Back from Tasmania. Again.

Bags are mostly unpacked and I’m starting to defrost.

I’m from England originally, so it’s nice to get cold again – for a while – knowing that I’ll soon be flying back to Townsville, where stepping off the plane feels like walking into a hot sponge.

I went to Tassie twice in the space of four months – once in May/June and again in September – and I’m still not entirely sure what happened. Tasmania feels like it might be slightly made up. An island filled with penguins, llamas, robots, and confusing speed limits.

To save myself a bit of typing, I’m going to let my old Facebook statuses do some of the storytelling.

Things started off gently enough. I posted from Hobart’s waterfront:

“I’m currently the furthest south I’ve ever been!”

A nice milestone, I thought. Then I opened the door to my motel room and instantly froze to death.

“Why is the inside of my motel room so much colder than outside??”

Launceston was next, and I loved it. The drizzle was set to “British standard,” and the town planning felt more like Blackpool than Brisbane.

“I had such a nice day today in Launceston. The weather is just the right amount of overcast and drizzly, the town planning in much more English style than Australian. Wandering around, it feels like a day in Blackpool. They even sell Cherry Coke and Wispa’s here (unlike the rest of Aus). It’s like a quick trip home, without the 24 hour flight.”

I mean, it was still 5°C, but I was smiling.

Then I turned off the main highway and discovered Tasmania’s unique approach to speed limits.

When you drive into a town, you see a “60” sign. Okay, no problem. Then you drive out the other side and see a sign that says “End of 60” – and that’s it. No follow-up. No idea what happens next.

“I’ve spent the last few days not knowing if I’m annoying people by driving too slowly, or scaring people by driving at twice the speed limit!!”

Turns out (I looked it up later), until fairly recently there wasn’t a default open road speed limit at all. Once you hit “End of 60,” you were technically free to hit the throttle. Now the limits vary depending on which council you’re in. In Kingborough it’s 90 on sealed roads, 80 on gravel. Elsewhere it might be 100. Or 110. But they don’t post the signs – you’re just meant to know.

This isn’t traffic regulation. It’s a puzzle.

One day I drove through a town called Bagdad and saw a pack of llamas just hanging out by the side of the road.

“Tasmania is a strange country!”

Still true.

Later in the trip, I visited a dairy and saw a laser-wielding robot milking a cow.

“Saw a laser-wielding robot milking a cow today. Tasmania is a strange place…”

No one else even blinked. A robot was milking a cow, and everyone just carried on like it was a normal Tuesday. Which it was. But still.

At one point I came across a refurbished bakery that was offering accommodation – in the oven.
Yes, really.

Tasmania is strange.

Then this happened:

“On a beach surrounded by penguins.”

I was on a beach. I was surrounded by penguins. This is Tasmania.

A whole waddle of them (yes, that’s the actual term) came out of the sea and waddled past within a foot of me.

On the flight home, we sat on the runway in Hobart for an hour because there was ice on the wings. Ice. On the wings.

“This never happens in Townsville!”

Of course the plane had ice on the wings. Tasmania was just being Tasmania one last time.

While I waited for the big thaw, I decided to watch Game of Thrones on my tablet. A good way to pass the time on a long flight, I thought. Right up until the bit where everyone got unexpectedly naked.

“Suddenly to anyone walking past, it looks like you’re watching porn in public!”

I’ve been to Tasmania twice now, and I still don’t fully believe it’s real. It’s a bracingly icy island filled with penguins, llamas, robots, and baffling road rules.

And I’d go back in a heartbeat.

Just not in winter.