Penguins!

Remember the penguin tour I mentioned that I went on in Bicheno, Tasmania? I didn't dwell on it because we weren't allowed to take cameras along.

The little penguins don't have eyelids and are genuinely harmed by camera flashes. Now, I know how to turn my flash off and so my first instinct was to demand to take my camera along anyway. But they said that too many people think they know and screw up, causing permanent damage to wee penguin eyeballs. But they'd send us jpegs if we requested them by email.

I requested the jpegs as soon as I got off the bus.

And heard nothing back.

A few days later, I sent a second email. And again heard nothing.

I was pretty sure this wasn't a diabolical plot—though their website is all in annoying Flash which leads me to believe that maybe it IS a conspiracy—and that my emails were hanging out in some spam filter. So I telephoned.

And got these photos ten minutes later.

Here they are, the little blue(ish) fairy penguins of Bicheno.

Oopsy

How did this happen? I only took off a few days, and now I'm a deadline nightmare.

The tour guide had dropped me off at my Hobart hostel on Monday night. I'd immediately raced out for Thai food and a walk around the harbor at Salamanca before falling asleep early. On Tuesday, I'd done laundry, gotten my hair roots colored (well done, Anarchy Hair in Hobart!), gone to the post office, sought out a replacement for my ten-year-old mini Mag-lite which I'd somehow misplaced between Bali and Perth, and eaten more Thai food. On Wednesday, I'd caught the Virgin Blue flight from Hobart to Sydney, hurried over to King's Cross to my budget hotel, and met my former near-in-laws for a dinner cruise around Sydney Harbor.

On Thursday, I met Amanda and D early—they'd flown from Seattle to Sydney with my Marquesas freighter cruise ticket. I'd handed off my camping gear to them for a trip to the Blue Mountains.

We wandered about Sydney in the rain, took the Manly ferry, got pedicures (D sat that one out), met my old pal Sean for dinner, and then I raced off to see Cate Blanchett perform in a completely weird German play, before getting lost trying to find my way out of The Rocks area of Sydney.

Leaving Tassie

I'm leaving Tasmania for Sydney, but we can still look at all the photos.

Here are photo galleries of the last week in Tasmania on this group tour. 

Day one.

Days two and three.

Days four and five.

Day six.

Day Six: Tasmanian Tour

Part of our group had been chastised for lateness yesterday morning, and so everyone was up early today in Strahan, ready to go well ahead of our six a.m. departure for Hobart.

I couldn't wait to get back to Hobart. I'd booked my own room at the hostel there—the one I was staying at was as ordinary as the others we'd been to but had free wifi. And I'd booked an en suite, so I wouldn't have to traipse around the halls in my pajamas.

Plus, I really needed to do laundry.

We made stops en route to Hobart, seeing waterfalls and chilly beaches. By the time we turned off to the last stop, I wanted to say "Do we have to?

Our driver let us off at something called the Tall Trees Walk.

"Walk down and I'll meet you at Russell Falls."

Obligingly, we all started hiking into the rainforest.

And were glad we did. This forest turned out to be stunning, moss-covered, and grand.

Nearing the Finish Line

On Sunday afternoon, we'd headed to the small town of Strahan after leaving Cradle Mountain.

That's pronounced "Strawn" in these parts.

We looked for some whales that had beached themselves, but didn't find anything aside from a really windy, cold beach, and so headed to town to a mediocre backpackers lodge. None of the backpackers/hostels in Tasmania have been particularly noteworthy, though some have been better than others. The Bicheno one was the worst, with only two old, chilly showers and toilets for 16-or-more women. I don't know what the situation was in the men's room. But the Bicheno lodge had been spitting distance from a delicious bakery that opened at stupid-o'clock and was near a caravan park that featured wifi, so even that hadn't been so bad.

Tales(ils) of Tassie Tigers

On Sunday, I headed to a resort to something called the "Wilderness Gallery." I'd seen billboards and brochures advertising a Tasmanian tiger exhibit.

And I love me some Tasmanian tigers.

The first time Turbo the Aussie told me about Tasmanian tigers, I accused him of bullshitting me. He was always saying silly things, and I barely believed him about the giant-sized kangaroos and emus that had once inhabited Australia (these mega-fauna were confirmed by a museum in Queensland within the month). Why would I believe there had been a tiger in Tasmania?

Because there wasn't, not really. The Tassie tiger wasn't really a tiger, not like the tigers in Nepal or India. They were more like lean dogs, or small marsupial wolves, but with striped lower backs.

I remember going to the slow, rural dial-up Internet in Crystal Creek, NSW, to search for proof that Turbo wasn't putting me on.

On to Cradle Mountain

Our driver and guide, Ian, has left us, and a madman has taken over.

The new guy has a few nice touches of his own—this morning, for example, at Cradle Mountain, he got up at six and laid out our breakfast foods for us. But then he also provides constant commentary on the PA in the bus, yakking on about whatever crosses his mind while interspersing this with actual details we need. The chatter goes something like this:

"The man who owns that farms still makes those Dutch shoes, what are they called, clogs, today. Does anyone here wear clogs? Oh look, the sky ahead is blue. So maybe it isn't snowing tomorrow. We need to leave at eight but just to go down to the visitor's center where you can catch the shuttle bus. You know, no one can make you feel inferior. It's your own choice to feel inferior. Think about that."

Tasmania Tour

I signed up for a six-day Tasmania tour when heading down here, because I was afraid it would be too cold to camp. Plus, Intrepid had a 15 percent off sale on an already cheap trip, so by going with them, I'd actually save money over going alone with a rental car or with buses and local day trips.

Of course, it's cheap because you have to sleep in dorms. Ick. I really really hate dorms. I have serious problems with other people in my space, and if you've read for a while, you've probably laughed at me on more than one occasion when I was wigging out that someone was in my apartment. Well, I'm no better at being a guest than at having guests, and sharing with 6-7 others *really* makes me crazy.