Chapter 236: the centre of Hobart

I find myself in the centre of Hobart, down at the docks, looking for a big, vacant table. Big enough for my family. My wife and I want to show them some photos of our recent trip.
I can’t access a suitable table. We should cap the number of tourists. Limit their number. We can’t cope. We don’t have the infrastructure and I can’t find a table.

It’s depressing watching the lanyarded tourists wander around, with their selfie sticks, not going anywhere, crowding the docks and jamming the road up the mountain. I sure they don’t respect our unique natural environment the way we do.

Eventually we find a seat and look at the photos.
Every photo reminds me of a place, a sight or people.

This guy had seen the bushfires on TV and wanted to know what he could do. I said give money and told him how.  Actually when I said I was from Australia everybody said the same two things.

I can’t understand what you are saying and those bushfires are terrible. Are they close to you?

And this guy had been to Tassie and loved it. He even remembered a place called Bicheno.

Here’s a photo of us riding in what I call a cable car. They don’t but it looks the same. We had a choice. Wander around the docks aimlessly and look at fridge magnets, T-shirts and the mountain or jump in and go up the peak in the cable car. We choose the cable car. 

I said to one guy: It would be really good for the environment if you got rid of this cable car. His reply increased the number of languages I can swear in.

And a photo of this old couple with their grandchildren. We had to take photos of the kids.  As soon as they saw the camera they swarmed around. Like flies at a picnic.

Everybody we meet loved Australia. They had either been and loved it or would love to come.  I always said don’t forget Tasmania. One guy on the other side of the world proved he knew about Tassie. When I said I was from Tassie he said, “Show me your scar.”

I was too stunned to reply.

And this photo of a park ranger who explained how they do things and I told her how we do things. There are definitely differences which we discussed. For instance: their national park was full of people walking their dogs or riding a horse and they have a lottery to decide who gets the privilege of shooting a wild native animal.

Thinking like a Tasmanian I immediately thought we do things better. But their native parks were full of people enjoying themselves. They were not all meditating and communing deeply with nature in a spiritual way but they are all happy and enjoying themselves and I know the future will be different.  In what way I do not know. All I know is learning how to shoot native animals is not something I want to learn.

And here is a photo of our saving angel. We were lost. He knew we needed help and helped us find the best place to get decent coffee. It was probably run by his brother but who cares. Families looking after themselves is good and the coffee was good.

We have now come to the end of our photos.

Gretna is distracted. She has seen some tourists swinging a camera. I don’t know what she says but Gretna never misses an opportunity to get her photo taken. I notice she initially takes their photo and then manages to be in a photo.
She then talks to them for ages. I get the feeling she is showing this retired old man how to behave. Sometimes us old men can learn from primary school females.

Gretna is showing me what to do. Welcome tourists. Thank them for coming. Help them find their way around. Learn from them. Teach them. And treat them the way you want to be treated when roles are reversed.