G'day. I'm an American by birth and an Australian by choice. After 4 years, my accent still gives me away, but I reckon I can get the lingo down pat eventually, no worries mate! Bob's your uncle. She'll be right. See, I can talk like an Aussie!
What follows is an epistle about Australia's Tidy Town of the Year (2007), the same place that lured me to move here so I could eat lobsters, oysters and muscles right out of the sea, and wash them down with some of the best wines I'd ever tasted from vines watered by sea mist. Swansea is a tiny, tidy village of 432 residents, and I'm proud to say I know 32 of these local characters who are the salt of the earth.
What follows is an essay I dashed off during my 60th birthday celebration spent on the shores of Swansea.
Swansea, Freycinet Peninsula, and the Easternmost Edge of Tasmania
I don’t know exactly what it is about Swansea that puts a smile on my face and makes my steps lighter, but some would call it having a spiritual connection with the place. The experiences I have had here have not been found elsewhere in Australia – and I’ve covered a lot of ground on my dee-tour.
I’m here on the edge of the planet around the time my fourth anniversary of first setting foot in this tiny dot village, pop. 432. I know at least 32 locals, so it feels like “coming home” every time I visit here. Mostly I know my fellow tour operators, and have fond memories of my pioneering gourmet food and wine tours along the East Coast Escape touring route.
I usually can’t get out of town – which is only several streets wide and perhaps a kilometer long main street – without stopping in the General Store for provisions or at the Left Banc for a latte, or the Tavern for gourmet pizza and local Tasmanian wine.
And sometimes I put $10 in the honour envelope and play 9 interesting, twisting holes of golf along the banks of the Great Oyster Bay. Tis hard to focus on your game with that view, and forget correcting your slice. Golf balls tend to gravitate to the lazy waves along the fairway, I’ve learnt. (Liked I’ve learned to spell like the Australian version of English).
I never fail to stop and stare at one of the most picture postcard perfect views in all of the Southern Hemisphere - the Great Oyster Bay beyond which is a 3 peaked mountain range called The Hazards. Just beyond them on the tip of the Freycinet Peninsula is one of the finest and remotest beaches in the world, the infamous Wineglass Bay. I could devote an entire chapter on that spot. Despite photographs blasted around the world, it remains unspoilt, probably due to the fact that it’s a rugged two hour hike down to the white sands and teal blue waters, and a long hike back up to one’s vehicle.
This time, I’m overnighting in a just-opened backpacker lodge. Flashpacker is the current term for internet-access portaled hostels like this one my colleague Geoff has developed. First time I stayed in Swansea I met Geoff, then the proprietor of the Swansea Motor Inn, and we had a round of golf at the country course – a one-minute walk to the course which is situated at the end of Main Street. Three years later and he’s owns a mega complex, including the Historic Barkmill Museum, Tavern, Bottle Shop (liquor store) and the Backpackers (hostel), and I’m sitting in the community room at 10 pm watching digital TV along with some international visitors, and wearing my very cosy Tassie socks which I purchased earlier at the museum store. These “mongrel socks” were handmade with local wool, and are the best things for keeping my cold footsies warm. Despite the calendar date, one must be prepared for four seasons in one day in Tasmania - that means I own a lot of socks , myriad fleece jackets, and many wool jumpers (sweaters to you).
Tasmania, by the way, is the only state in Australia that is an island. It is comprised of many islands itself, sorta like Hawaii, in that you have to take a boat or plane to get to some of them, and when you arrive, there are unspoilt beaches, a few natives, and mostly wonderful wilderness to breathe in.
Australia is the only country and continent that is an island. Pretty big island. In four years I hardly have seen all of tiny Tasmania, let alone the vast mainland. I have been to all of the states and territories except Western Australia, which is the mother of them all in size. Perth and Broome, the two biggest pockets of people, are days apart, like driving from Southern California to the Canadian border.
Without knowing where I was going when I started this monologue with myself, I have reached a foregone conclusion to call this place my permanent sea change location.
I was meant to be here, says Sarah. I am energized here, says Cheryl. Cheers, mates.
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