Valley of the Trolley Dollies

Postcards from Tasmania

Fiordland. Misty. Rainy. Cold. Grey. All of my Northern European nightmares rolled into one. For this, I crossed the world? So the heavens could rain on me? Then, the mist clears, and a cliff - a huge, tree covered granite slab of such vast area that it fills your entire field of vision like some slate grey and pine green Rothko - appears.

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A train ride today. A looooooong train ride amongst some of the most lovely people ever.
Then on to Larnach’s, a castle built by a family whose story sounds like a bad ’80s blockbuster novel: Madness, alcoholism, affairs, close-to-incest, more madness, suicide, bad blood, and a wronged woman diying in exile. Thecn, back to the ship, where there was no madness, alcoholism, affairs, incest or suicide. That I could see.