I decided to go to Tasmania because I start to feel claustrophobic every now and then, as if I am not taking advantage of all of these beautiful places that are surrounding me. We are always making decisions about what to prioritize, and for five days I prioritized exploration.
I am snooping around a house that is not mine. The floors are old pine and I am not privy to the secrets of which spots creak and groan. There are Buddhist statues in each room, some with incest lying by their folded legs. The kitchen table is a dark wood and the chairs are intricately carved. I try to be careful and quiet, I don't want to wake up Yani. Yani is a nineteen year old Tasmanian girl whose parents moved to Tasmania from Switzerland. I met her on a website that sets up couchsurfers with people who are willing to host them. I am pleasantly surprised that Yani is not insane, but I am still careful to put something in front of the closed door so if someone tries to murder me in the middle of the night, I will be tipped off.
We wake up early and Yani drives us to Mt. Wellington. The Dolomitic rocks at the top are dramatic looking and beautiful. We stop by a small waterfall and fill up our waterbottles, getting wet in the process. As we hike up a beaten and marked path, I try to pant quietly and promise myself to go jogging more often. As we get higher up the mountain, the vegetation changes. The tree types change, and at the top of the mountain there is just brush and stunted trees. As I look out over Hobart and the ocean I am struck by the beauty of the scene (which also reminds me a bit of the Greek Islands, what with towns/cities being built right on the water, it is a very similar look albeit without the white buildings with blue roofs). We brave the bone chilling wind that suddenly threatens us and I snap dozens of pictures of the view. Yani then drops me off at Penina and David's house.
Penina and David are the only religious Jews in Hobart. Penina tells me they are only three shomer shabbat/shomer kashrut families in Tasmania and they are spread out amongst three cities. The couple must have some relationship to Chabad because there are pictures of them with the Rebbe in the house and signs announcing the impending arrival of Moshiach and our need to be ready.
When I arrive David is sitting on the porch with Moshe, a Jewish doctor from San Fransisco that grew up reform and became orthodox when he came to Hobart. Moshe and David are drinking a Lechaim, as a community member died and they were the ones who did the rites that are supposed to be done with the body. They sit, sipping vodka and telling stories of the dead man. Penina, an older religious woman who wears a sheital and/or tichul comes out on the porch and taking David's shot glass, she makes a Le'chaim and then takes a gulp of vodka. My jaw drops a little. These people are like no chabadniks I have ever met.
Shabbat day I walk to the synagogue with Penina and David. The shul is the second oldest in Australia and smells musty, as if the dust of the past two hundred years has slowly settled in the creases and wrinkles of the building. The building is quiet save for the sounds of us davening. Moshe joins us and we are the congregation and the community. Penina sings loudly, she whispers to me "Kol Isha doesn't really count here because it is just my husband and Moshe is a bit deaf". Is it too soon to say this woman is incredible?
After shul I walk through the Salamanca market, an outdoor market that takes place every Saturday in Hobart. I am glad it is Shabbat and I cannot handle money or I would spend lots of money. There are homemade jams, pastries, perfume bottles. There is a leather top hat at a stall that only makes leather hats. I try fudge and chocolate samples and am amazed by a teenager who is playing the guitar and didjereedo at the same time. He is also playing a percussion instrument with his foot. This kid has skill.
Saturday night I went to the Salamanca market again to sample the bars. I play pool and let an Indian man named Rajah (yes, this is the name of the tiger from Aladdin) buy me a drink while I politely listen to him talk about himself. After a half an hour, I excuse myself and head back to Penina and David's.
The silence of a forest is something I wish I could capture and release at will. The huge mossy trees shade the path I am walking on, hiding little animals and mushrooms. I run ahead of the tourist group I have come to Russel Falls with so I can feel alone and suspended in the moment. The trees are truly massive, a felled trees trunk is taller than I am. The waterfall is beautiful and I saw several Paddymelons along the path. Paddymelons look like a mix between mice and kangaroos. They don't look like kangaroos really, but they bounce around like kangaroos. We then head over to an animal conservation and look at Tasmanian devils and other Indigenous critters. Behind the conservation is a river which a wild platypus has declared his territory. We watch him surface and then disappear again as he scrapes food of the bottom of the river. He rises like a balloon when he needs to breath.
"We usually don't take less than 3 people on a trip, but we made an exception today" Scott my tour guide tells me on Monday morning. We are waiting in the car for the 2nd member of out trip to meet us. Luckily she stands us up, discouraged by the rainy day. And so we head to Wineglass Bay, me and my personal tour guide. Scott and I start making conversation and small talk on the two and a half hour drive over to Freycinct national park. Obviously because it is me, we end up talking about religion and G-d and faith. We discuss the purpose of religion, moral fiber, our families, where we have traveled. I have never told so much to a stranger before, but at the same time it feels safe to tell your inner thoughts to a stranger. I will never see or talk to Scott again.
We arrive at Wineglass Bay which is supposed to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. The fog obscures the bay, and instead of seeing the bay I become a witness to the ability of a lake to disappear. It is still beautiful and I am impressed by the plants and animals we see as we hike down to the deserted beach. I take pictures of the rocks which are red and green and yellow (from the algae??), the water which is so clear, and play with the seaweed which feels like thick plastic. I try to rip the seaweed and can't. I am freezing cold and thoroughly damp from being drizzled on for hours by the time we hike back to the car. Scott takes me a few more stop offs to see the views. Then we get ice cream at a farm where they make it themselves. When we get back in the car, I am shivering.
I fly back to Sydney the next morning, glad that I went on an adventure by myself and saw the things I saw and met the people I met. I consider the trip a success.
