Here we go again! #vanlife. This time the Emerald Isle is our destination. Probably about as close to Antarctica as you can get without a boat. Heading there in the middle of winter, probably up there with some of our more random choices. Everyone that we have talked to thinks that we are barking mad. Too late now, Qantas points used, motorhome paid for. Suitcases loaded up with fluffy dressing gowns, thick socks, ski jackets, merino ball bag warmers, gloves, Ugg boots and a change or two of undies. Chef’s knives packed but the uniform stays at home. Popped a bow tie in just in case a random need arises. 2.30am start and we loaded up the car for the 90 minute blast to Brissy Airport. Cheeky, 2 and a half hours flight and the cheery Captain announces, “Welcome to Hobart, the weather is sunny and currently, 8 degrees”. It begins! Now begins the usual fiasco of bellends leaping out of their seats as soon as the aircraft stops. Desperately grabbing that oversized piece of hand luggage that was amazingly, exactly where they put it, then stand in the aisle for 10 minutes, going nowhere until the doors open! The same Bellends then get as close to the baggage carousel as possible in the hope that their blue bag with pink ribbon pops out first. Someone’s bag has to be last, today it’s me! Our horse is meeting us in the pickup area so off we trot.
Memories of our last van collection are creeping in now. Recollections of a squeaking van sends shivers down the spine that have fu(k all to do with the near freezing temperature. Fear not, round the corner comes Roamer, a sleek 7.3 metre, Mercedes powered vision of beauty. Anyone who has been in one of these will understand that a Motorhome designed for 6 is 100% perfect for 2. That bulbous nose bit at the front is just as stupid as it looks. Fearsomely dangerous to get into after a few ales, impossible to get out of for a piss without waking up every living creature within 100 metres, but perfect for oversized suitcases full of Aldi ski jackets. The table at the back gets set up as a permanent double bed and the other table sits conveniently next to the kitchen. Solar power, gas fuelled hot water, diesel heater, a few other bells n whistles and we are off.
First stop, 5 mins round the bay to see a modern internet sensation, Neil the Seal. The word influencer generally invokes images of imbeciles spouting bollox into a tiny, fluffy microphone, hoping against reality that their shitty, illiterate posts will pay for a free meal or a ticket somewhere. Reality is that there are probably 100 million wannabes chasing the same dream and 1 seal with more attention than most of them combined. Neil when we found him was having a bit of a nap after a general rampage and street furniture destruction session on the way back from the pub. Quickly avoided the TV cameras awaiting the next one ton seal vs posh neighbourhood episode and got on our way.
Next stop, a supermarket with room to park the horse. Sorrel is about 15 mins from the airport, big outdoor parking area with a Coles. Managed to find a couple of metre long, fur covered hot water bottles, whacked those into the trolley as well as enough edible goodies for a few days, plenty of liquid entertainment juice, a handful of duck and venison sausages for brekky and our adventure begins. The faithful Park4Night app guides us to free parking in a field behind a pub about half an hour away in Dunalley. Horse parked, a few pints and pub grub was the only option after our pre sparrow’s fart start. Fish chowder and a wicked goat curry in front of a roaring fire were fricken awesome. Heater on and early to bed. Oversized water bottles and diesel heater did exactly what they said on the tin, utter comfort and toasty happiness all round, all night.
After 23 years here, some things still catch me out. Jax suggested popping to Port Arthur. Like most of us, I was aware of the 1996 massacre, just not aware that the place was a convict era penitentiary rather than something akin to every other town with the word Port in its name. Spent an awesome day here being educated rather more politely than the thousands of poor souls that got busted for nicking bread a couple of hundred years ago. Imagine my horror the next day when we get to Coles Bay to find the only fu(king supermarket is the convenience store in a grubby Big4 caravan park. My education continues.
How does an uninvited guest always turn up into a securely locked motorhome? Smash out a Michelin level feed and a beverage or two, followed by a few rounds of ‘watch the knob reversing a trailer’, maybe a card game or two, then off to bed. Inevitably, sometime before dawn, Mr Whippy wakes somebody up! That unwelcome pressure downstairs and the eternal choice, is this a baby fart that I can get away with in bed or an unscheduled visit to the laundromat. Climbing over another human en-route to the dunny is risky, stretch too far and the aforementioned dilemma is far more dramatic. Complete the assault course with sphincter closed then just 2 paces to safety. More choices now, aim and fire in the dark or take the safe, seated option. Option 1 normally ends with having to use the shower head and disinfectant before breakfast. Option 2 becomes a battle of control: Balance the number one valve against the other, somewhat noisier and nasty one. Option/number 2’s are banned in confined spaces so clenching and a precautionary wipe precede the return assault course. Regardless of the result, one of the more important issues in the morning is finding somewhere to drop off Mr Whippy and his antisocial chums. A few k’s down the road, there is a sign for tourist information 500m away, perfect. Naturally, the anticipation of release relaxes things slightly, until tourist info turns out to be a notice board with a tin roof. Clench back on and a 10am winery visit suddenly looks OK. Further down the road, a seafood gaff smashing out all manner of tomorrow’s problems seems more sensible. Sanitary looking porcelain facilities look like paradise. Mr Whippy generally has the last laugh now as you ponder endless wiping vs direct action with the dunny brush.
Chocolate starfish now shiny clean, we nip into Freycinet National Park, cough up $53 for an annual park pass and an outrageous $16 for a powered site overlooking the beach before a fairly wicked hike up the granite to unreal views over the Tasman Sea. Light fading now so a gentle jog down the mountain, navigate the horse back to stable number 13 and tuck into a serious bowl of cacio e pepe washed down with some feisty Tassie Syrah. Heater and furry water bottles sorted, life is awesome.
Do we stay or do we go now? This place is perfect but maybe there is next level perfect? Had another waft around the National Park for a not too early hour or two before the hungry monsters woke up. Lobster Shack in Bicheno sounds like a lunch stop and the hint of a place called Friendly Beaches to park the horse overnight sounds epic. Popped into the local marine farm again for oysters, sushi and scallops before checking out Friendly Beaches at the end of 1.8kms of gravel track better suited to a tank than a Motorhome. $16 last night, zero here. No mobile signal, Wallabies, Echidnas and Wombats roaming around is just perfect. Also turns out to be part of the National Park that we coughed up for in no-Coles Bay. Back down the bone shaker, en-route to Lobsterville 20 mins away. Half a lobster for 115 bucks, crikey, it’s like being back in Sydney Fishmarket! Popped an order of squid rings and chippies on top and headed upstairs to an unexpectedly children free area. Nipped back to the horse for a cheeky Pinot Gris and smuggled that bugger in to wash the fishy stuff down. The bottle also doubled up as a handy smashing device for the more stubborn lobster bits.
Back to Friendly Beaches and backed Roamer’s oversized arse into a slot looking over the beach. The beach is crystal white sand and the bluest of blue water. A couple of nosy wallabies pop over to say hi. This really is friendly beaches. Probably gunna whizz back to the seafood gaff in the morning for a fat bastard’s portion of moules and a cr@p, then stay here again tonight before a gentle waft back to Hobart. Bloody oath
