The hike down to Wineglass Bay was stunning: hundreds of brick steps curving down the mountainside through dense bush. A fire must have swept through this section, because even in color everything looked charred. I took this same picture and didn't mess with the coloration at all and they look almost identical.









Evidently I'm feeling very grayscale today. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm currently freezing: I'm wearing three pairs of socks (including a pair of thick fleece), two shirts, a sweatshirt with the hood up, a scarf, and gloves. And my curtain is closed and I'm drinking a steaming cup of peach green tea and doing toe exercises to keep them from snapping off with frostbite. I should also probably mention that it's really not that cold outside. You know you've been gone from home for WAY too long when 50 degrees becomes your new 25. This picture was taken at Fish Lips, our hostel in Taranna. While I think the overall group consensus was that it wasn't the greatest accomodation, I thought it was fabulous. There were three of us in our cozy little room, and we had to keep warm throughout the frigid night with a sheet, one blanket, and a heater that only stayed on for about 50 seconds each time you pressed the button. Being on the bottom bunk and the closest to it, I was the designated heater-hitter. That's right. I took one for the team...again and again and again.

All my attempts to make this place look creepy fail miserably because the thing about Port Arthur--a penal settlement created in 1830 and built by convict labor--is that it is absolutely gorgeous. Even when you drain the color from sky. It was so strange to think of this place existing as anything but a beautiful hillside with gutted, crumbling buildings sitting on the edge of a harbor. It's just impossible to reconcile a murderous, mutinous past with a daylight so blinding that you feel like you could wake up in the same place every morning and see a different world, be a different person every time you open your eyes.








We spent a lot of time in this bus. A lot. At least three hours every day. It got pretty cozy. We laughed, we cried, we belted the lyrics to "Bohemian Rhapsody." Actually, no--"Bohemian Rhapsody" was on the rafting trip. In the bus it was that damn Taylor Swift song "Love Story" that they played approximately 32 times on the radio and that has managed to replace all things Lucinda Williams as the bane of my musical existence. Other than the music, though, I loved our bus rides. They were warm and soothing and I spent most of them with my camera poised toward the window.






It occurred to me in the midst of my West Wing/House/Homework Procrastination marathon that I haven't uploaded anything recently. This video is part of my feeble attempt to keep you all informed. When we were in Tasmania, Laura and Cari and I filmed a series of "IES Newscasts" live from whatever location to which the day (and the bus) took us. This was our final video, shot after several hours in the Hobart Airport waiting for our delayed flight. We all agree that this is the best of the batch, although the lethargy is much more hilarious when compared to the vivacity of the other videos. Oh well. It's still golden.

HENRIETTA! Mama, she came! This was at Fish Lips, our hostel in Taranna near Port Arthur and the Tassie Devil Park. This also happens to be the location of The Great IES Poland/Finland Mixup of 2009.














Sorell Fruit Farm was only a tiny consolation for me missing this year's Apple Squeeze, but it was still fun. Most of the apples had been completely gutted by the birds, and even though there was netting over a large portion of the trees, they didn't seem to prevent anything. The apples were tasty, though, and definitely the perfect addition to our brown bag lunch in the middle of rafting.











This was at the start of our harbor cruise around Port Arthur, on our way to the Isle of the Dead. It was incredible to arrive at the port in daylight and see that, contrary to the eerie presence that you can almost taste in the air at night, it's actually gorgeous. It reminded me of Scotland or Ireland, though I've never been to either. It was so green--definitely not a color I've seen a lot of since I've been in the country. (From left to right: Kate, Cari, Laura).




We were on the bus back to Hobart from the winery when I looked out the window and saw this. I had to do a double-take because I'd never seen clouds like this before, but this is exactly what I saw.









Meadowbank Winery was gorgeous, and even though we didn't get to spend much time exploring the vineyard, we played a rousing game of Birdie on a Perch on the grassy knoll for a good hour. Hands down the greatest game ever invented.








For a capital city, Hobart was fairly tiny and navigable, with all roads leading downhill to the harbor. We hardly got lost because of it.

We decided that we wanted to see the Mornington Peninsula, so we went to Frankston--the only peninsula town accessible by public transportation. The problem with that, though, is that aside from this bridge and a sand sculpture contest that you had to pay to see, there was absolutely nothing to do. We literally spent 3 hours wandering around looking for a fish & chips place that wouldn't give us salmonella.




This friend was insane. S/he (did you see what I did just then? Yeah feminism!) spent approximately seven minutes wildly flapping his/her wings, rocking back and forth, convulsing, just being all-around psychotic. It was highly entertaining.













I like to imagine that this newspaper is from the late 1800s and has been sitting, relatively unravaged by time, on this tiled porch for over a century while the wall around it crumbles. It's probably from last week and is soaked in dog urine, but I can dream.












This was down an alleyway near Lygon Street, the Italian district of Melbourne. Through this door is a tiny herb garden (I may or may not have stalked it multiple times...over the course of two days) and I think this is the greatest sign ever. Mama, can we make a clay replica of it and hang it out the kitchen window?












These are just some random people that call me sometimes. Or sometimes I call them. And we talk, although not really about anything in particular. Mainly the weather. And sometimes they hold my cat up to the camera and she hisses and squirms and punctures their arms with her eagle-like talons of death.