Hopping over to Hobart

The day started early, the alarm clock went off at 4.05am, I heard rustling from the next bedroom as Karen's alarm clock went off.. "Are you awake" she called. "5 minutes & we're out of here." I had slept the night  at her place, to make sure that we left on time. A 7am Jetstar flight left no room for error. Luckily the Freeway entrance was only a few blocks from Karen's home, and we were on our way. What a dark cold morning we had chosen to set off on our weekend adventure to Hobart. 

Barely hitting 4 degrees, the cars outside thermometer seemed to head south when he hit the freeway and were away form the city buildings. Melbourne's forcast for the weekend had been cold, rain, snow and ice in all the outer suburbs..heading further south to Tasmania that morning seemed almost a crazy idea, but we had bought the tickets and booked the accommodation. We were going , regardless !

The flight over was uneventful and short, both of us nodding off less than 5 minutes into the flight.

A few extra ZZZ's wouldn't go astray as our plans for the weekend did not include having much sleep.

Our plane landed on time, barely an hour in the air from point to point, and by the time we had walked through the airport we heard the landing call for the flight from Sydney, and the arrival of Karen's Oldest sister Sue, who was joining us on this weekend away. If the truth be known, it was I who was the interloper, having muscled in on a sisters trip away for the weekend. I was almost a sister.. so I figured I should be invited too! 

I wish I could say our taxi ride into the city from the airport was uneventful, but I had the feeling our Somali taxi driver had been a Formulae One Ace in another lifetime. As soon as he had our bags loaded into the cab, he took off with a screech of tires and a lead foot, heading for the short freeway ride into Hobart proper. As I looked over the shoulder of the driver from the back seat, my anxiety level rose as did his speedometer. When I saw the dial nudging 120 kms per hour in a 90 zone, I politely tapped him on the shoulder and suggested that it would be better to get to our destination alive, a little later than sooner than not at all. Hey gave us a big white toothed grin, and dropped the velocity slightly.. for a few minutes only, before pressing his foot to the metal again. Thank god the city of Hobart came into view, and as we crossed the wide expanse of a once notorious bridge, that had collapsed on Sunday 5 January 1975 when the  bulk carrier Lake Illawarra, had slammed into one of the bridge pylons, leaving cars dangling over the side of the bridge, and unaccounted for deaths .

I breathed a sigh of relief, when he finally pulled up outside our Hotel, the Welcome Stranger Hotel. For $35 per night per person, our  accommodation included an en-suite, extra blankets, (which would come in handy after our late night meanderings around town) , a small fridge, TV, Tea & coffee facilities etc, including a small fruit bowl and a plentiful supply of packet biscuits! What more could a girl wish for !

Although supposedly a Pokies Pub, the Welcome Stranger also doubled as a budget hotel/ backpackers.

The other guests appeared to be a motley crew of Seniors, Frustrated and rumpled parents of young children, and some rather dodgy looking middle aged men, that were either finishing off their night at this early opening establishment, or were starting very early for what could be a Big Day out !

The three off us dumped our bags in the baggage lockup ( which was a switchboard cupboard ) and headed off across the park to Salamanca Market . As we arrived the market was still setting up. It was barely 8:30 am, and our day already seemed to be long one. Coffee was our mission, and as Melbourne- ites , Coffee is an important morning ritual. We all have our secret Baristas, and coffee joint hangouts, and pickups locations for a take away.Would Hobart reveal a coffee making culture as good as what we were used to? Fortunately we were not disappointed but  finding the right snack for breakfast though proved a little harder.

Fortunately I was soon distracted by two crazy guys making honey roasted nuts.!

They handed a small plate of "FREE" samples, which we were happy to oblige by polishing them off very quickly. The market occupied our attention for several hours, with Sister Sue making a purchase of some beautiful green stone beads, which I promised to turn into a work of Jewelry for her some time in the future. There were many stalls of unusual merchandise to investigate, plus live music on several fronts,,... yes I had found some Buskers, but not the promised tunes of one of my favorite Hobart World music bands, Arauco Libre who are famous for having performed at Salamanca market since 1985. That day,  was their day off   ... I could not believe my disappointment, and Karen had to stop me from making a fool of myself and phoning them to ask them WHY?

This pic was taken from their Facebook page.. Not by me...

Both Karen & her sister were fascinated with the Bamboo socks, and ended up buying several pairs. I kept to the more Esoteric purchases , having come across an Author who was selling his self published books. I coudn't resist, anyone that knows me, knows that books are my weakness, ( 3 walls of my living room being covered in floor to ceiling book shelves ! )

I met and chatted to the Author, Jamie Maslin of the book of my Purchase. A well known travel and adventure writer, I chatted to him for awhile before making my purchase, and getting him to sign the book. I might have to write a review in another blog !

And finally the last pic of the morning, Salamanca market from The Hill !

Karen's Sister's friends. Heather & Arna came to meet us in the Salamanca Plaza just behind the market, ,down one of the many small winding lanes that lead away from the market behind the old Dock front shops.

We were greeted to the sound of Singing, as we had chosen the weekend of the Hobart Festival of voices. As we sat end chatted on the outside seating, we listened to several songs form a choir of women, who had also travelled from afar to be in Hobart that weekend.

The "friends" dragged sister Sue off with them, and Karen & I were left to our own devices !

A small walk around the historical area of the inner city seemed like a good idea, and we headed for the part of hobart known as Battery Point, not far from the place we had been all morning. This unusual apartment building located within an Old Grain Silo was fascinating.

Located to the South-East of the city towards the waterfront, visiting Battery Point is akin to stepping back in time , a truly historic area with many buildings which remain intact since their founding back in 1830. Dotted throughout with colonial-style and stone buildings and various charming little coffee shops and restaurants, it's easy to immerse yourself in the not so good, olden days of Hobart , and is best explored simply by taking a stroll through its streets, which we did, and took many pictures ! 

Cemetery views 

A beautiful view of the historical bridge.

There were many fascinating old streets and lanes, who you could easily think were scenes of old England, the motherland of the convict settlement taking place here in tasmania in the early 1800's.

We saw this CSIRO Antarctic explorer ship tied up at dock being restocked and fueled.

After our stroll we headed back to the hotel for a short siesta... well siesta on my part, Karen went off for a run, tracing her way back around the spit, the dock area, and finally the large Botanical style gardens across the road from the hotel. She was gone for over an hour, and when she returned she found me snoring in my bed, with all my clothes still on, just as she had left me.

It was a cold and bitter night in Hobart, but we were determined that it would not be wasted huddling up in the hotel room trying to keep warm. We had other plans.

Sue's friends had suggested one of the floating Fish and Ship stalls along the Docks that had an excellent reputation . We walked down there to the Dock front, across the park, with its mists rising from the ground, and along the wide empty street that earlier in the day had been one of the busiest and bustling markets I had seen in awhile. It was totally deserted, and quiet, the night time activities in the many bars and restaurants that now could be seen clearly once the market had gone were starting to stir into activity. We had our hearts set on fish and chips, and were not disappointed. We headed to the recommended location. YUm YUm is all I can manage to say. The fish was beautifully cooked,more like 4 star dining than a takeaway on the docks, the chips crisp and crunchy, and the Calamari rings, not out of some  pre frozen package but rather fresh and recently caught!  From their we headed to the Lark whiskey bar, and the warmth of a roaring open fire and some great live music. Life is good! 

The musician was an older gent, well experienced and a master of his instrument. I cant recall his name , but he had been around since the 60's playing up a storm of blues and jazz standards, with a voice sounding like gravel over whiskey. We chatted to him for a bit and he invited us along the next night to see him in another Pub, and we obliged.!

Next morning we awoke bight and early as we had to meet Sue & the friends on the Docks to take our "Ferry" to  MONA , Museum of Old and New ART  a short 30 minute boat trip across the harbour and the morning mists to the gallery.

The large catamaran was duly detailed with some "Bizarre" & Interesting " articles, including a row of fiberglass sheep which could be used as seats, a large sculpture of a full sized cow,

Once arriving at MONA, we had a short sharp step climb, ( leaving some of the faint hearted crying out for an elevator). We arrived at the front door, a large door surrounded by a mirrored building, reflecting back the sunlight, trees and views.

The surrounding gardens contained a multitude of different sculptural pieces, some seemed more like play ground toys than works of art, others had the feel of ancient & exotic buildings.

The details of this peice were just amazing

The snake wall

Karen posing ! 

Karen & Sue waiting for me to hurry up and take the picture so we could head out of the cold !

What else to do on a short sojourn to Hobart you may ask? .. Quick road trip to , Richmond one of the most historical and scenic town in Tassie, better still only a short half hour drive from Hobart.

After the trip, all there was left to do was head back to the hotel, collect our bags that we had again stashed into the storage room, and head to the airport.

What a great weekend it had been, cold but mostly fine.. Our Plane flight back to OZ, was uneventful, flying high above the impending storm that was Melbourne.! We landed in the rain, heavy and oppressing, We were back home. HELLO MElbourne !

Czeslaw Piotr Prokopowicz

My Dad

Czeslaw Piotr Prokopowicz,

19/03/1925 - 31/03/2015

Born in Rakow Poland, near the Russian border on March 19th, 1925, Dad grew up bilingual, speaking Polish & Russian fluently. Dad also knew a smattering of choice Yiddish words and phrases that he often trotted out. He lived near the Russian border and often joked with us that he lived in Poland and went to school in Russia, I don't know if this was true or not, but it's a nice story. 

He had two siblings, a younger brother, Stanislaw, and an older sister Eva both of whom he lost touch with for many years after the war. Dad spent the years of his youth in a forced labor camp in Germany as a result of the Second World War. As a result he ended up speaking German fluently, so well in fact that he was often mistaken for a German. 

After the war, he spent two years in the Polish unit of the American army, guarding German prisoners of war, and supplies, before deciding to set off on a journey to an unknown place called Australia.

Im not sure where this picture was taken, but it certainly was somewhere in rural NSW, 

soon after his arrival. 

Dad came to Australia with several friends all looking for a new life and some adventure. 

Some of these men I remember fondly as stand in Uncles, Uncle Adam, Uncle Vic, Uncle Roman, Uncle John, and a few more who's names escape me now. 

Arriving by ship, his journey took him via Naples, Egypt, and Sri Lanka  he landed in Sydney.

Dad was mesmerized by the sights of ancient Pompeii and took many photos with his Kodak Retina camera, which still survives to this day. 

Recruited for a job in exotic Papua New Guinea, he and several of his friends took a two year post in Manaus Island and Rabaul working for the Australian government. Dad a keen photographer took many photographs of the local native peoples in their national dress, performing Indigenous festivals and Sing Sings. These sights would have been quite rare for foreigner s to experience, these islands in New Guinea being both remote and rarely visited by people.

Looking back now, this must have been an unusual and strange situation for a young man that had recently come from war torn Europe. Hot & tropical, crocodile infested rivers and living in a Galvanised iron Nissan hut, and tents. This was a journey from one of the world to the other, one climate to another and to such a strange civilization as Papua New Guinea.

After two years in New Guinea , Chester arrived back in Melbourne , and settled into life working as a spray painter, and living in a boarding house in Elsternwick by two women, who we as children knew as Aunty Chris & And Aunty Molly .They were wonderful kind women who ran a boarding house for newly arrived Polish refugees. Often these women were the only female influence that these young men had in their lives. 

Dad met mum, and the rest is history:

I came along,

and then there was Susan,

( Pic to be uploaded ) 

Dad was known to everyone as Chester. He was always a happy and kind man. I don’t remember seeing dad ever really really angry except of once or twice in my life. We were always threatened with the strap, but it was rarely used and mostly just waved around to scare us.

Dad was always a soft touch, mum the disciplinarian, although whenever we did something wrong the usual threat was, “wait till your father gets home “. It was a bit of Good cop,  Bad cop.

Dad was a good cook, and was always seemed to be hovering around the kitchen, cooking up a pot of “kapusta”, or stewed cabbage. Each batch was different from the last, as dad never used a recipe, and threw in whatever was in the cupboard. It always tasted good. His other specialties were Rissoles, and Schnitzels.  The rissoles were cooked like the cabbage, no recipe, but always tasting good. Dad’s schnitzels were legendary, and Susan and I would sometimes have schnitzel eating competitions, with dad cooking them as fast as we ate them. They were always thin and crispy.

One of the funniest things I remember now, happening when I was about 5 years old and we were living in Willow Avenue in Tally Ho. It wasn’t funny at the time, but looking back now. It was. I remember having a conversation with dad about how old he was & he told me he was 97 or 98 years old.. I was just learning numbers and I can’t remember how or why we had this conversation, I asked him how old people were when they died. He told me it was 100. I somehow worked out that it was only 2 years to go and got really upset and started crying. Dad seemed to think this as very funny, until mum told me he was kidding.

Dad was always taking photographs of us kids, & every birthday party, event, holiday, and Sunday mornings heading off to Sunday school was a reason to get the camera out. We were always standing up straight until we later realized in our teens that we could pose and pretend to be models.

This pic was taken in Queensland, thunder egg hunting somewhere near Nambour 

Every Xmas and Easter holidays he packed up the station wagon and we headed off somewhere. It was usually Canberra and camping at the cotter dam. They were adventures, and Sue and I fought continuously in the back of the car, where dad had turned the seats into a bed, so that we could travel in style. We would stop every few hours for a ham sandwich and a can of soft drink that he had secreted in every available miniscule space in the car. When were little we all slept in the back of the station wagon, but as we grew up we graduated to a tent.

As we got older we ventured further, Nambour Queensland, and the yearly mango smuggle.! or Tathra Beach where we slept in this heavy canvas tent, and spent days on the beach. Also as we got older we didn’t go as often, mum hated camping, and we had all discovered overseas travel.

After Sue and I left home, mum and dad discovered the freedom of travel and not having kids in the house. They were always taking off to Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore, and then finally the big trip to Europe and several years later Canada and the USA.

Dad absolutely loved travelling. Before he got really sick, he took himself off on several trips to the USA solo, to visit his sister in Rochester, and more than several times to Thailand.

Christmas was one of the times of year dad loved having all of the family around. Christmas EVE dinner was traditional in our house, and presents could not be opened until dinner had been eaten, the dishes washed and then we all settled into the lounge-room to see hat "Santa" had brought us this year.

Chester also loved a bargain, and whenever he went shopping he always told you how much he had paid for something. He was a bargain hunter. He also loved Junk day and the yearly through outs. He used to go off on long walks using the dog as an excuse, and disappear for hours, sniffing out the best rubbish to go back later and collect with the car, or sometimes just carrying it home with him.

Dad was the king of the garage sale, and unfortunately for mum, he sold many things he shouldn’t have., because he thought that they never got used or were taking up space. Dad also became known for his bicycle collection, always picking up a few to make one good one out of to sell at his sales.

His trips to Asia always resulted in a new camera. Right until dad went into the nursing home; he was always getting out this old camera or that and asking me to take a look at it when I came to visit. 

For years Dad had a Camper Van, and every year mum & dad would pack up and head to Queensland & Mission Beach. They spent the cold months up north every year, camping and fishing and generally having a good time meeting people. Dad was always friendly and up for a chat.

As if Queensland wasn’t enough they also did the grey nomad trip around Australia more than once I think.  Dad liked to drive, but towards the end, he frightened mum so much with his erratic driving that she refused to go in the car with him any more, and she took over .It was a difficult day when he had to give up his license, but he had become dangerous on the road, and his Parkinson’s disease had started to affect his reflexes and balance.

Whenever I came to visit Dad also liked to wash my car, or fiddle with something that needed doing.

He helped me restore my Austin Healey Sprite.

He was also always cleaning my old Peugeot, a heap as he called it,

Dad seemed to have an affinity with the family dogs, first Snoopy who he almost walked his feet off when we lived in Mt Waverley and later when they moved to Ferntree Gully, and then with Peluchin, or Mr Chin as he became known as, who he inherited from me, after I got sick and had trouble looking after him properly. 

 Dad Loved Mr Chin, as Mr Chin loved him back 

Mr Chin loved dad and was his shadow. When Mr Chin got sick and finally passed away, dad was very upset. It took him a long time before he would even consider getting another dog, and then there was Tinkerbelle, who mum found on the internet, and tracked down to the RSPCA. 

Tinker became known as Laptop, as her favorite spot was sitting on dads knees. As dad became more unsteady on his feet, and walked around less, mum always knew where to find the two of them, sitting on the chair snoozing with the telly blaring in the background.

Dad spent his final two years at Villa Maria Nursing home, Knox, where he was looked after like a King.  He put on weight, he started to look better and he had interesting things to get involved with like Mens club, social outings, shopping trips, Sing-a-longs , movie nights etc. At first he wasn't too happy to be there, but he came to realize, that Mum just couldn't look after him anymore, and it was the best place for him to be.

The last two years of Dad's life was spent at the Nursing home. The people that worked there were wonderful and kind to him. They were patient and caring, and as dad became more unsteady on his feet, they helped him learn to deal with his disability in a way that didn't make him feel inadequate. 

Dad didn't want to be a burden on anyone, and constantly joked about getting it all over and done with, much to mine and mums horror when we went to visit him. I never knew wether he was serious or joking and scolded him for upsetting us. he just smiled. 

The end came quickly for Pa Chester as we all called him. Mum and I had spent the evening with him the night before he passed. he was in a deep sleep , so we sat holding his hands, letting him know we were there with him. We left him around 11pm and he was sleeping peacefully.

The next morning he woke early and asked the nurse for breakfast. She was surprised as dad  hadn't looked to well the night before, and we had been expecting the inevitable.  Dad had his breakfast and asked the nurse for a shower. she cleared his tray and told him she would be right back. When she returned a few minutes later dad had already fallen asleep. By the time I arrived a little after 10am he had already fallen into unconsciousness.

Mum and I sat with him quietly holding his hands letting him know that it was alright to leave us and we would be fine.

Around 2 pm he finally passed away, to be reunited with his beloved granddaughter Rebecca, His Parents, his brother and sister Stan & Eva , and the many friends he lost along his journey. 

RIP Pa Chester.

Czeslaw Piotr Prokopowicz,

19/05/1925 - 31/03/2015