Only 18km south of Launceston, en route to Hobart, on the banks of the South Esk River, sits the small historic town of Evandale, which various locals had suggested that I check out. Whilst there’s not all that much to do there, its quaint historic buildings, old-fashioned shops and traditional signage, all situated amidst hugely picturesque countryside, appealed to my sense of nostalgia. It reminded me of England (in a good way).
After taking snaps of everything in sight, I continued on towards Hobart; with one final stop to photograph what I thought excitedly was a Yak, grazing in a field on the side of the road, only to be told by a passing local, some minutes later, that no, it was in fact Ollie the Highland cow. Oh well.
The two-hour drive, for the most part through pleasant green fields, passed in no time (cruise control and an iPod no doubt helping), and the sun was setting by the time I began my approach to Hobart, where I couldn’t help noticing that the topography had gradually changed, becoming much more hilly, even mountainous in places.
Before I knew it, I was driving across the Tasman Bridge, which seemed to hold a special significance: having never been to Hobart before, passing over this famous landmark felt to me as though I was being granted access to the city.
And what a city it turned out to be.