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I just went to Tassie for New Year. For those overseas folk, that’s Tasmania, the little island at the bottom of Australia. Great food, wine and scenery. And hardly any people. And yet everywhere we went people seemed to know us. Or want to know us.
It all began in a winery. Shocking news. There were four of us heading to Hobart for the Taste of Summer festival. I went last year and it was so good I decided to round up some more willing partipants.
We were all arriving the day before New Year’s Eve, but on different flights from various places. I was first so I needed to fill in time till I could check in to our Airbnb. It seemed churlish not to go to the nearest winery.
Don’t judge me because it was 11am. The first one was called Coal Valley Vineyard. I’d tasted all the delicious wines they had by 11.30 so they sent me up the road to Riversdale Estate Winery. Wendy kindly whipped me up a cheese plate, to go with my tasting.
Before I got too far into it, a whole family turned up.
The young woman says: “We’re on the way to our wedding. We need some wine.”
Even me, who goes on cruises at the last minute or turns up at the airport and catches random flights, was surprised. We asked: “On your way? Now?”
She explained that her family had come over from South Africa for Christmas. She and the fiance had just got engaged and the parents had talked them into having the wedding. Tomorrow.
What could possibly go wrong? The groom looked like he wanted to run like he was on fire. It reminded me of the time I went on the Honeymoon in Hawaii. I give it six months. But the great news is the wine they bought for the wedding was exceptional. At least that will be worth remembering.
Eventually it was time for me to check in so I headed over to North Hobart to inspect the Airbnb. There is a lot of pressure to choose a place for a group holiday, especially when the people are strangers. The one thing they had in common was me. Again, what could possibly go wrong.
Turns out I have still got it. The house was amazing. Spa. Champagne in the fridge with cold glasses. It even had dressups for our New Year’s eve outfits.
Renée turned up first and walked to the shops with me to stock up on food. I had already bought a lot of wine. We were just unpacking it when a man suddenly appeared. Inside the house.
Not sure who was more scared – him or us. It was Anthony, one of the owners. He thought we were arriving the next day.
After New Year we were all hungover when we heard a knock at the door. Two blokes who looked like Mormons were at the door, looking for Tristan. Or maybe they were dressed for a wedding. Maybe Tristan was the fiance from the winery and he’d gone on the run after all. Who could blame him?
I’m so disappointed I didn’t answer the door. I would have invited them in for a long chat. In any case they went away like most Mormons do from my door. Disappointed. No Tristan here.
Later on there was another knock at the door. Everyone called out “Tristan’s not here!” Whoever it was went away. Maybe even ran away.
Well we found out later it was Angela’s friend coming over to drop off the bag she’d left in his car. He must have mistaken us for cut snakes.
We were thrilled to find the Italian Club in North Hobart. We had a real Italian with us and who doesn’t like scaloppine so we went there for dinner. And finally I had an answer to the predictable New Year’s resolution question. I will learn how to make vino bianco sauce.
We were apparently quite a hit, with one of the managers spending plenty of time entertaining us with his stories.
At the end of the trip, Karen, Renée and I went to the Wrest Point Casino for a last hurrah. We walked in and were immediately stopped by Rocky, the concierge. We thought we were going to be arrested or taken straight to the high roller tables. But no. He had seen us before. He knew us.
“You’re the girls from the Italian Club.”
We just smiled and said “that’s us Rocky.”
