East Coast tour, Day 1

The Adventure Tours bus picked me up from the Devonport hostel at 7:20am on February 15^th. There were around six Germans, three Danes, one French fry, one Netherlander, five Brits, three Koreans, one Japanese, and one Swiss. I was the only American. We were all tourists excited to spend three days exploring Tasmania’s east coast. The tour was all inclusive, so for three days I didn’t have to do any thinking for myself. Yay!

As the bus drove along, I spoke with John the Brit about the Australian Open, and how I would have loved to have been in Melbourne a month earlier to see Serena Williams play. Turns out John was a tennis judge back in the eighties and presided over a number of the big championships. I asked him which pros he judged, and he listed several, but I’m useless with sports names.

When I was in London last spring, I was thrilled to see Ian McKellan on stage. At one point he was within grabbing distance. John had volunteered at a nursing home years ago and often kept company with a Mrs. McKellan. As you can guess, one day Sir Ian waltzed in, and they’ve been the best of buddies ever since. I don’t doubt John’s story—his wife was right there anyway—and he might not have intended to brag, as I brought up both subjects. But as the trip progressed, John tended to only talk when he could be the center of attention, and then there’s something about adults trying to impress kids that’s unbecoming.

I spent more of my time with Angela and Verina, two of the Germans, Danni, the French fry, and Maha, the Swiss Miss. The first three were right around my age, and Danni was only eighteen, the youngest by a few years. She had already received her diploma, but was taking half a year off before university to travel and volunteer around the world. Verina had a thick Berlin accent (she told me, I don’t know these things. All I know is she reminded me of Frau Blücher from Young Frankenstein.) She and Danni became close friends.

Angela was a bit of a German punk with plenty of substantive things to say, and she filled me in on recent Neo-Nazi activity. East Germany never really caught up with the west, apparently, and the higher unemployment has encouraged discontent, a frightening parallel with post WWI Germany.

“…and two Nazis were elected into government a few years ago. None of the other politicians want anything to do with them, naturally. And the two weren’t able to do much, since they didn’t agree with each other much. And one was busted for child pornography. So support for the Neo-Nazis has ebbed a bit recently.” Good to know, Angela.

If you find yourself in East Germany, look for people with “Londsdale” t-shirts. Londsdale is a normal company, but the Nazis will wear something over the t-shirt so you can only see the middle few letters—“NDS,” which is a significant acronym I've forgotten. “Lands’End” clothing has the same letters, but the Nazis haven't caught on.

Maha, the Swiss Miss, was actually a good deal older than the rest of us—at least thirty-five. Her father had died and left her with enough money to quit her job as a career advisor and take some time off to travel. She’s using this time to identify her dream profession.

“Why should traveling in Tasmania help you identify your dream job back in Switzerland?” I asked.

“What would you do?”

“I’d probably keep working and wait for an idea to hit me. At least that’s what happens to me in school—I get my best ideas when I should be studying.”

Switzerland seems to be Western Europe’s overflow valve, and the vast majority of its citizens are multilingual. Maha herself knows French, German, English, Italian, and Arabic, among others. Many others on the tour speak more than two languages, and I felt a bit of an inferiority complex coming on. So I compensated for it by teaching them some American slang, such as "Yo, what's the 411? Keep it on the DL, cracker." They'll be so hip the next time they're in the States.

First stop was the recently harvested Bridestowe Lavender Farm selling lavender chocolate, honey, and basically everything else you can imagine, and then some. I managed not to buy anything, but Frank the Brit bought some lavender oil, which he mixes with some other oils to concoct a muscle relaxant, pain reliever, perhaps a wrinkle remover, or nectar of the gods, or elixir of life. He explained this all to Verina and me, but I was busy taking pictures.


We then visited a WWI memorial dedicated to ANZAC troops (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) in the middle of some small town. Originally some trees (elm?) had been planted along the town's main road to commemorate its fallen soldiers. As the trees aged their limbs became too heavy to support, and they had to be cut down for safety reasons. It took one man six months to finish cutting the trees with his chainsaw. But the final result was worth it.


My camera memory was pretty full of pictures, so at the next town we stopped at I hurried off to get them transferred to a CD. I found a store to do it, but the process was slow that I kept the bus waiting fifteen minutes. At that point I just gave up on the whole thing and asked a very confused employee to just mail the CD to me. I got on the bus and apologized to everyone, and decided I would try not to do anything stupid for the rest of the day.





A quick hike through streams and ferns until some waterfall.





Then a pit stop at some beach. Bruce, our guide, cook, and driver, told us to watch out for the current. He didn't know I was lifeguard and therefore Master of the Aquatic Universe, so I didn't pay much attention. A minute later I was in a remarkably strong current that was pushing me further down the beach, and right toward some barnacled boulders. Oops. I decided to listen to Bruce from then on, and helped out with dinner that evening.