove up to the Hunter Valley and stopped for lunch at the beautiful boutique Bistro Molines, a Hunter Valley institution. We had a great table with fabulous views. An unmissable experience for anyone heading to the Hunter Valley. Next was a wine tasting at the Audrey Wilkinson Estate (Katie already buying more wine than we could carry back home with us) and checked into Hunter Valley Resort. Throughout the afternoon, the rest of our Mortlake Road neighbours, 22 in total, converged from different directions and via different modes of transport. The welcome dinner was at the Spanish hacienda-styled Iron Gate Kitchen, and Katie had arranged a bus to drive us there and back. It was a fun and somewhat raucous evening which deteriorated into joke telling, hilarity and a random plan to create a gated community in Mortlake Road with its own vineyard and cellar door.

Saturday was the full Winosaurs tour: firstly, Tulloch Wines to learn about the heritage and history of the Hunter Valley, next the Smelly Cheese Shop in Pokolbin Village for a tasting of cheeses and chutneys, and then an elegant, paired wine lunch at the Hungerford Hill Estate with oysters, duck and six wines to taste. Our fourth stop was a visit to Tamburlaine Organics to see if we could taste the organic difference (I couldn’t by then), then lastly the Hunter Valley Chocolate Factory for a chocolate tasting and shopping. After our scheduled afternoon nap, we had dinner back at the resort with more wine, storytelling and general silliness.

On Sunday we all went our separate ways but kept bumping into each other. Katie and I explored the Broke Fordwich area with the Garden, Grape & Graze tour at Margans, where more wine was purchased to be shipped back home. Next the sculpture walk and art gallery at Winmark Wines, followed by afternoon tea at Cezan Restaurant on the Krinklewood Estate — a truly spiritual pairing of Tiramisu, chocolate fondant and fortified dessert wine. On Monday we wandered through the immaculate Hunter Valley Gardens, then drove to the airport and flew home, luggage heavier and livers wiser.

JUNE 2027 On 7^th June, we had a family dinner at Stilts, the very swish new restaurant perched rather dramatically on the new bridge between the CBD and Kangaroo Point. Before dinner, I caught the bus from the office over to Kangaroo Point to visit my old friend Ian Muir, who was in St Andrew’s Hospice in palliative care. It was confronting to see how much Ian had deteriorated since my last visit. Life has a way of reminding you of its fragility at the most unexpected moments. Dinner itself was lovely and expensive (Stilts must be paying off the bridge). Matt is very excited about his forthcoming move to Canberra – Australia’s capital city, famous for roundabouts, public servants, great museums and challenging winter temperatures.

On Friday 12^th June, Ian Muir passed away. I had known him since the first day of Grade 8 in 1979. We were two gawky teenagers who somehow managed to stay friends for 47 years. He was 59 and had fought a long, brutal battle with brain cancer. We went to school together, worked together at Cardno & Davies and AECOM, and both lived in Hong Kong for over ten years. We had met up in many places and holidayed together all over the world. He leaves behind his wife Cathy and daughters Carmen and Claire. He was probably my best friend and losing him was deeply sad.

We hosted a farewell morning tea for Matt at our place with Mum, Lisa, Andrew and the girls all coming over for coffee and cake. It was lovely to have everyone together before he left. Matt’s job search has been long and complicated, with excellent offers from the top-tier law firm Clayton Utz and the Department of Defence. He is also in the merit pool for the Department of Foreign Affairs & Trade. The Australian Public Service merit pool process is bureaucratic purgatory and has been excruciatingly slow. Katie drove Matt to the airport on 16^th June and had a good cry on the way home. It’s been wonderful having him to stay with us for the past six months or so. He probably won’t live in Brisbane again, so it really feels like the end of a chapter.

Mortlake Road had its very own Book Launch on Friday 19^th June. Yes, our street now has a published history. One of our neighbours (a keen historian) has compiled a book detailing every house and its history and previous owners. Thanks to Katie’s extensive contribution, our house featured prominently. The launch involved a surprising amount of wine, which I suppose is historically accurate for our street.

The next day we went to a Winter Solstice party at the Tods. They hosted lunch for 28 people on their tennis court. It was a typical Queensland winter’s day: warm and bright with blue skies. Lunch was long and delicious and was followed by badminton and then table tennis. The party rolled on until 2am (we sensibly left before 11pm), and the table tennis became increasingly competitive and uncoordinated as the evening progressed. It reached such heights of enthusiasm that one lady managed to fall spectacularly and break both wrists. Very unfortunate for her. Apart from that, it was a terrific day.

Monday 29^th June it was Ian Muir’s funeral. It was a beautiful service and very moving. They played three photo slideshows set to some of his favourite songs — Pictures of You (The Cure), Gone Too Soon (Ed Sheeran), and Don’t Dream It’s Over (Crowded House). His sister Helen gave a very lovely eulogy. I was a little embarrassed by how much I featured in the slideshows — apparently I’ve been loitering in Ian’s life a lot more than I had realised. Afterwards we went to the Centenary Tavern to raise a glass or three. I tried to give a toast but choked up and had to cut it short.

JULY 2027 On Saturday 4^th July, we had dinner with Mel and Bernie in their Spring Hill home. The dinner was officially to plan our upcoming South America trip, though the planning portion lasted about 20 minutes before Mike and Mary‑Anne arrived and the evening devolved into drinking (very fine wines), singing (badly) and dancing (enthusiastically) to 1980s classics. We stayed on their rooftop until 1:30am — the latest we’ve been out in ages — and even received noise complaints from nearby residents. A nostalgic reminder of our younger, louder selves. Having spent most of Sunday horizontal, we were then out again late afternoon for a tennis party at the Tods. We played for about two hours before dinner. Katie and I managed not to embarrass ourselves, though we were both a little subdued after the previous night’s rooftop revelry.

Derek, Katie, Matt, Jessie, Molly & Pippa

Tasmania - Part 2

                                                                                                                                             Letter No. 285

Dear all,

Monday 5^th January.  Today’s adventure began at the Tasmanian Devil UnZoo in Taranna. The first Tasmanian Devil feeding was at 10:00am, and what a performance it was. Two devils were the stars of the show, demonstrating why their species has survived for millennia: sheer determination, impressive jaw strength, and the ability to make adorable noises while fighting over a chunk of wallaby. The “cute noises” were somewhere between a grumble, a snort, and a disgruntled toddler. Charles Darwin never heard such things, but he would have approved.

The UnZoo concept is thoroughly modern: animals roam freely, and humans behave themselves. Mostly. It had all the usual Australian suspects—kangaroos, wallabies, birds with opinions—but the devils stole the show. They exceeded expectations so thoroughly that we briefly considered adopting one, before remembering they can bite through metal.

On the way to the Freycinet Peninsula, we stopped at the Spiky Bridge, a famously odd relic just south of Swansea. Built in the 1840s by convicts, the bridge’s jagged stone parapets were supposedly designed to stop cattle from tumbling over the sides. Another theory is that the stonemasons were simply told to “use up the leftover rocks,” which feels very on‑brand for 19th‑century government efficiency. Either way, it remains one of Tasmania’s more charismatic pieces of road infrastructure.

From there we drove north to Dolphin Sands. Our afternoon stop was the Melshell Oyster Shack, where surprisingly we ordered BBQ Scallops as we were anticipating a major oyster day ahead. The scallops were excellent, the Rosé was cold, and the breezy view across the water made us think seriously about moving to Tasmania and becoming beach hermits.

Finally, we returned to our secret beach hideaway, Driftwater Cottage, tucked away amid the sand dunes. The light softened, the wind quietened, and the place felt like it had been designed specifically to lower blood pressure. A simple day, really: devils in the morning, scallops in the afternoon, and sand dunes in the evening. Tasmania continues to deliver.

Tuesday 6^th January was a full-on seafood day, starting with a 45-minute drive to Freycinet Peninsula’s Oyster Bay Tours. We suited up in waterproof waders and stepped out into the sea looking like a cheerful, oversized toddlers. Out at the oyster beds we met the babies—tiny 1 cm specks of ambition—and spent about 40 minutes in the sea learning how they’re farmed. We saw oysters of all shapes and sizes, but the real showstopper was a 12‑year‑old oyster roughly the size of a paperback novel. Apparently, in the wild they can grow up to a metre long, which raises the question: at what point does an oyster stop being an oyster and start being a piece of furniture?

Back on shore, we shucked a dozen oysters (each one a small triumph), followed by a dozen mussels from the same farm. All washed down with a crisp glass of white wine, because one must stay hydrated while performing strenuous maritime labour. We then returned to the Oyster Shack for a platter of prawns—because restraint is for people who don’t holiday on the East Coast.

Suitably fortified, we drove to Bicheno for a quick stop at the famous Blowhole, which was in a contemplative mood. The tide was too low for any dramatic eruptions, but a short stroll across the granite rocks was refreshing. To round out our seafood‑themed pilgrimage, we visited the world‑famous Bicheno Lobster Shack—a title they may or may not have given themselves, but who are we to argue? Lobster rolls and a salt‑and‑pepper squid salad came home with us, forming the final chapter of a day dedicated almost entirely to eating things that once lived in the ocean. Back at our own little beach shack, we enjoyed the feast.

Wednesday, 7^th January   We headed to Freycinet National Park, home of pink granite mountains and famously photogenic beaches. Our target was the Wineglass Bay Beach Walk & Hazards Beach Circuit, an 11km walking loop of roughly four hours, depending on fitness, enthusiasm, and stops to admire the views. The track began with a steady climb to the Wineglass Bay lookout, where the reward is that classic crescent of white sand and turquoise water. Apparently, the bay’s name has nothing to do with wine and everything to do with 19th‑century whaling—when the sheltered waters supposedly turned the colour of claret. A charming image for the tourism brochures.

From the lookout we descended to the beach itself, crossed the isthmus, and continued along Hazards Beach, which stretches out in a long, golden arc beneath the granite peaks. The weather was glorious – the Tasmanian Summer had finally arrived – and it was a very hot day. By the final kilometres, Katie had misplaced the will to live, but she soldiered on with admirable stoicism and very little complaining, while I pretended to be fresh as a daisy.

After completing the circuit, we drove to the Cape Tourville Lighthouse, perched dramatically above the Tasman Sea. Built in 1971, it’s one of the more modern lighthouses in Tasmania, but earns full marks for its stunning scenery—endless ocean views in one direction and beautiful Wineglass Bay beach in the other. The wind was bracing and Katie refused to climb any more steps, so we made a quick retreat to the car. On the way home we made a strategic stop at Devil’s Corner Winery, where a couple of glasses of Rosé restored spirits, electrolytes, and general goodwill towards humanity.

The next day, Thursday 8^th January, we left early for Launceston, deposited the car at the hotel, and embarked on a full‑day winery tour of the Tamar Valley, one of Australia’s oldest wine regions. The first vines were planted here in the 1830s, though the modern industry didn’t take off until the 1950s, when someone realised the cool climate was perfect for sparkling wine and smugness.

Our stops included: Winterbrook — boutique and charming; Small Wonder – lunch platter with lovely view; Iron Pot Bay — named after a nearby island that once hosted a convict‑built lighthouse; and Westella — grand old homestead turned cellar door. We purchased several bottles along the way which resulted in a case of happy Tasmanian memories being shipped home.

We returned to the hotel at 5pm for a restorative lie‑down before venturing to Du Cane for a quick pizza dinner. In a shocking twist, we did not have wine. The Tamar Valley had already taken care of that.

On Friday, 9^th January we explored the Cataract Gorge, Launceston’s pride and joy, from multiple angles. Discovered by Europeans in 1804, the gorge is a dramatic cleft of dolerite cliffs and improbably calm water. First, we cruised on it with the Tamar Gorge Cruise, a 90-minute trip up and into the gorge itself, admiring the dramatic cliffs and 19^th century steel bridge. Next the Gorge Scenic Chairlift across the gorge which claims to be the longest single‑span chairlift in the world. That may not be technically true, but it certainly feels long enough when you’re dangling over the river with your legs swinging. Once across the gorge, we hiked steeply upwards to the Eagles Eyrie Lookout, a climb that rewarded us with sweeping views looking down on the gorge from an improbably high vantage point.

That evening we dined at Stillwater, widely considered Launceston’s best restaurant. It was indeed a very good meal, with a dignified level of understatement. Katie was very impressed and is already planning a return visit.

On Saturday 10^th January we farewelled Launceston and headed south toward Richmond, home to that famous bridge—the one featured in every Tasmanian calendar since calendars were invented. Built by convicts in 1823, Richmond Bridge is Australia’s oldest surviving large stone arch bridge, which makes it both historically significant and surprisingly sturdy considering the day’s winds were trying very hard to test 200 years of engineering.

Unfortunately, Tasmania decided to showcase her dramatic side. The weather turned on us with gale‑force enthusiasm and teeming rain. So much for the Tasmanian Summer. Our visit became a brisk dash: out of the car, confirm bridge still exists, back into the car before we blew into the Coal River.

From there it was straight on to Hobart for one last night on the Apple Isle. That afternoon we visited the Cascades Female Factory—Australia’s most deceptively named institution. Despite sounding like a Victorian-era sewing co‑op, it was in fact a women’s prison, where over 7,000 female convicts were “processed” between 1828 and 1856. The stories were sobering, the history compelling, and the architecture … well, it’s mainly just walls, but they are very historical walls.

Needing something a little lighter, emotionally and hydration‑wise, we headed to Cascade Brewery for a tour and tasting. Founded in 1824, Cascade is Australia’s oldest operating brewery and conveniently located at the foot of Mount Wellington—presumably so the beer can run downhill faster. The tasting session was educational in its own special way, and afterwards we settled into the Brewery Bar for dinner. Great food, great atmosphere, and a pleasant amount of contentment.

Next morning we were up suitably early for the flight back to Brisbane. It was a terrific holiday and Tasmania was completely awesome. There was history, there were walks, there was seafood and there was wine, so much wine. We experienced all four seasons in our fortnight, including the full Tasmanian summer, but even weather tantrums have a certain charm in Tassie. A return visit is definitely on the cards.

Back in Brisbane, Katie focused on the Australian Open tennis, watching as many matches as is humanly possible. On 24^th January we eased into the late‑summer Brisbane social calendar with an Australia Day BBQ at Carolyn & John Biddles, joined by Sue and Brad Rasmussen. It was a very relaxed and convivial sort of evening, with a bit more tennis-watching thrown in for good measure.

The following day, 25^th January, our friend Libby hosted a farewell long lunch for her upcoming move out of Mortlake Road. It was the kind of lunch where time quietly dissolves, and nobody checks the clock. Bernie and I arrived wearing the same shirt, to much hilarity from the rest of the group. Disturbingly, it is the second time this has happened, suggesting either a deep personal connection or a small shirt ecosystem. Paul has now bought one as well, which does not bode well for future gatherings. Anyway, it was a very lovely long lunch and a bit sad as none of us want to see Libby leaving the hood.

The following day, 26^th January, we were back at the table again, this time having been invited to lunch with our neighbours on both sides — the Goulds and the Poulsens. This officially confirmed the weekend as a Long Weekend of Very Long Lunches, something Brisbane appears well designed to support.

On 30^th January, it was time for our quarterly Winosaurs wine tasting at Alan and Liz Raggatt’s house. As always, it was a lively night with a solid turnout from the street, increasingly confident tasting notes, and debates that became more passionate as the bottles emptied. Nobody left in an ambulance, which is always a good outcome, and we wobbled home after an entertaining night.

We caught up with Ian and Cathy Muir for a nice dinner on 1^st February. They are renovating their Jindalee house while living in it, which is not for the faint‑hearted.  While progress has been made, getting tradies to turn up when promised remains an ongoing challenge. Katie has been pontificating madly about how the current inability to find an actual builder or tradie in town doesn’t bode well for the Brisbane government’s plan to construct four new stadiums and associated infrastructure in under six years for the upcoming 2032 Brisbane Olympics. As an example, the new building at the end of our street is potentially the world’s slowest build, with a daily average of one builder on site, according to Katie, sticking tiles on the façade one at a time. It is excruciatingly slow.

On 6^th February, we made time for a little culture and visited The Art of Banksy exhibition in Queen Street Mall. I knew very little about Banksy beforehand and found it fascinating. Afterwards, Katie and I turned it into a date night with dinner at Pompette, the French restaurant at Queens Wharf, which delivered excellent food in very civilised surroundings.

Friday 13^th February took us to the newly reopened Mt Coot‑tha Summit Restaurant for dinner with Nathan and Sigrid Groenhaut. The last time we’d eaten there was back in 1998 with Katie’s parents, Ken and Pam, and an 18‑month‑old Matthew. After being closed and slowly rotting away for more than 15 years, the restaurant has finally been restored and looked spectacular, with great food and even better views. Nathan and Sigrid are heading off to the USA, so this was our last dinner out with them before a farewell party on the Sunday. Heavy rain forced everyone inside and things got a little steamy.

On 21^th February, we had another dinner out, this time at Short Grain in Fortitude Valley with Ian Whitton and Liz Redfern, who were up from Melbourne for the weekend. It is Katie’s favourite restaurant and we seem to be there every second month. As always, it was superb food and lovely company. We spent the afternoon of 28^th February at my sister Lisa’s house admiring the new house / mansion they’ve bought next door to their existing property. Afterwards, we collected Indian takeaway from Kenmore and headed to Ian and Cathy Muir’s again — renovations still progressing steadily.

Derek, Katie, Matt, Jessie, Molly & Pippa

Tasmania Part 1

 Letter No. 284

Dear all,

We had a lovely Christmas at my sister Lisa’s. The first one without Dad which was a bit sad. Jess came to stay with us for a few days as well which was nice. On 29^th December, we flew to Tasmania to see our friend Paul Pincus finish the Sydney to Hobart Yacht race. The flight was delayed by an hour and the meal on the plane was the most underwhelming meal I have ever had - a hot-dog. A small overcooked one at that. What depths QANTAS has sunk to. There were three of our friend on the same flight and more on a later flight and a few already there. We checked into our hotel, The Henry James hotel on the dock about 5pm and went straight out for a champagne tasting. It was in the Clover Hill tent in the Taste Festival which was a short walk away. We were overlooking the harbour and about ten boats finished while we were there. They sailed right in front of us to many loud cheers. It was quite exciting. Astoundingly we had ten champagnes and it was all free! Dinner was 12 oysters and we went straight on to dance to a 80s cover band. It was a non-stop welcome to Tasmania!

The next morning it was a leisurely breakfast at the hotel and a walk down to the harbour to look at the boats. We went on to the Mawson Hut Replica Museum and the Tasmanian Art Gallery and Museum.

The Mawsons Hut Replica Museum is essentially a lovingly crafted reminder that early Antarctic explorers were made of sterner stuff than those of us who complain when the café’s heating is set a degree too low. Inside, we admired the meticulous reconstruction of Mawson’s living quarters, marvelling at how men survived months of darkness, isolation, and tinned food without once demanding oat milk or Wi‑Fi. It was humbling, in the way only other people’s suffering can be when viewed from a safe, well‑insulated distance.

From there, we strolled to the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery, where the climate was considerably more controlled and the hardships limited to choosing which exhibit to admire first. We wandered through natural history, colonial artefacts, and contemporary art—an eclectic mix that suggested Tasmania has always been a place where the ancient, the eccentric, and the earnest coexist quite happily. Culturally enriched we went back to the hotel for a rest – still feeling the effect of the ten champagnes last night.

We had been tracking the progress of our friend Paul Pincus aboard Solace with the sort of dedication normally reserved for NASA mission control. When he finally began nosing into the Derwent, we wandered over to the Taste Festival and secured brilliant seats right on the harbour—prime viewing for the nautical equivalent of a celebrity arrival. Naturally, champagne was required. It would have been rude not to.

After an hour of genteel sipping and squinting at sails on the horizon, Solace appeared and we gave the crew a suitably enthusiastic welcome to Hobart. Then came the urgent business of necking the remaining champagne and sprinting—well, briskly ambling—around to the other side of the harbour to greet them again at the dock. Somewhere in this flurry, Katie managed to shed the belt from her jacket. Naturally, I was dispatched to retrieve it while she returned to the hotel for… more champagne. A theme was emerging.

I retraced our steps through the Taste Festival, visited two separate lost‑and‑found stations, and was just about to concede defeat when I spotted the belt lying on the footpath where Katie had taken a shortcut. A New Year’s miracle. Rather than walk all the way back to the hotel, I diverted to the Shipwrights Arms—established in 1846 and historically known as the watering hole for sailors, whalers, and now, apparently, Pincus supporters. The pub was heaving, as every yacht crew seems to descend upon it the moment they tie up. Katie and the rest of the entourage joined me soon after, and we enjoyed a lively evening before returning to the hotel fireplace (in mid‑summer) for cocktails. As one does.

The next morning was a slow one, befitting New Year’s Eve. We wandered down to Jackman & McRoss in Battery Point—Hobart’s prettiest suburb, originally settled in the 1830s and still looking like it’s waiting for a Jane Austen character to pop out of a doorway. After brunch, we walked the Battery Point Sculpture Trail. The walk was lovely; the sculptures… well, Hobart, we love you, but they were a bit on the “interpretive” side.

An afternoon nap restored us for the 4pm Art Tour at the Henry Jones Hotel. The building itself is a piece of history—once a jam factory run by Henry Jones, who rose from child labourer to jam baron and knight of the realm. The hotel now displays art on every available wall, and sponsors two major Tasmanian art prizes. Our guide, Aaron, a self‑proclaimed “Master Storyteller,” lived up to the title. The tour began with champagne (of course) and continued for 90 entertaining minutes. All the art was for sale, and it took some effort to convince Katie that our walls at home were, in fact, finite.

From there we went to a champagne reception hosted by one of Solace’s crew, where we watched the 9:30pm fireworks from their hotel balcony overlooking the harbour. Afterwards, we returned to the Taste Festival for the Neon Nights theme—unfortunately we had left our fluorescent gear in Brisbane, but it turned out Tasmanians are not big on dressing up anyway. We danced to the Hindley Street Country Club Band, who played 80s hits with gusto, and made it to the harbour just in time for the midnight fireworks. We even stayed out until 1am, which is practically heroic compared to recent years.

On New Year’s Day we boarded the 10:15am ferry to MONA—the Museum of Old and New Art, built on the site of a former horse‑racing track and now home to David Walsh’s infamous “subversive adult Disneyland.” Mel and Bernie Thorpe joined us for the adventure.

MONA, as always, delivered a mix of brilliance, bewilderment, and the occasional confronting moment. We had lunch at The Source, the fine‑dining restaurant perched at the top of the hill. David Walsh himself was on the (closed) balcony with his family, prompting Mel and Katie to enter full fangirl mode. I maintain that I wouldn’t have recognised him if I’d tripped over him.

After more wandering, we attended a performance called 4pm, in which a composer writes a new piece of music every day and has it performed immediately by a string quartet. He had been doing this for 537 consecutive days, which makes my commitment to daily coffee seem rather underwhelming. Walsh and family joined the audience, much to Mel and Katie’s delight. The music was surprisingly good, and they played a few selections from previous days for good measure.

We caught the 5pm ferry back to Hobart, changed quickly, and met the others for an early dinner at Fellini’s Italian Restaurant. Katie chose it because her first job had been at a restaurant of the same name—a sentimental pilgrimage of sorts. We ended the night with cocktails by the fireplace before retiring early.

The next morning we picked up a hire car and drove to Dunalley for lunch before continuing to Eaglehawk Neck. We stopped for a short walk to Tasman Arch and Devil’s Kitchen—two dramatic geological formations carved by relentless Southern Ocean waves. Historically, Eaglehawk Neck was the narrow isthmus guarded by the infamous “Dog Line,” where ferocious dogs were chained to prevent convicts escaping from Port Arthur. Thankfully, no dogs impeded our progress.

We continued on to Wildwood Retreat in Koonya. The house is stunning, with sweeping views over the ocean that make you consider abandoning civilisation entirely. After a rest, we visited Premaydena Hill Winery for oysters, wine, and yet another spectacular view—Tasmania seems determined to outdo itself at every turn. We ended the day in the outdoor hot tub, admiring the scenery before enjoying a quiet night in. A rare and welcome pause.

Saturday 3^rd January took us to the Port Arthur Historic Site — Tasmania’s most scenic reminder that the 19th century had very different ideas about “character building.” We dutifully reported for the Port Arthur Essentials Tour at 9:15am, which, fittingly, is about the time convicts once lined up to be told what fresh misery awaited them. Our guide, far kinder than any 1830s overseer, walked us through the ruins, the stories, and the sort of punishments that make modern workplace training modules feel positively luxurious.

A few historical tidbits for the record:

• Port Arthur began as a timber station in 1830 before evolving into a full‑blown penal settlement — the kind of place where you didn’t want your name on the guest list.
• It was home to the “Separate Prison,” an experiment in psychological punishment where silence was mandatory and eye contact was optional. (Introverts may have thrived.)
• The site also boasted its own shipyard, hospital, and church — because even convicts needed a little variety.

We spent all day wandering around the ruins before boarding the boat for the Isle of the Dead Cemetery Tour at 3pm. The island holds around a thousand souls, neatly divided between “free” and “not so free,” with the headstones of the former standing tall and the latter mostly unmarked. A subtle reminder that history has always been a little uneven in its record‑keeping.

We also visited the Port Arthur Memorial Garden, a quiet, beautifully designed space honouring the victims of the 1996 tragedy. The reflection pool, framed by the remains of the Broad Arrow Café, is a stark reminder of the fragility of ordinary moments. It’s a place that encourages stillness—simple, solemn, and deeply human. A necessary pause in a landscape otherwise overflowing with history, beauty, and the usual Tasmanian weather mood swings.

 

Having absorbed a full dose of colonial gloom (and some surprisingly lovely views), we returned to our accommodation for a restorative hot tub session. Watching the sun go down from warm water felt like the perfect antidote to a morning spent contemplating the hardships of people who definitely did not have access to spa facilities.

Dinner in, feet up, and another day of Tasmanian exploration successfully chronicled.

On Sunday 4^th our adventure took us to the Cape Hauy Track, the third leg of the famed Three Capes Walk and—according to early European explorers—a place best admired from a safe distance. They described the dolerite cliffs as “imposing,” which is 19th‑century code for “absolutely terrifying.”

The track itself is an 11 km return journey, which sounds manageable until you realise that Tasmanian kilometres are longer, steeper, and more judgmental than regular ones. By the time we reached the far end, the cliffs rose in great organ‑pipe columns, the sea thundered below, and—because apparently the universe enjoys contrast—there were groups of people slacklining between the dolomite stacks.

Slacklining. Between cliffs. Over the Southern Ocean. Naturally.

I asked one of them how on earth they got the rope up there. He explained, quite casually, that they climbed 100 metres down the cliff, swam across to the dolomite column, then climbed up 50 metres with ropes and ratchets. All this before breakfast, presumably. They had two lines set up, but on the first attempt they only made it a quarter of the way across before the boulder anchoring the rope began to shift. At this point, they wisely retreated and spent the rest of our visit hunting for a sturdier boulder—because nothing says “relaxing day out” like trying to avoid plummeting into the Tasman Sea.

Madness. Entertaining madness, but madness nonetheless.

The cliffs were enormous, the dolomite columns spectacular, and the whole scene looked like something a geologist might sketch lovingly in a notebook before remembering they left their lunch in the car. By the time we trudged back to the car park, our legs had staged a quiet rebellion. There was only one responsible course of action: a restorative gin at McHenry Distillery, Australia’s southernmost distillery and a proud producer of spirits strong enough to revive even the most footsore walker.

We enjoyed a tasting paddle of three gins each, followed by a gin cocktail—because hydration is important. Katie, emboldened by botanical enthusiasm, decided we absolutely needed another bottle to take home. I didn’t argue; resistance seemed futile.

We rounded out the day with a third consecutive night in the hot tub, watching the sun slip behind the hills while our legs forgave us. A fine Tasmanian evening, and not a slackline in sight.

 

Cheers

Derek, Katie, Matt, Jessie, Molly & Pippa