Dick & And's Trip to Hobart
1. The Trip
2. The Cadbury Factory Tour
3. Bum Bottom Backside
4. Smorgy's
5. Salamanca Market
6. Silly Things
7. Hobart Nightlife
8. The Last Day
1. The Trip
I just spent a couple of days in Hobart courtesy of fellow
Boring Report cast member and rich bastard Richard Paulin. We
flew by Jetstar, since their flights cost approximately sweet
Fanny Adams and a bucket of chips. Unfortunately as a consequence
of Richard's affluent frugality, we had to be on the plane at
seven in the morning which meant getting up at ten to four. We
booked the taxi for a quarter past four, expecting it to arrive
at five o'clock, but in a typical display of Murphy's Law it
arrived five minutes early and thus I naturally ended up with
both legs down one leg of my jeans as I hopped around looking
for the inevitable forgotten item of toiletry.
I had a grand total of an hour's sleep, yet I was wide awake
in the taxi. The fact that the driver insisted on subjecting
us to a tuneless bass-pumping pop R&B playlist at an irritatingly
audible volume helped in this regard - it was a little hard to
nod off whilst being assaulted with the sound of some wailing
black slut's clamorous discourse about how outrageous her sex
drive is.
We arrived at the terminal within 15 minutes and checked in at
the Jetstar desk. We were the fifth and sixth people to check
in - it's always good to be early. I was disappointed after reading
the back of the boarding pass to see that radioactive material
was not permitted on board the flight. I asked the lady at the
desk whether that meant I had to remove the nuclear reactor and
several kilograms of uranium that I had in my hand luggage. She
responded in the typically professional air hostess manner:
"Yeah, I'm sorry Sir but you're actually not allowed to
carry any radioactive material on board Jetstar flights actually.
So I'm actually going to have to ask you to remove the nuclear
reactor and uranium from your bag if that's OK, otherwise unfortunately
I actually can't permit you on board the flight today at all."
I carried my camera as hand luggage, and when we got to security,
they insisted I put it through the x-ray machine rather than
just opening the bag and showing it to them - obviously in case
I had any cute little guns concealed in the shutter mechanism.
I really hope the x-ray operator can't see the photos on the
film with that machine! I wouldn't want them seeing all those
drag shots. Inevitably, despite divesting myself of every conceivable
source of metal on my person, I still managed to set the detector
off. I had to take my jacket off and put it through the x-ray.
This time I got through the detector. Airport security is a bit
of a joke, I reckon. It seems to be more about creating the impression
of proper security so as to dissuade potential hijackers, rather
than actually filtering them out.
We spent over an hour in the departure lounge, watching the planes
take off and land. I attempted to get to sleep but was awoken
by the enticing electronic fanfare of the horoscope/sex tester
machine, which repeated its beckoning ditty every few minutes
in a futile attempt to lure customers. It needed to do a little
better than flash its lights and sing at me to get me to waste
my hard earned on any such pointless, arbitrary piece of plop.
Besides, why do I need to pay 50c to be told I bury the needle
on the sex appeal meter?
Richard at Hobart airport.
The plane arrived just before seven o'clock - a dinky Boeing
717 - and we began boarding at ten past. The plane took off on
schedule and we were flying over Melbourne, attempting to identify
landmarks from the Northwestern suburbs. Neither of the engines
blew up during the flight and both wings appeared to still be
attached to the aircraft when we touched down at Hobart's premium
quality airport, so I couldn't ask much more of a Jetstar flight.
Har har, it's a joke Joyce - laugh! (That should dissuade any
defamation action.)
We went through quarantine and I declared nothing, then realised
as my suitcase appeared on the baggage merry-go-round that I
had used a tiny slice of apple to moisten a pouch of oriental
cavendish I had brought with me. I had to go back and tell the
quarantine bloke, but fortunately he was understanding and just
told me to chuck it out in one of the quarantine bins - thank
goodness I was spared the full slap on the wrist with a wet tram
ticket!
Once we got outside, Richard sucked down three long-awaited cigarettes
(at once, that is) and then we got a taxi to the hotel. Richard
asked for a smoking room, which was good as it meant we got a
room on the second highest floor. Once we got upstairs, Richard
immediately took advantage of the rare opportunity to smoke indoors
by sucking down several more cigarettes (this time he stuck a
couple up his nose as well, as he had run out of room in his
mouth).
2. The Cadbury Factory tour
And in front of the Commodore.
We got going fairly soon and headed to the wharves to find
the boat that was to take us to the Cadbury factory at ten o'clock.
We located it and then found a nearby cafe to have breakfast
at. I stupidly had a choc chip muffin and a chocolate croissant
with my long black, and by the end I was rather choced out and
didn't feel in any hurry to scoff down great masses of the stuff
at the Cadbury factory. Which was just as well as the amount
of "free" samples the tourgoers were entitled to was
equivalent to about $2 at a supermarket. I got a couple of celebrations-size
Time Out bars, a Freddo Frog, a Furry Friends, about 6 squares
of ordinary chocolate and 7 celebrations mini-bars. Pretty disappointing,
eh? For the $48 we paid for the cruise and tour, I'd expect to
at least be entitled to lick out one of the Old Gold vats. Nevertheless,
I enjoyed the carefully scripted spontaneity of the tour guide's
patter and it was interesting to see the origin of all the Cadbury's
chocolate products that fill supermarket shelves. The most interesting
part was the robot that filled up the Milk Tray boxes - it was
a mechanical arm that rapidly darted back and forth between the
trays of the various chocolates and the Milk Trays themselves,
picking up one of each chocolate and filling up the trays.
After the tour we headed back to the boat for the promised "light
lunch" - and unfortunately it was so light it was just about
floating away. It came in a brown paper bag and consisted of
a microscopic square of fruit cake, some Le Snack biscuits and
a dinner roll with a bit of tomato and lettuce on it.
3. Bum Bottom Backside
We went back to the hotel and deposited our chocolate, then
went to the nearest Woolworths supermarket - which was about
45 minutes' walk away. I had to get some batteries for my camera
flash - the "inevitable forgotten item of toiletry"
was in fact the one AA battery I needed for the flash to work,
but I had to buy a 4-pack for five bucks as the blasted things
didn't come in singles.
And and some Cascade billboards.
Afterwards, we went into the "Discount Liquor Warehouse"
- Hobart's equivalent of Dan Murphy's. They didn't have much
of a range - there were hardly any beers that weren't brewed
by either Cascade or Boag's brewery. Just about every second
billboard was an ad for one of the breweries, too - one of them
appealed to the collective Tasmanian ego and simply read "Pride."
with a can of Boag's draught next to it. Isn't it funny how the
groups or communities that are the most proud and parochial are
nearly always the ones that have nothing to be proud of!
We walked back to the hotel, passing a street called Paternoster
Way. It reminded me to say my prayers, so when we got back I
locked myself in the bathroom and said the Rosary, then went
out to get dinner. There was little in the way of take away restaurants.
There was a Chinese restaurant, but I had just been to the Chinese
place across the road from my house the night before, so that
well and truly fulfilled my weekly quota of MSG. I instead went
to Subway and got a 12-inch Tuna sub. I was alarmed to see that
instead of placing the tuna onto the roll with tongs, she scooped
it on with an ice-cream scoop. I couldn't help but feel as though
I was imbibing cat food, although it was still better than imbibing
cats, as would have happened had I opted for the Chinese restaurant.
I took dinner back to the hotel and was about to open one of
the beers I specially imported in my suitcase (there's nothing
worse than hotel mini-bar beer) when I noticed the tinkling of
shattered glass. To my horror, one of my pint glasses had completely
disintegrated, whilst the other (which was right next to it)
was completely unscathed. To make matters worse, the bottle of
Cooper's stout I brought with me had leaked all throughout the
case, leaving awful brown marks on my white shirts and Pieta
Prayer book. Oh BUM! Bum bottom backside!
4. Smorgy's
After dinner we walked the treacherous 2 minute journey from
one end of the CBD to the other to get to the bus stop. It arrived
soon after and we rode it to Wrestpoint Casino. I knew that this
was Hobart and it wasn't likely to be anywhere near as glamourous-looking
as Crown Casino and possibly not even as good as Star City in
Sydney - which would make it pretty poor effort - but nothing
prepared me for the reality of the matter. As soon as the automatic
doors swung open, I felt like I was back in the Northwest suburbs
of Melbourne. The place looked and smelt like the Lincolnshire
Arms sports bar. We skipped that bit and went through to the
poker machines area. The place was decorated with a forest of
artificial trees, which reminded me a great deal of Smorgy's
in Bundoora. I was expecting one of the trees to come alive and
start performing the half-hourly kids' concert at any moment,
as happens at Smorgy's. We walked straight through to the pokies
without the usual frisking and metal detector treatment we get
at Crown. I even took my camera in without any problems. I put
a dollar through one of the 2c machines and as usual made a profit
- of $2. Richard put $4 through and as usual, did his dough.
I found another dollar in one of the poker machine's trays, so
the night's takings paid for most of the beers I had in the sports
bar afterwards. They had nothing decent on tap of course, but
I gave Cascade Draught and Boag's Draught a shot. It was, as
expected, penance forcing it down.
We bid farewell to the Casino and went back to the hotel, then
afterwards spent some time attempting, unsuccessfully, to locate
some other semblance of nightlife.
Instead we ended up at KFC just before they closed. They had
just about run out of chicken, and a drunken Kiwi bloke and his
girlfriend approached the counter and asked for 5 chicken breasts.
When told that they were sold out, he became shirty and began
abusing the poor 15 year old cashier girl - naturally she was
responsible for all decisions of company policy and therefore
was directly responsible for the store remaining open despite
being understocked with chicken.
"You're running a KFC store, and you haven't got any chicken?
That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard!" He declared,
without the slightest suggestion of jocularity. His girlfriend
stood by him, indicating by her silence that she was equally
repulsed by this outrage. The poor cashier girl said nothing
and tried to hide behind her microphone.
"I want to see the manager!" He said, and pointed to
the oldest staff member he could find behind the counter. "You!
Are you the manager? You've got a lot of explaining to do, Mister!"
The manager ignored him and disappeared behind a machine.
"Oi! Trying to run away from taking responsibility, are
you?" The drunken kiwi said. "Deserting in the face
of duty!"
Eventually the manager emerged and attempted to negotiate a peace
treaty.
"Now, what's the problem?" He asked, in a calm and
hardened manner. The kiwi articulated his concerns and the manager
explained the store's policy of remaining open until all the
chicken is sold. The kiwi and his girlfriend explained that they'd
just moved to Hobart from Melbourne a couple of months ago, as
though this somehow entitled them to special treatment. I felt
like telling them to piss off if they didn't like it, and stop
giving Melbournians a bad name. Anyway, they haggled with the
manager and negotiated a deal for the sale of the remaining chicken
breasts, and the three parted on amicable terms.
5. Salamanca Market
Richard at Salamanca Market.
The next morning, Richard and I walked to the Salamanca Market.
He wanted to buy some souvenirs to take back to Melbourne. I
never bother with souvenirs because they're a waste of money
and nobody actually wants them anyway; all they do is clutter
up peoples' lives with more worthless garbage that they neither
want nor need. Besides, I'm a cheap bastard. I send postcards,
but the main purpose of those is to show off to the recipients
that you're on holiday and they're not. Richard spent most of
the time looking for boysenberry jam for his brother-in-law,
who is a bit of a boysenberry aficionado. The market was nice
enough but I couldn't help thinking it was little more than a
tourist attraction.
After that we got the bus to Sandy Bay, a shopping strip on the
way to the Casino. Unfortunately it looked a lot better as we
passed through it on the bus trip the previous night. We went
into the Coles then had a look through Chickenfeed - Hobart's
equivalent of Clint's Crazy Bargains. We had breakfast at the
Metz cafe. Richard had a plate of sausages, bacon and eggs which
was called the "Heartstarter." Given the amount of
saturated fat in it, I think it would have been more aptly named
the "Heartstopper". Or perhaps the "Cholesterol
Special."
6. Silly Things
We went back to our room and began discussing silly things
to do in the hotel. I said we should leave a to-do list in full
view on the table, with such items on it as "explode giant
rhubarb" and "feed Christians to the lions". Or
we should put a giraffe in the guest's laundry, with its head
sticking through the ceiling. Richard suggested getting a whole
lot of ugly polka-dot dresses from an op shop and leaving them
in the wardrobe so that a representative of the hotel would have
to call him about them.
"Mr. Paulin, I believe you left your polka-dot dresses in
the hotel whilst you were staying with us."
He also suggested we leave a package for the housekeepers with
some Arabic writing on it, which produced a ticking sound. Then
once the bomb squad was called in and the package opened, they'd
discover a pink teddy bear with a ribbon tied around its neck
and an alarm clock.
Or we could hide the television and bar fridge under the covers
of the beds then ring reception and tell them the appliances
from our room had been stolen. Or tell them the phone in the
bathroom wasn't working, and all it was doing was blowing out
hot air. Then lead them to the wall-mounted hair dryer in the
bathroom.
I suggested we put the "Don't disturb, I'm sleeping"
sign on the door handle after we left, then once the staff realised
we'd checked out, they'd wonder who was in the room. The housekeeper
would see a lump in the bed, and when she lifted up the covers,
would find a jellyfish with a nightcap on, and a photo frame
on the bedside table with a picture of a family of jellyfish
in it.
My favourite suggestions were two of Richard's. He suggested
we completely refurbish the hotel room during the night and turn
it into a 10-cow dairy just in time for the next guests to arrive.
However, we disregarded the idea because we couldn't find any
cows small enough to fit in the lift. The other suggestion was
a more viable one, although it had nothing to do with the hotel.
He suggested we fill a polka-dot dress with helium balloons and
release it over the city.
7. Hobart Nightlife
And and Richard at Salamanca
Square.
We discovered earlier in the day that Salamanca place has
a few pubs, so we went there at night. It appears to be the only
semblance of nightlife that Hobart has to offer. Given the idiocy
of bureaucracy, I was surprised that the bouncers accepted our
Victorian proof of age cards. I was expecting them to demand
a Tasmanian one, because for all they know we might be a different
age in Tasmania. I was even more surprised that there actually
were bouncers at the pubs at all. At one particular place our
umbrellas caused some concern - apparently they were a violation
of the dress code. I don't see what was wrong with mine - isn't
brown and grey tartan in at the moment? He let us in but told
us to keep the umbrellas to ourselves. How on earth did he know
we were planning to jump onto the bar and break into a rendition
of Singin' in the Rain?!
They had Southwark Stout at this pub - the only place I had ever
seen it outside of liquor stores - so I took the opportunity
and bought one. Richard and I stumbled back to the hotel a few
hours later, but not before I climbed onto the condemned rotunda
in St. James' park, which was closed to the public due to safety
concerns.
When we got back to the hotel, we amused ourselves by sitting
out on the balcony and making loud farting noises whilst people
were walking past in the street, then audibly declaring "Scuse
I!" and watching their reactions. Richard made a recording
of it and set it as the ringtone on his mobile.
8. The Last Day
The following day we got up at half seven and had a continental
breakfast in the hotel's restaurant. We didn't get a chance to
implement any of the silly ideas we came up with the previous
day, but we did leave the Yellow Pages in the freezer. If anyone
rang him and questioned him about it, Richard decided to respond:
"Well, I didn't want it to go off!"
We got to the airport with over an hour to spare, and soon an
announcement came over the P.A. saying that our flight had been
delayed by half an hour due to fog. I would've preferred it was
due to a hijacking, because then we'd have gotten at least another
day in Hobart.
I set the metal detector off again. This time the attendant thought
it must've been due to the metal lace threads on my shoes, so
I had to take them off and put them through the x-ray machine.
I got through without setting it off, and then realised that
I was wearing my metal watch. So much for airport security -
sometimes I wonder if the metal detectors are in fact real or
if they are just programmed to go off every so often as a warning
to terrorists.
So there you have it - our weekend in Hobart. Thank you to Richard
for paying for it all! We're planning to go to Perth soon - just
giving all you Sandgropers advanced warning.