Red Wine Express

I could have started this travel saga by saying that I don’t know how or why I allowed myself to be talked into it and you would be none the wiser. But that would be disingenuous. I actually volunteered to embark on a 10 day holiday with three women. Admittedly one is the child bride and the other two, GF1 and GF2, are good friends who I’ve worked with and socialised with for many years so it won’t be heaven or hell but it will be a lot of fun

We’re now four days in and I haven’t had a chance to add to this because the days have been as packed as a porn stars jocks. And we’ve pretty much been left to our own devices as it’s Easter and Tasmania is closed apart from the touristy stuff. So driving has been quite leisurely and just as well because we didn’t want to be snapped by one of the four speed cameras in Hobart, the locations of which the hire car lady kindly revealed. I won’t reveal the name of the hire car company or the authorities may send Constable Dan Adams of Liawenee after her. That would give him something to do because the town he patrols has a grand total of no people apart from him. It’s that sort of public servant to public ratio which puts Tassie in the same mendicant status as Greece and California.

Politeness is a state-wide trait which makes the people a delight to interact with. We found the only French waiter who has been privileged enough to be given a working visa to wait tables in restaurants in Tasmania. His countrymen (and women presumably) would be permitted to scowl at diners in the less courteous parts of Melbourne and most of the city nosheries in Sydney, but not here because of the politeness directive. Luigi, as we christened him (Italian I know, but we’re on vacation so the normal rules don’t apply) was the Manuel (Spanish I know etc etc) of Hobart – bumbling, eager to please to the point of obsequiousness and somewhat forgetful. We ordered four entrees and four mains. Three entrees arrived together and three mains arrived together. A 75% strike rate in some activities, baseball for example, would be exceptional. When it comes to delivering meals in a high end restaurant it’s a 13 on the par 3 12th at Augusta National. But as soon as he was reminded in a very non-Fawlty Towers way, I might add, he immediately offered the missing meals free of charge. This offer was obviously accepted. That meant an extra 60 bucks for booze so were we happy – bet your life we were.

Just in case you were wondering about the brown sign reference, tourist signs are brown and GF1 was running shotgun on them. There are millions of them even in a tiny place like this so while we didn’t check them all out we did our share.