Australia: Farewell to Tasmania, Hello to relatives

Wow. I'm down to my final few days in Tasmania, the island I almost consider my second home. I've covered Hobart, Launceston, both ends of the Overland Track, but not the track itself, gone from east to west coast and back and now, with my flight to Sydney looming, I'm chilling out on the Freycinet Peninsula. So what happened in my last few days in Tassie?

Sea snot?

I seemed to have expended rather a lot of energy walking the Hazards Circuit the previous day, so I decided to have a relaxed day on the Saturday. Note: I actually planned to do not a lot, instead of just lounging around and then realising I'd wasted the day.

I didn't entirely waste this day. First I took a stroll along Muirs Beach, which is right opposite the hostel. Along the way I discovered these funny looking little blobs.

[IMAGE]

Loads of them. I'm not sure what they are - jellyfish medusae minus the tentacles? Some sort of giant salp? Not a clue. So I'm calling them sea snot for now, because that's what they look like. Also, the view from the beach across to the Hazards is pretty sweet.

[IMAGE]

After that lovely stroll, I treated myself to a muffin and milkshake at the bakery while I tried to make use of the appalling WiFi. No luck. I really shouldn't be this dependent on internet. It's sort of pathetic.

And then I was productive and did laundry. Well done, me. I must have been proud of myself - I made a note in my journal that actually says "laundry time". Why did I feel the need to record that?

I think I must have spent the rest of the day marvelling that my sunburn was improving and also reading an excellent book I found about the Spice Race between England and the Netherlands. Fascinating bit of history, if rather bloody.

Did you walk all the way here?

Relaxed Saturday done with, I decided to make the most of my Parks Pass and head into the park one more time. With walking tracks somewhat limited without tackling the multiday hike around the southern end of the peninsula, I opted to wander along the road to Sleepy Bay instead.

I might have got a few funny looks from drivers as they passed me, but I quite enjoyed the walk. The short track down to the bay was less pleasant, thanks to it being buzzing with mosquitos who managed to find every bit of exposed skin on me. Urgh.

[IMAGE]

Still, Sleepy Bay is as lovely as I remember it. I think it was a bit damp when I visited before, so it was nice to see it in the sunshine. Lots of rocks to scramble around. I'm pretty sure that when I came before, the entire tour group squeezed into a tiny cave with a really narrow opening. So I went in search of it. Either I've got the wrong location, was looking in the wrong place, or the cave's collapsed, because I couldn't find it.

[IMAGE]

While I was looking, I bumped into a group of Americans who said they'd passed me on the way up the road and were very surprised to hear that I'd walked in from Coles Bay. They seemed to think it was a long way, but I don't think it can be any more than 3 miles from the town to Sleepy Bay. Not very far, really. Friendly folks, though.

I ate my brunch there, sitting on the rocks, admiring the view and trying to ignore the somewhat disconcerting buzz of a drone whizzing past my head.

[IMAGE]

And then back to the hostel, via the shop where I treated myself to some nice looking burgers and cider. Burgers for lunch, more reading of the delightful history book and then, in the absence of any interesting food (rice and pasta are getting boring), I went down to the chippy and got myself a seafood box - prawns, calamari, fish goujons and scallops, plus a huge helping of chips. I took it down to the beach and ate it sitting on the boat ramp.

[IMAGE]

Apparently, I like calamari. This is wonderful news.

After stuffing my face, I went back to the hostel, did the social thing and drank my cider and then headed back to the beach to watch the sunset with a couple of the guys. I think I managed to get some pretty good photos.

[IMAGE]

Oh, and I managed to get the blurry water effect with the waves. Admittedly, I got a bit damp at the same time because the water came up over the rock I was standing on, but I'm pretty pleased with this shot.

[IMAGE]

I think that's a good end to my time in Freycinet.

Hobart, where are your baby stores?

Time to leave Coles Bay and this time I wasn't worried about my connection not being there. Well, I wasn't until the bus was late. When it finally arrived, I was beginning to worry that the bus to Hobart would be leaving without me.

Fortunately for me, these guys run this service regularly, so the driver had been in touch with the driver of the other bus to let them know we might be late. As it was, we made it to the turn off before the other bus even arrived. And then they left, leaving me alone in the middle of nowhere and wondering whether we'd made it before the bus or whether it had been and gone. Seriously - middle of nowhere.

[IMAGE]

Turns out the other bus was also running slightly behind, so just as I'm thinking I'll have to call someone, the minibus comes rattling along the road and I'm off back to Hobart again.

My mum had also informed me, while I was at Freycinet, that her Australian cousin has had a baby and that it would be nice if I could find a gift of some sort. I'm awful with children. I don't like them and I don't know what to do with them. So when I arrived in Hobart I had to go on a mission in search of... god knows. And I was clearly looking in the wrong place because nowhere seemed to sell things for babies. I succeeded in the end, but jeez, that was difficult.

And then sleep, because I had to get up at 5am to get the shuttle to the airport. This plan was interrupted by an obnoxious roommate who clattered in at 2am with absolutely no regard for her sleeping compatriots. Not impressed.

Bus-Plane-Train-Car

Ah, 5am. Not a time I like. And then the shuttle decided to take its time getting to the airport. I think it's well established that I worry about time and I'm even worse when I'm tired. That was not a fun bus ride. Still, I turned up in plenty of time. The flight was uneventful, if a little sad for leaving Tassie behind.

On arrival at Sydney Airport, I spent the very brief walk from the plane to the gate wondering if I'd recognise my uncle. As it turned out, I'm not entirely convinced he recognised me when I trundled over and hugged him.

And so onto the train with my uncle and his daughter Linda (I have no idea what relation this makes her to me... second cousins or something, probably). A brief stop for a delicious lunch and then into Linda's car for the drive to the little town of Mittagong in the Southern Highlands.

With an afternoon to kill, Uncle Les took me on a drive around a couple of local spots, including this lookout over the valley.

[IMAGE]

And the quaint town of Berrima, followed by tea with the family, which is a novelty for me because my uncle's immediate family is pretty extensive and mine... is not.

And then sleep, because in the morning I have to get up early again to collect my grandad from the airport.

Why did I agree to this?

That is the first comment in my journal. Because we set off not long after 4am - me, my uncle and his son-in-law - to get my grandad. I'm not entirely sure why we needed to leave so early - apparently it was because of traffic. Of course, this meant we turned up at the airport about an hour before my grandad's flight even landed. And I felt ill. Lack of sleep, I reckon. So I made the most of the free WiFi and drank tea while we waited.

And waited.

And waited some more. The flight arrived and I watched people with LHR baggage tags filter out of customs control.

Still no Grandad.

Eventually, I spotted him heading down the ramp. So I hurried over to catch him. By which point he'd vanished. Damn, the man moves quick for his age. No worries - caught him.

And then a very sleepy drive back, where I tried to catch up with my grandad. I say tried, because neither of us are that talkative anyway and with him being jetlagged and me being generally knackered, we didn't get very far.

After a cooked breakfast at my uncle's, we set off for an afternoon drive. I thought this was a wonderful idea - one of the best ways to deal with jetlag in my experience is to force your body clock to adjust to the local time. No snoozing!

So we headed out to the coast, stopping off at Jamberoo Lookout on the way.

[IMAGE]

And then having a wander around the town of Kiama, where Grandad tried out some of the public fitness equipment...

[IMAGE]

We also had fish and chips, but while the chips were OK, I wasn't convinced on the fish. And yes, of course I'm biased towards the stuff I get at home. Oh, and Kiama has a blowhole, but it wasn't being particularly impressive when we were there.

[IMAGE]

And then tea. And then sleep. So much sleep. Desperate need for sleep.

Secondhand book win

With Grandad still somewhat jetlagged and me still regretting the 4am start, we had a lazy morning the next day and followed it up with a trip to a little market in town where I homed in on the secondhand book stall and acquired myself Pratchett's Wintersmith at a reasonable price instead of the $20+ it would have cost in a normal bookshop in Australia. Seriously, Australia, why are books so expensive over here? It's like you don't want people to read...

And then we had Chinese for tea. I haven't had Chinese takeaway in ages. It was yummy.

Here's me at the Grand Canyon...

That relaxed day had given us all chance to recover, so on the Friday we drove out to Katoomba in the Blue Mountains and visited Scenic World. It's a complete tourist trap, but since neither my uncle nor my grandad were interested in letting me pay, I can't complain. Plus, the rack railway they have there, while very short, is apparently one of the steepest in the world at 52 degrees. I nearly slid out of the seat on the way down...

[IMAGE]

We followed the railway with a lovely stroll through the forest, where we spotted a lyrebird - they're brilliant mimics, but this one moved before I could get a good photo.

[IMAGE]

And then we took the cable car back to the top...

[IMAGE]

Grabbed some lunch and a few more photos, including this stupid selfie with my rather bemused looking relatives.

[IMAGE]

Then took the "Skyway Gondola" across to the other side of the valley. It's a cable car. Call it what it is.

[IMAGE]

On that side, we took a walk along the cliff, where I got treated to a running commentary from Grandad and Uncle Les about the stupid people going close to the edge and climbing over railings and how they'd fall off and die. I love them both, but I really didn't want to listen to the grumbling, although I must admit that it's hilarious how much alike they are. So I trundled off ahead on my youthful legs.

[IMAGE]

We didn't make it all the way to Echo Point, but we did get far enough round to see the Three Sisters. Just.

[IMAGE]

And then home for leftover Chinese, during which I showed this photo to the grumpy old men, just for the lulz.

[IMAGE]

Hey, guys, you know what you were saying about people going too close to the edge? Here's me at the Grand Canyon.

Oh, the small pleasures.

Next week: Christmas, a few more days with the relatives and then my friend Claire arrives from the UK for a two week jaunt around Australia's highlights.

Gonna be good, right?

Australia: Am dram, gardens and hiking

I am the world's worst at keeping this thing up to date. Has it really been two months since my last push for updates? Damn.

 So, in the last post I'd overdosed on boat trips and tried my best not to squeal on having a penguin nearly run over my foot. The following week in Tasmania pushed my new-found ability to not plan ahead to the limit...

SQUAWK!

My last full day in lovely, quiet Strahan was wet. Same old, same old. In between the rain showers I first ran to the shop for groceries and then to Banjos because everything is better with pie.

Having wasted pretty much all day dossing about (why on earth didn't I sort the blog out then, past me?), I toddled on down to the tiny outdoor theatre on the waterfront to see Australia's longest running play, The Ship That Never Was. If you've read the last post, you'll know I visited Sarah Island, site of a notorious penal settlement. The play is based on events that took place around the time Sarah Island was being shut down and its convicts moved to the new site at Port Arthur.

So, I toddled in, wrapped myself in the complimentary blanket and hung on to the tiny hot water bottle the guys were handing out, it being a bit cool and damp, despite the cover over the seating.

And so the play began. A two man show, this time played by Chris, the guide from Sarah Island and the friendly chap I'd met in the post office a couple of days before. It soon became apparent that audience participation was very much expected and indeed essential. So I ended up being the parrot.

Yeah...

That was OK while it was just a hand puppet and all I had to do was squawk at appropriate moments (and I definitely didn't sound at all like a chicken... or a crow...) but towards the end of the play I had to don this.

And "fly" out of the theatre to look for land... Which would have been fine if there hadn't been a horde of smartly dressed people walking past at that moment to a function on one of the boats. Oh dear.

That said, it was bloody good fun and educational to boot. The set was pretty awesome as well.

With my culture fix achieved, I toddled back to the hostel and tried to sort out what I was doing next. I only had one more night left in Strahan and I had no real plan. I had thought I'd go down to the Huon Valley, south of Hobart, since it's an area I've never visited. Unfortunately, I couldn't find anywhere to stay that was in my price range.

Hmm... what to do, what to do? And then the internet threw the most enormous hissy fit, refused to connect to anything and basically screwed me over. It took me nearly an hour to get it to behave long enough to get a night booked in Hobart for the following evening.

All right, I figured. I'll go to Hobart, stay the night and work out what I'm doing afterwards.

What happened to me being the queen of planning?

ECHIDNA!

After a morning spent dossing at the hostel (during which the internet continued to play silly buggers), I hopped back on the bus, once again driven by friendly Terence. We wound our way back to Queenstown, picked up an entire 2 people and motored onwards to Lake St Clair, in the heart of the island.

And on the way I saw more echidna. One of which was ambling across the road in that way only echidna have, oblivious to the minibus speeding towards it. Terence stopped in time, fortunately, just as I start with the "run, little echidna, run!" I think that brings my echidna total to six. Not bad for 2 weeks.

Arriving at Lake St Clair, we had a short break during which I wandered down to the lake edge and grabbed a few photos just to prove I'd been there.

Then I bid farewell to Terence and the tiny bus and hopped on a coach to take me back to Hobart.

Back in Hobart, I checked the bus timetables I had for the east coast and found that I could get up to the Freycinet Peninsula. On Wednesday. So I booked a couple more nights in Hobart and settled down, satisfied that I had at least tried to be spontaneous...

Worldbuilding is the best bit

With two days now to kill in Hobart, I decided to revisit the beautiful Botanic Gardens. Hobart's gardens are some of the oldest in Australia and the collection is amazing. First though, I got talking to one of the volunteers and it turned out that he also writes fantasy and we had a gloriously geeky chat about worldbuilding. As you do.

The gardens, as expected, did turn out to be pretty good for writing inspiration, but they're also fascinating from a scientific perspective. There's this gorgeous fernery, which I want but would never be able to look after.

Some gorgeous flowers, none of which I can remember the names of, although I think my macro photography is improving.

[IMAGE]

The gardens are also home to the only collection of Sub-antarctic plants in the world (as far as I can see...). Most awesome. These guys cling on in places like Macquarie Island where they're battered by wind and rain, salt and freezing temperatures. Tough little buggers.

[IMAGE]

Having got my fill of botany, I wandered back into the city via the site of the Beaumaris Zoo, home to the last captive (and possibly last altogether) thylacine, Tasmania's marsupial wolf. It says something about old zoos when you consider that in this small area there were leopards and polar bears as well as a whole host of other critters. That's a lot of animals crammed into not much space.

[IMAGE]

And then I got attacked by the wind which stole my hat. That was great fun, chasing my hat down the road while also trying to keep my otherwise lovely sun dress from flashing my knickers at people...

What's with the British telly?

I spent my last day in Hobart reading. And booking my airport shuttle for next week. And reading some more. And finally being most bemused that Nigella Lawson was on the telly. It seems like, aside from the news, the only programmes that ever seem to be on are from the UK. Oh, or those reality things about traffic cops and border security...

Disconnect

Wednesday started early because I had to lug all of my bags down to the bus stop. It also started early because I realised late on Tuesday night that I hadn't actually booked my connecting bus. So at 7 in the morning I'm frantically sending emails to the local bus company and hoping that, even if I can't reply, they'll get the message and come and get me.

As a result, I spent the entire 2 hour plus trip from Hobart up to the Coles Bay turn off freaking out that I'd be stranded there with no way to get to Coles Bay itself. I started taking note of where houses were in case I had to walk somewhere to get help. Yeah, that was just... glorious fun.

As it turned out, I needn't have worried, because the minibus was waiting for me at the turn off and all was fine. Since it's a local service that also deals with freight, we had to stop to make a few deliveries on the way, which was a novel experience and reminded me of that time I had to take the "post bus" when I went camping in the Yorkshire Dales with friends from school.

Safely in the tiny town of Coles Bay, I checked in and wandered down to the bakery for a much needed cuppa. And a Lamington, because I'm told they're a very Australian thing and also, CAKE.

After that delicious snack, I wandered into the town centre, which was exceptionally windy.

[[IMAGE]

And also very small. Seriously, Coles Bay is lovely, but it's a village more than a town. It has, as far as I could tell, exactly one shop, plus a cafe. Sweet though.

[IMAGE]

In the evening, I even managed to be a bit social. This might be because there was no WiFi, or I might just be beginning to enjoy talking to random strangers.

Well, that was a stupid thing to do...

On the Thursday morning, having purposefully dumped myself in a place where there was nothing to do but walk, I went walking. First stop, the Visitor Centre to grab a Parks Pass and a Eucaflip. I might see if I can get the Eucaflip framed when I get back to the UK. It's an ID guide for Tasmanian eucalypts, but I like it even more because it was co-created by one of my lecturers from UTas.

Anyways, after confusing the parks lady with the revelation that I wasn't driving into the park and therefore needed the cheaper pass, I toddled off along the beach and then the road to Honeymoon Bay.

[IMAGE]

Yes, I am aware that I only visited Honeymoon Bay a week or so ago, but it's such a gorgeous spot and I wanted a nice easy walk to start off with. I scrambled about on the rocks for a while, embracing my inner child and then settled down to enjoy the view.

[IMAGE]

A couple of hours of doodling and writing later, I tramped back to the Visitor Centre to use the free WiFi, at which point I realised that my legs were looking a bit pink and promptly remembered that I hadn't reapplied my sunscreen. Ah.

This would explain why my legs were so very ouchy when I got in the shower at the hostel. Jeez. I don't think I've ever sunburnt my legs before and I don't intend to do it again. OUCH.

I made up for this stupidity by being super social in the evening and going to the pub with a couple of folks from the hostel. Their cider selection was all right, but I've had better. Still, at least Australia has cider.

Wallaby near miss

The following morning my legs were still very ouchy, so I did the sensible thing and put my actual walking trousers on to keep them out of the sun. Sensible because I intended to tackle Wineglass Bay and the thought of more sunburnt was not nice.

Sophie who came to the pub very kindly dropped me off at the Wineglass Bay carpark and so I set off. First, back off up to the lookout. My legs can't have been that bad, because I managed it in about 30 mins and so was off to a good start.

[IMAGE]

Step two, down the other side of the pass to the bay itself. Knowing what Tassie's woodlands are like, I coated myself in DEET to keep off the winged demons and set off down the steep track. Not far from the bottom I nearly came acropper, stumbling over a rock and scuffing my palms. More ouch to add to the list.

[IMAGE]

The trek down wasn't too hard. My occasionally dodgy knee even managed not to crunch. Down at the bottom, I got comfortable on the beach and had brunch - delicious sweet potato with sweet chili sauce. Yum. It also gave me chance to clean my scuffed palm which led to more ouch when I, unthinkingly, used hand sanitised to get the bits of sweet potato off my fingers. Fuck, that hurt.

With stingy hand to add to the ouch list, I headed back to the main track. I had intended to just head back over the pass and so back to the hostel. But I was feeling sort of energetic and when the sign informed me that the Hazards Circuit would only take me up to 5 hours and was only 11km long, I figured what the hell? Let's give it a go. I had plenty of water, my lunch was still in my bag and I was slathered in sunscreen.

So I toddled off across the narrow isthmus that connects the two parts of the Freycinet Peninsula, emerging half an hour later on Hazards Beach. Tramped down there and spotted a wallaby.

[IMAGE]

Well, I say spotted. The thing nearly jumped on my head. See the ledge it's sitting on? A bit further back along the beach, that's about head height to me. So when it leaped out of the bushes, I could have sworn it was going to land on me. As it was, I think the wallaby was just as surprised as me. Luckily for me, it decided to sit quietly on the ledge long enough for me to get some fairly decent photos.

Anyways, wallaby incident done with, I set off again around the circuit, occasionally giving myself minor heart attacks by convincing myself there was a snake on the path. Seriously, some of those tree roots were remarkably snake-like until I got nearly on top of them. Ugh.

[IMAGE]

The Hazards Circuit isn't quite as busy as the Wineglass Bay track, so I had the place nearly to myself for the most part, which was amazing. It's one of the things I love about Tassie - that sense that you're the only one there.

Such illusion was vanquished when I arrived back in the carpark and started trekking back along the road towards Coles Bay. I was still feeling remarkably energetic, so the several kilometre hike to the hostel didn't seem like a problem.

Still, when an Aussie couple pulled up next to me and offered me a lift, I didn't say no.

Apparently I'm either getting stupid or more confident, because I never would have got in a random car before. They kindly dropped me off at the Visitor Centre where I once again made use of the WiFi and also acquired a new spork since my old one is missing most of its tines - not great when you're trying to skewer sweet potato out of your lunch box.

Since I'd been really healthy and done my nice long walk, I splashed out on a bottle of cider from the tiny shop. Om nom nom. Willie Smith's is better than the 5 Seeds I had in the pub the night before. Good stuff.

Well, my time in gorgeous Tasmania is coming to an end. Two more days on the Freycinet Peninsula and then back to Hobart to catch my flight back to Sydney and Christmas with relatives. That's going to be good, right? I'm going to miss Tassie though.

Still, food and accommodation over Christmas...

Australia: Tasmania Coast to Coast

After spending a few days in Hobart, revisiting old favourites and a couple of new ones, I'd caught the bus up to Launceston in the north and planned on spending a few days exploring before heading over to the West Coast. Here's how that went.

So. Un. Fit.

On my first morning in Launceston, I woke up stupidly early and a little sleep deprived courtesy of the two snoring monsters in my dorm. This may explain my confusion when there was breakfast laid out in the kitchen despite me being pretty sure there wasn't free breakfast. Still, with no one else around to tell me otherwise, I helped myself to a couple of slices of bread and was just fishing them out of the toaster when someone appeared in the kitchen.

"That's for a private group," she said, giving me the evils. Sleep-deprived me apologised profusely but failed to point out that I could hardly return the now-toasted bread. Slightly more awake me thankfully kept her mouth shut, but really wanted to point out that there was no way for me to know that it wasn't part of the hostel services and there was no need to be giving me evils. Ugh.

Having avoided that argument, I clambered onto my minibus with Graeme, our guide and driver for the day. Scary ass driver.

We made it safely to Ross, which is a pretty little village with a rather elaborate convict-built bridge.

It also had an excellent bakery that sold scallop pies, so that was my tea sorted. 

Onwards! Down the winding road to the east coast. Whether it was because I hadn't slept much or because Graeme was a terrifying driver, I ended up feeling sick. 

Fortunately for me, I fell asleep for most of it and by the time I woke up we were coming up on the little town of Coles Bay, gateway to Freycinet National Park.

First stop, Cape Tourville Lighthouse. Glorious views, a very short walk and a rather disappointing lighthouse.

And back on the bus to Wineglass Bay, supposedly home to one of the world's best beaches. I had no intention of going down to the beach. I remembered the climb up to the lookout from 6 years ago and that seemed quite enough to me.

So I marched up to the lookout in less time than expected, scowled at people getting in the way of my photos and started the trek back down again. A few minutes down from the lookout I heard someone call me and turned to find a couple of American girls from my group beckoning for me to join them. Some scrambling later, I managed to clamber up onto the huge boulder by the path and enjoyed a nice, sociable lunch for a change. Lovely.

Back down at the bus, we headed back up the peninsula to Honeymoon Bay, actually a series of little bays scooped out of the gorgeous red rock. Not content with sitting around and enjoying the view, I embraced my inner child and went scrambling over the rocks in search of the third bay, away from the crowds. Here goes... One.

Two.

Three.

Success. The water was the most amazing colour and so clear. At that point, Honeymoon Bay shifted somewhere near the top of my favourite places list.

From there, a short stop at Richardson's Beach, where I claimed the sand for New New Grimsby, as per New Zealand roadtrip tradition.

And so onwards, back out of the park to the Devil's Corner Lookout. Not much of a lookout - I think the haze was messing things up. The cafe did nice muffins though as well as a sorely needed cuppa.

Then an uneventful ride back to Launceston, where I scoffed my delicious scallop pie with some new potatoes and an enormous cup of tea. I needed it.

I can see the mountain!

Another early start beckoned on the Sunday morning. Dragging myself out of bed, I boarded the minibus and found that my driver for the day was once again crazy Graeme. Awesome.

First stop, the little bakery cafe at Elizabeth Town where I picked up a couple of bits of deliciousness. From there, on down the back roads to Sheffield, town of murals. I recall visiting there last time I was in northern Tasmania, but I missed most of the murals. Besides, there's some new ones now, including this one with Tim Minchin on it.

This resulted in me getting Tim Minchin's songs stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Worse things have happened. Aside from the murals, Sheffield doesn't have much going for it, so then it was off to Cradle Mountain, the main destination for the day.

Last time I went there, accompanied by one of my lovely housemates, it pissed it down with rain the entire day and we didn't actually see the mountain because of the cloud. We could barely see Dove Lake, which sits at the bottom of it.

This time the sky was cloudy but bright and the view was amazing.

I toddled off on a lovely 2 hour walk around the lake, during which I wandered through a fragment of ancient forest that made me feel like I'd stumbled into Mirkwood.

And then I made friends with a Black Currawong that was clearly trying to creep up on me and steal my lunch. Clever little buggers.

With another hour or more to kill, I took a very short side trip down to Lake Lilla, pondering whether to tackle the hill up to Wombat Pool. I made it to Lake Lilla.

One look at the track up to Wombat Pool made me turn around and head back to Dove Lake. I haven't done enough walking so far on this trip and I didn't really fancy the steep slope. Wuss.

Sitting by Dove Lake, admiring the beautiful view and the (almost) peace and quiet, was rudely interrupted by a guy sitting a few metres away who suddenly shot up shouting that there was a snake. I want to see a snake. I've never seen a like snake. Still, the urge to tick something off my mental wildlife-spotting list couldn't quite override the basic human instinct to stay as far away from the bitey animal as possible.

From Dove Lake we headed back up the road a little way to Ronny Creek, where there are wombats. I have a love-hate relationship with wombats. On the one hand they're sort of cute and appealing. On the other, I got chased by one while on a field trip in Narawntapu National Park. So I wasn't entirely happy with how close Graeme was leading us to this guy.

Fortunately, this wombat was far more interested in getting away from the nebbing tourists than chasing us off. A quick stop at Waldheim, home of the guy who first suggested Cradle Mountain should be a national park and then we were off again.

And I saw my second echidna of the day, but given that I always seem to spot echidna from moving vehicles, I have no photos. Guh. Cute little buggers.

Final stop for the day was Ashgrove Farm which produces the most delicious cheese I've had in months. So of course I decided to treat myself to some. They also had cider. I haven't had cider since I was in Canada and that wasn't great. Outside the UK, cider just doesn't seem to exist. But I was willing to give this one a try.

Back home at the hostel after a glorious day of walking and wildlife, I cracked into the bottle. Best cider I've had since leaving home. Not as good as Henney's, but good enough. Yum.

Yes, I am a child

I started Monday with a glorious lie in after two days of early starts. JOY. Then I had a productive morning of bus booking and grocery shopping before heading across the road to the Queen Victoria Museum & Art Gallery (QVMAG). I was far too happy to find that all of the interactive displays from 6 years ago were still there and spent far too long indulging my inner child.

There's also a surprisingly good collection of dinos for such a small museum, plus a fascinating display about the wreck of the Sydney Cove. This ship foundered on an island off Tasmania's north coast and while there's some interesting artefacts from both the wreck and its cargo, I think the most amazing bit was this.

On the left is a bottle of ale recovered from the wreck. The seal held, so the ale in there hasn't been contaminated by the seawater. Scientists were able to extract yeast from these bottles and use it to brew a new batch of ale over a century after the ship went down. That's what the bottle on the right is. That's some great science there.

The museum also has a great WWI exhibition, including a somewhat terrifying sound and light simulation of what the men in the trenches would have heard. It's loud. Scarily loud. I think my sister will appreciate the Siegfried Sassoon poem at the end of the experience.

And then I rounded out my day with a solo trip to the cinema to see Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them, which was rather better than I expected.

I think I had a plastic one of those...

After another glorious lie in, I spent the morning reading my new Pratchett book and generally being a lazy mare. I made up for it by heading back to QVMAG in the afternoon to check out the bits of the museum I'd missed the day before, including a great temporary exhibition about the Permian era. It's not something I see covered that often even in natural history museums, so I had to have a look.

The Permian is the geological period just before the Triassic and therefore just before the age of dinosaurs. Evolution was doing some interesting things at this time, with a whole host of bizarre looking critters floating about, including this nightmare possible-shark called Helicoprion.

As far as I'm aware, it's only known from the fossilised tooth-whorl and has been colloquially known as the buzzsaw shark for obvious reasons. Very odd. The Permian was also the period during which mammal-like reptiles flourished. Mammals themselves wouldn't evolve until after the end-Permian extinction event, but there were some early precursors running around before then. Like these little guys whose name is escaping me... bad scientist. Google tells me it's either a dicynodont or a cynodont (the latter being mammal ancestors).

Still, I think Dimetrodon is my favourite Permian critter. Big and ungainly with a huge sail down its back.

I had a plastic one as a child. I think that says something about how far back my geekery goes. I wonder if it's still in the tub at my nanna's?

Paleontology fix achieved, I decided to go and geek out about locomotives instead. See this shiny red train, built in Launceston.

The whole museum actually takes up what used to be Launceston's engine yard and workshops and they've kept a few of the original features including this bench.

[IMAGE]

This is not some sort of modern art. The guys who used to paint the trains and signs and what not just used to leave their brushes and whatnot to drip here instead of cleaning them. I think this is somewhat more interesting than most of the stuff in the Tate Modern...

With another early start beckoning in the morning I decided to get to bed early...

I haven't been on one of these in 8 years...

Unfortunately, early night plan was once again foiled by the snoring bastards. Great. Anyways, I stumped down to the bus station and hopped on the bus. Somehow I didn't fall asleep again all the way to Cradle Mountain. There I got to have an hour off the bus, which would have been much more fun if I hadn't had to keep an eye on my bags and actually been able to go for a walk...

From Cradle Mountain an entire three people hopped on the little minibus that would take us out to Queenstown on the West Coast. It was a beautiful drive, entering the temperate rainforest that blankets a large part of Tasmania's west and is part of the reason that most of it is protected under the Tasmanian Wildnerness World Heritage Site. Did you know, the Tasmanian Wilderness ticks 7 of the 10 criteria to be named a World Heritage Site? There's not many that hit that many and only 35 from over 1000 sites that qualify under both natural and cultural criteria. The Tasmanian Wilderness is special.

I digress. At Queenstown we all trooped off the bus. Our driver pointed me and the sole remaining passenger in the direction of toilets and cafe and assured us he'd be back in a bit with the bus for Strahan. Only at this point did either of us realise that the bus to Strahan was the local school bus. Hm.

After whiling away our little break with cake and chat in the cafe, we hopped back on the bus with a warning from Terence the driver that the kids could be a bit rowdy. I haven't been on a school bus in more than 8 years, but I was pretty sure I knew what to expect.

As it was, the kids were pretty well behaved and the little ones at the front were fascinated by the presence of English and French girls on their bus. I'm not good with kids. I did a lot of smiling and nodding and "oh, really?" It seemed to work.

After depositing all the kids around the town at Strahan and my fellow backpacker at the YHA, I had a chat with Terence while he drove me to my destination. Nice chap. Even carried my bags to the door which was sweet and entirely unnecessary.

Yeah... I treated myself to another night in a hotel. This time it was because the YHA was fully booked for the night and what with the funny bus timetables, I rather had to arrive in Strahan that day or spend more time back in Launceston and less time in the West. Still, I'd booked the cheapest room the hotel had going and given the lack of sleep I'd been getting in Launnie I was looking forward to having space.

Bliss like having an exceptionally long shower, filching ALL the free toiletries and then spending the evening watching Tomb Raider. Because why not?

What day is it?

The following morning I waited until I absolutely had to check out and then tramped off in search of the YHA. I had a vague idea where it was, having seen where the French girl had been dropped off the previous day, but somehow I managed to get totally confused and had to summon up the courage to ask for directions. Turns out I just hadn't walked far enough down the road. It was literally just across the road from where I'd given up looking. Duh.

Strahan being on Tasmania's notoriously wet West Coast, I decided to make the most of the short breaks in the rain. First stop, post office to offload those postcards I'd been carrying around all week. There was a dog on the counter, so of course I had to make friends. Friendly chaps in the post office too. Then via the information office for ideas of trips. Lots of leaflets were acquired and I decided I'd go on one of the wilderness cruises and maybe on the railway, since there's some really interesting engineering history around that.

So I booked my day cruise and then set off in search of the train station to see about booking that. The views over the harbour were pretty nice, despite the weather.

Unfortunately, I'd completely muddled up what day it was and the rail trip I had planned on taking would only be running on the day I'd booked the cruise. Clever me. Oh well. I saw the station at least...

Instead I tramped back to the very small town centre and went to Banjos for lunch, once again indulging my love of the Tasmanian pie chain. With the weather not looking set to improve, I spent the rest of the day in the hostel, trying very hard to be social, which was a partial success until it got a bit busier later in the evening and I promptly ran away.

CHEESE

After that day of laziness, Friday in Strahan was far more adventure packed. Cruise time! A nice leisurely sail around Macquarie Harbour and up the Gordon River, in fact.

First stop, the aptly named Hell's Gates. This is the narrow entrance into Macquarie Harbour and was so named by the convicts who were sent to the Sarah Island Penal Settlement within the Harbour. Technically, the entrance to the harbour is quite wide, but more than half of it is far too shallow and riddled with sand banks for any ship to navigate. Instead they have to pass between Entrance Island and the mainland. And just getting that far must have been hard enough. The seas are notorious down the West Coast. I was told later that there are wave height buoys just offshore and one recently broke from its anchor. The cord used to attach it should have been good up to 20m. Just to give you an idea of the swells around here...

Back through into the Harbour, our next stop was a quick look at the fish farms. Tasmanian produces a lot of salmon and I think most of it is from places like this.

And so on to the infamous Sarah Island, considered hell on earth and perhaps the worst of Australia's convict establishments. Most of those sent to Sarah Island had already been transported to another penal colony, subsequently re-offended and been, effectively, banished here.

In the first few years of its existence, the commandant dealt out thousands of lashes for seemingly minor offences, conditions were said to be hellish and escape attempts common. We were led around the island by Chris from the Round Earth Theatre Company and he had some interesting additions to make to the conventional narrative.

Plus, he was easily the most engaging guide I've had in months. Anyway, common knowledge would have you believe that Sarah Island really was hell on earth and for those first few years, it probably was. But then something changed. A new commandant arrived, prisoner behaviour improved, far fewer punishments were doled out and the shipbuilding, which used the convicts as forced labour, thrived.

Still, that didn't stop one final escape on the last boat built by the convicts, but more on that in the next post.

Thoroughly entertained and planning on reading up on Tasmania's convict history, I re-boarded the boat for a gentle trip down the Gordon River, through beautiful temperate forests, largely untouched by people.

Oh, and lunch, during which I ate far too much cheese, potato and bread because if there's food included I will make the most of it.

After lunch, we moored at Heritage Landing and took a short walk through the forest, admiring centuries-old Huon Pines.

That was our last stop for the day, so off we went back to slightly damp Strahan where I promptly booked onto another boat trip for that evening.

After a brief return to the hostel where I managed to be somewhat more sociable courtesy of discovering a shared love of Minecraft, I hopped back on another, rather smaller boat, this time to head out to Bonnet Island in search of Little Penguins.

My notes remind me that our guide was called Errol and that he had to stress he was no relation to famous Tassie Errol Flynn...

Anyway, off we went back out to Hell's Gates, which felt a lot more powerful in a little motor boat instead of the big catamaran I'd been out on earlier in the day.

Then I got fed again, with delicious Ashgrove Farm cheese and biscuits and other yummy things, before we climbed onto tiny Bonnet Island to await the penguins.

Armed with red-light torches so as not to scare or hurt the penguins, we crept quietly along the short path, peering under bushes and down the steep slope to the harbour.

In the end, we spotted about half a dozen of the little things, but it being night and not being able to use flash for fear of hurting their sensitive eyes, this is the best photo I got.

I know there's a penguin there and I can see the feet and a vague outline of the body. Not sure if anyone else can...

When I finally got back to the hostel at gone 11pm, I mostly just wanted to fall into bed and go to sleep. That plan was thwarted first by a couple of noisy Swiss guys and then, again at some point in the night when the French guys from the other end of the room suddenly kicked off and starting swearing at the Swiss guys. I honestly thought I was going to have to break up a fight.

Turns out on of the drunk Swiss guys had pissed on one of the French guys' stuff. Disgusting bastard. Still, I'd have appreciated getting a full night's sleep...

Next week I'm heading back to Hobart to finish up my three weeks in Tassie. Maybe it'll be the Huon Valley, a part of Tassie I've never seen. We'll see.

And if I can spot some more wildlife, all the better...

Chile: To the End of the World

Oh my. What''s this? A new blog post? Huzzah! This time, week 3 of my Chilean leg, which saw me go from the rather soggy but beautiful island of Chiloe to the city of Punta Arenas in Chile's far south.

Um... words?

That is literally all my journal has for this day. I wrote a lot. Y'know, what with it being NaNoWriMo and all. I have vague recollections of discussing Bonfire Night with someone. Welp, that was an interesting day, clearly.

You know there's sea lions down there, right?

Fortunately, I was rescued from my NaNoWriMo overload on Sunday by some of the girls at the hostel who invited me to join them for a trip to Muelle de las Almas on Chiloe's west coast. Having lost most of my week to, admittedly very enjoyable, writing, I jumped at the chance.

After a quick stop at the bus company to book my ticket back to Puerto Montt the next day, the five of us piled onto a little local bus to Cucao on the west coast. An hour or so later we arrived in the village, dropped the locals and then continued on down a very bumpy, unsealed road along the coast.

Another quick stop at the "entrance" to the park, where we paid our 1,000 peso entry and then back onto the bus for an ever more bumpy ride to the start of the trail. I reckon it probably took us nearly two hours altogether from Castro and even though I don't generally get travel sick, that bus ride wasn't entirely pleasant.

Once off the bus, everything improved. The sun was shining, the sky was clear and the track was... muddy.

Very muddy. Off we tramped, trying our best to avoid the worst patches. A few slips and slides later, we finally emerged from the shrubbery to this wonderful view.

And then on down to Muelle de las Almas, which is an art installation. Literally "the wharf of souls", it relates to indigenous Chiloe and Mapuche mythology (of which more info HERE), but also acts as a memorial of sorts to the victims of the enormous 1960 Valdivia earthquake - at a magnitude of 9.4-6, the largest ever recorded.

I don't understand enough Spanish to translate the info board, but I appreciated it nonetheless. It sort of reminds me of Cape Reinga, which in Maori mythology is the last place souls go before passing on to the next world.

I would have loved to have sat and admired the view for a while, but the wharf itself was overtaken with people taking their delightful Insta-ready photos and selfies. So I wandered on down the cliff a bit and discovered that on a rock just off shore were a whole load of sea lions. The rest of my group hadn't even noticed them. Even the guy we'd got talking to on the bus hadn't seen them and he was standing right next to me.

Personally, I thought they were pretty easy to spot. They were making plenty of noise...

Anyhoo, once the girls were finished with their selfies and whatnot we headed back up the hill. There's only one bus a day and we didn't really fancy missing it. We did find time for a quick detour over to the cliff overlooking the next bay, which was equally gorgeous...

Until I pointed out that there weren't any sea lions on that side and I realised that the girls hadn't known there were sea lions full stop. Oops. Maybe I should have mentioned it before we left the wharf? My bad.

After clambering back up the muddy hill, we piled back on the bus and settled in for our drive back to Castro. I fell asleep. Clearly the fresh air had done me good.

And then I immediately sat back down at the hostel and wrote another 2,000+ words. Just because.

Time for a taxi

The following morning I lazed around for a couple of hours before lugging my bags back up the enormous hill to Castro town centre in order to get a bus to Puerto Montt. Here is a photo I took of the palafitos - stilt houses - along the estuary. My hostel was one of them.

An uneventful 4 hour bus journey to Puerto Montt ensued. I hopped off the bus in the city and promptly realised that I'd forgotten to take a note of how to get to the hostel. I had an address, but without a map, that was pretty useless. It being nearly 3pm and me not having eaten since breakfast, I popped into a cafe at the terminal, hoping to use the WiFi.

The WiFi failed to work. The burger was nice though. Unwilling to just wander in the vague direction I thought the hostel lay in, I grabbed a taxi instead. Woo. At least the taxi was cheap.

Super friendly owners at the hostel. Improving mood was then ruined by Google Docs sabotaging every attempt I made at writing. I don't think it appreciated the by then nearly 70,000 words I'd written and kept glitching and crashing. Stupid app.

Patagonia Bound

After a delicious breakfast of some sort of sweet, syrupy toast made by my American host, I hopped on yet another bus, this time to Puerto Montt's airport. A few hours later, I was on a flight bound for Punta Arenas in Chile's extreme south and the hub for all things Patagonia.

Among odd things that happened, I saw a dachshund in a crate going round the luggage claim and was then told by the shuttle sales man that my Spanish accent was quite good. I suppose if my actual Spanish is bad, I might as well make up for it with a good accent...

I then spent the evening watching the US election results come in and wallowing in despair with my Dutch roommate.

What have you done?

OK, so this day's journal entry begins with "WTF AMERICA?!" and I think that adequately describes my response on waking up to find Trump as president-elect. Terrifying thought.

I decided to deal with this by taking a long walk in the fresh air and so set off first into Punta Arenas city centre and then along the rather blustery seafront.

I found a whole jetty covered in cormorants, which is probably the closest I'll find to a "case of shags".

Having walked several miles, I looped back around and popped to the supermarket to stock up on groceries, acquiring some delicious fresh bread in the process.

And then it rained on me. I was rather drippy by the time I got back to the hostel and was quite happy to spend the remainder of the wet and windy afternoon writing.

Rain. No rain. Rain. No rain?

On Thursday morning, having consulted Google for things to do in the city, I decided to take the nearly 4 mile walk out to the Museo Nao Victoria. This should have been wonderful - the museum is home to replicas of Magellan's Nao Victoria, Shackleton's James Caird, the Beagle and the Goleta Ancud (which, having visited Ancud the week before, would have been cool to see). I love maritime history and ships are fascinating.

I didn't make it there. I'd walked perhaps 2.5 miles and turned around to take a photo of the city. As I did, I saw this enormous bloody black cloud looming up behind me.

Having been caught in the rain the day before, I didn't really fancy doing it again, especially considering the museum was pretty much all outdoors and I'd have to walk the almost 4 miles back to the hostel when I was done.

So I wussed out and walked back. Guess what? I didn't get rained on at all. Although it did rain that afternoon while I was swearing and arguing with Google Docs over its insistence on sabotaging every single writing session...

I also started looking into the possibility of going to Puerto Williams for a night or two. The town is pretty much as far south as you can go in Chilean Patagonia without getting a boat and I was seriously considering getting the $130 return flight. Seemed like a good way to see Tierra del Fuego, a region I've wanted to visit since it first appeared in the Brian Jacques book Castaways of the Flying Dutchman when I was... 12, maybe?

Decisions, decisions

Adamant I'd actually do something instead of sitting around all day, I spent Friday morning in the Museo Regional Magallanes, which is housed in a rather swanky old mansion near the Plaza de Armas. So swanky, in fact, that the lady at the entrance handed me these beauties to cover my boots.

So stylish. It's also yet another of Chile's free museums. I'm loving this. The main floor is partly a display of the rooms as they would have been in the early 1900s when one of the city's most influentional families - the Menendez-Brauns - lived there and partly an exhibition of Patagonia history. I liked the study most.

Downstairs is, again, partly restored to the service area as it was in the early 1900s and also houses a very small temporary exhibition. I was mostly amused by the British products in the kitchen, of which I failed to get decent photo courtesy of the bad light. There was Colman's mustard, among others.

I then spent the afternoon flitting between reading the first book in Stephen King's Dark Tower series (which has me hooked), writing MORE WORDS and still trying to decide if I should go to Puerto Williams. I was leaving that decision rather late - I had a flight booked to Santiago for Monday afternoon.


So, will I end up in Puerto Williams? Will I stop writing all the words?

And more importantly, aren't there penguins down here?

Chile: Rain and Writing on Chiloe

Onwards with my attempt to bring the blog back up to date!

Following my five days of laziness in Santiago and a somewhat soggy arrival in Ancud, here's how my first week on the beautiful island of Chiloe went.

A fellow WriMo!

My first full day in Ancud began like the previous day. Rain. Just a little bit soggy... Fortunately, it brightened up around lunchtime, so I took a stroll into the town and had a poke around the craft market where I was amazed that no one tried to get me to buy anything. I was even more impressed that I didn't buy anything, although that was largely due to practical reasons - there were some really beautiful ponchos and cardigans, but I just don't have enough room in my bag. Ugh.

On my way back to the hostel I stopped in at the little regional museum. To my utter glee, it was free. Seems that Chile is a bit bigger on the free museums than anywhere else I've been so far.

The museum is only small but has a really good selection from the history of settlement on Chiloe, plus this ship, which is the schooner Ancud.

It carried Chilotes down to Patagonia to establish the first settlements down there. That's pretty cool. The museum also has this blue whale skeleton, because skeletons...

Everything is in Spanish only, but I impressed myself by getting the gist of most of it. I've also cheated and downloaded the Spanish dictionary into my Google Translate, so when I got stuck that was super helpful.

After a nice lunch and some more writing at the hostel, I set off again, this time with Lizzie and Heather, a couple of girls from the hostel. First stop, the little harbour.

Then a short walk up the hill to Fuerte San Antonio. To be fair, it's not much of a fort - more of a gun emplacement. There didn't seem to be any info boards, so I can't tell you much about it. There's a low wall and some cannon, hence why it strikes me as a gun emplacement only.

There's some gorgeous views out over the bay though, especially since the weather had cleared up a lot since the morning.

From there, we meandered through the streets of Ancud and on up a dirt road to a view point. I'm not sure it's an official view point. There's masts on top. But hey, the view was pretty good.

And then on back to the hostel, where we nearly but not quite avoided the incoming rain. Wine was drunk and Lizzie and I got talking about NaNoWrimo. I thought it was pretty cool to bump into another WriMo like that. Heather was just bemused by the idea of writing 50,000 words in a month...

Bus Trippers Galore!

The following morning, determined to get some fresh air and not spend all day writing like I really wanted to, I headed back up to Fuerte San Antonio. It had been pretty quiet when we went up the previous day and I figured the views would be nice inspiration material.

Of course, it was Sunday and the place was heaving with bus trippers. For some reason, I'd decided to try my hand at sketching the bay and the number of people trying to peer at my notebook was most disconcerting.

I'm not an artist, but I was pretty pleased with my sketch. I've always preferred landscapes and considering I haven't drawn properly since... god knows. Uni, maybe?

Anyways, with my peace and quiet ruined by the noisy, nosy bus trippers, I returned to the hostel and gave in to the urge to write instead. Now there's a creative outlet I'm actually sort of OK with. I suspect I lost my afternoon creating basic language rules for fictional cultures...

LURGIES

On Monday morning, the lurgies I'd been fighting since I landed in Santiago, probably brought on by the recycled air on the plane, struck with full force. Headache, streaming nose, sore throat. Yep. Just what I needed the day before NaNoWriMo kicked off.

I downed a couple of paracetamol to deal with the aches and decided to brave the rain in the hope that the fresh air would make me feel better. It also gave me an excuse to wear my fancy alpaca gloves from Peru.

Unfortunately, while I normally quite like walking in the rain, lurgies combined with torrential downpour and wind conspired to make me feel even worse. I retreated to the hostel, downed a couple of mugs of tea, did a quick run to the supermarket for tissues and extra tea bags and then spent the afternoon getting my brain prepped for NaNoWriMo.

And then 9pm came around.

See, NaNoWriMo kicks off at midnight, November 1st. But I'm going to be switching time zones at least once if not more this month. So instead of confusing my brain I decided to just stick with my usual UK time and start at midnight by that clock. Which meant 9pm Chile time, much to the confusion of a couple of the guys at the hostel who'd insisted on knowing what I was doing typing so many words.

I think I managed 3,000 words before crawling, snuffling, into bed. Not bad considering the mushiness in my head.

WRITE ALL THE WORDS

The contents of my journal for today run as follows:

• 20k day
• that is all
• dead

Which is pretty much true. I'd set myself the challenge of writing 20,000 words on the first day of NaNoWriMo. Just a personal challenge - an attempt to pass my personal best of 15,000 words in a day. In between a fight with my bluetooth keyboard (which changed settings and wouldn't let me use the A key for half an hour), lurgies and far too much tea I achieved that goal.

It killed my brain. To my complete surprise, when I read back through those 20,000+ words, most of it was of a decent standard, not the garbage I'd thought I was writing. Well done, me.

I think it freaked a couple of my hostel-mates out though. Sorry, guys. I type fairly quick and my brain, when it's on a roll, works pretty fast too. Also, I just spent October doing ALL the planning.

Yep. NaNoWriMo ate my soul.

Words, rain, words, bus, words, sleep

After the madness of that 20k day, I'd rather expected to take it easy on the Tuesday. Instead, Chiloe continued with its spate of bad weather, so I didn't feel too guilty about doing some more writing.

I also had to make a run to the bus station first thing in the morning to sort out a bus to my next destination further south on the island. Congratulations to my word-addled brain for conducting the entire transaction in Spanish despite the strange (and persistent) urge to use German when I get stuck.

With nearly a whole day to waste before my bus, I poured out another 8,000 words of mostly coherent novel while outside it rained. And rained. And rained some more. Any thoughts of taking a break and going for a walk were rained off.

And then I got on a bus. It rained. And then it stopped, which was nice because I had to wander up and down a street in Dalcahue for a good ten minutes before I found the sign for my hostel. The very friendly owner spoke no English and my brain was so mushy by that point that I really struggled to grasp everything she told me.

Fortunately, while the common area was heaving, I had the dorm to myself, so I jammed out another 2,000 words, ate some chocolate biscuits and passed out for the night.

It's on stilts...

Determined to take a break from writing and revive my poor, overworked brain, I went for a stroll to the bus office the next morning, intending to head to Castro as soon as possible so I could have a wander around the town and get away from my keyboard.

The ticket lady told me I'd be better off getting one of the public busses - they were 100 pesos more expensive (an entire... 15p?), but they ran every 15 minutes or so instead of the sole daily bus my by then usual bus company ran.

So I toddled back to the hostel, thinking I'd pick up my bag and go. And hit a snag in the form of the keys not working. I didn't understand this. The owner had given me the keys that morning and told me she'd be back at 12. So I tried the keys. Both of them. Neither of them worked. Believe me, I tried them repeatedly.

Nothing in Dalcahue seemed to be open despite it being nearly 11am, so I sat on the step like a ninny waiting for someone to arrive and let me in. Luckily for me, the cleaning lady turned up around 11am and was able to let me in. She seemed rather amused to find me on the step and more so when I tried to explain in minimal Spanish that the key wouldn't work.

I had to wait for the owner to get back anyway, because I hadn't paid, so I managed a bit more writing while I waited. Once paid, I grabbed my bags and wandered off in search of the bus.

Up to this point, I hadn't used any public transport in Chile. Everywhere I went in Santiago had been within walking distance, as had everything in Ancud. Still, the little buses looked to be fairly well maintained and for 800 pesos (about £1), one would take me 20 minutes or so down the road to Castro.

So I piled into the tiny bus, rucksack balanced on my knees. The driver was surprisingly safe, which was lovely, although I did wonder whether the presence of one of Chile's carabineros might have had something to do with it - Chile's police are supposedly the most trustworthy in South America.

I clambered off the bus again in Castro town centre and began the 20 minute trek to my hostel. I was not prepared for the massive hill, although I suppose I should be glad I only had to go down it.

It rained. A lot.

Bag dumped in my room, I set about looking for a new writing space. I found a lovely one in the common area, in the bit of the hostel that sat on stilts over the estuary.

I'd just got everything set up - tablet, keyboard, cuppa, biscuits, y'know, all the important things - when I realised all the plug sockets were on the other side of the narrow room. Ah.

So I rearranged the room a bit... Just a bit. Just... shuffled the table across slightly. Just far enough so that I could run the power cord from my tablet to the socket. I mean, I could hardly have my tablet die in the middle of an important scene, could I?

Yup. NaNoWriMo. Taking over my life again. Which is why I'd written a grand total of 40,000 words by the end of day 3. Have I mentioned that the goal is to write 50,000 words over the month? Oops.

GREEN BAR!

My first week on Chiloe ended much as it had begun. With rain. An awful lot of rain. I wasn't even going to attempt to go out in it - it was coming in sideways past the windows in the hostel.

So I wrote instead.

And then the rain eased off for half an hour, so I went and restocked my groceries. Oh, and I took a photo of Castro's very funky yellow and purple church.

Very funky. Although thinking about it... I think that photo might actually be from another day... y'know, given the blue sky... my bad.

And then the rain returned, so I wrote some more.

And a bit more.

And at 7:30pm, as attested by a rather overexcited post on Facebook, I passed 50,000 words and my tracker on the NaNoWriMo website turned green. Yes, I am a sad, sad person, but I was very pleased that I'd managed to write 50,000 words of my current fantasy novel in 4 days. So there.

This may also have completely fried my brain, so after a cuppa I had an early night, like the old lady I am at heart.

Hopefully, week 3 of my Chilean adventure won't be quite so consumed by NaNoWriMo. A few more days on Chiloe and then I'm heading down to Patagonia and the city of Punta Arenas.

MUST NOT WRITE MORE WORDS