Milling around at MONA

Happily now in Hobart, we are really relaxing, not driving anywhere, and soaking up everything this lovely little city has to offer.

Yesterday we left windy, cold Oatlands, a charming little village with an extraordinary number of sandstone buildings, befitting what had been one of Tasmania’s earliest settlements.

We were lucky that on our first morning, when we entered the local tourist info centre, set up in one of the old flour mill buildings, the girl there asked if we’d like to do a mill tour . . . starting in about 10 minutes.

Of course we agreed, so after donning hair nets and hard hats, and divesting ourselves of all handbags, cameras and phones, we climbed the 58 steps to the top of the mill with our guide, and he then explained its workings as we made our way down, floor by floor.



The Callington Mill at Oatlands. We ended
the tour with scones made from its
flour.



The mill was built in 1837 and operated until nearly the end of that century, but when mainland mills were established, Tasmania no longer could compete in the supply of flour. So it sat idle, was burnt out and was derelict until some years ago when a move was made to reinstate it as a working mill.

The stone shell remained and after a grant allowed a millwright to come from Holland to measure it and manufacture all the machinery needed, as well as the great wooden top and its sails, eventually it was reopened about two years ago and now mills wheat grown in the district.

We spent a lot of time in that wind lurking inside the motorhome, highly amused at the antics of the waterfowl just metres away. In Longford, it had been fornicating ducks that kept the adults amused, and the children somewhat bemused, especially when one drake kept falling off . . . but I digress.

At Oatlands, we saw pairs of black swans doing their elegant neck-arching routine, and even one very puzzled male who simply had his head underwater eating something. When he surfaced, there was a very angry cob right in front of him (“Don’t even look at her, you whippersnapper of a bachelor boy!”) who chased him from the water with much flapping of wings and displaying of tail feathers. And all the while the pen swam serenely around, almost saying, “You’re wonderful, darling”. I’m sure the chased male still has no idea of what he had done to deserve it all.

While the local council maintains some wonderful topiary around the town and by the lake, someone has made steel cutouts of Tasmania tigers, which grace a block of sandstone on the far side of the lake. That’s probably as close as we’ll get to the legendary thylacine, though we did see two fairly motheaten stuffed specimens at the Launceston museum, acquired in the 1800s.



This parking spot, as you can see, is for God's Mistress. The
one to the left of it is for God. We presume that's David
Walsh, founder of MONA, which showcases his esoteric
collection of art.



This fabulous concrete truck is one of the outside
 exhibits,  made entirely of wrought iron pieces.



And so we came to Hobart, fairly early yesterday morning, so we called in at MONA (Museum of Old and New Art), had a wonderful, if almost head-spinning several hours there; then went on to drive up Mt Wellington. That was utterly freezing and we had to reach for our biggest jackets before we ventured out. There was a fabulous view of southern Tasmania, Hobart, its harbour and even the fires on the Tasman Peninsula.

We’re staying at the Hobart Airport Tourist Park, next to the airport hotel, mainly because there’s a shuttle to the city (15 minutes) each morning, returning each afternoon.

We used it today to reach the docks where we took the ferry to MONA, this time to enjoy a long and liquid lunch (John did not have to drive!). There are two big cruise liners in dock, so lots and lots of people at MONA.

Where people went before it opened I don’t know, but apparently it has attracted 600,000 people in 18 months.

Tomorrow we’ll go back into town to go to the Salamanca Markets, followed by a tour of the Cascade Brewery, and on Sunday, as a belated birthday present, John has booked us on a luxury day cruise south along the Derwent with lunch at a place called Peppermint Bay.

To say we’re having a ball is an understatement. We’ll have to suck lemons for a week to take the smiles off our faces.