Tasmania: Freycinet National Park
It’s Christmas Eve in Swansea and we are cold, exhausted and hungry after a long day. Trudging into the only restaurant that was open that evening, we felt like a bunch of outlaws walking into a saloon in the wild West, only to be greeted by a dozen pair of eyes and silence so thick it muffled the sound issuing from my throat.
“Umm, do you have dinner?” I squeaked.
“We’re closed,” replied the blond waitress curtly.
Damn.
When I planned several nights in Swansea, a small, idyllic town perched on the Great Oyster Bay, I wasn’t thinking about how delightful the prospect of being the only Asian in an all-white neighborhood would be, or how spoilt I would be by the cornucopia of cuisines served up by its handful of fish and chip shops.
The only thing I was thinking about was the Belmont Homestead, a breathtakingly beautiful property in the outskirts of town.
We knew the place was special the moment we shuffled through its trellis archway dripping with ivy and roses. The owner, Linda, came outside to greet us, and trailing closely behind was her dog. It was by no means the only friendly creature on the property — the kids were delighted to discover that the flowering garden is also home to a number of goats, chickens, alpacas and cat. They picked wild grapefruit from the trees for breakfast and fed the hens their own eggs.
And yet a farm it was not.
The 19th century cottage gives a new meaning to granny chic, with its endless pale wood, antiques and chandeliers. The living room and fireplace is made for hunkering down on cool evenings — when we’re not busy marveling at the farm’s cannibalistic chickens, of course.
Unfortunately, the kitchen was where we spent most of our time, preparing a fretfully last-minute Christmas dinner that was meant to have been enjoyed outside. We made the most of our scant ingredients and finally plopped down for dinner after 9pm, in a scene that would tug at ol’ Ebenezer Scrooge’s heartstrings.
Our trip began promisingly enough though.
We awoke bright and early to head to Freycinet, one of Tasmania’s most-photographed national parks. It was, evidently, not early enough, judging by the amount of Asian tourists already thronging the Freycinet Marine Farm, a self-service seafood shack close to the park entrance.
Unwittingly, we have entered into what Seinfeld would describe as the ‘Caligula food orgy of human consumption’ — with abalone being the hot-ticket item — except that this wasn’t a buffet and prices weren’t as cheap as one would expect.
After waiting around with buzzing flies for company, we made our way through several dozen mussels and scallops. The boys, however, were more interested in picking tiny, dead pea crabs off the (equally dead) mussels and they soon amassed a collection of pea crabs to impress any pea crab connoisseur.
Freycinet was even more touristy, with signs welcoming Asian visitors in different languages. There are several well-trodden trails within the park, and they were enjoyable even with two kids and in my more-snug-than-usual pants.
The Cape Tourville Walk is a short but rewarding stroll to the park’s little lighthouse and offers lovely views of the coast and the occasional migrating whale along the way. We did not see any whales, but the kids quickly got over their disappointment after ignoring my advice about rabies and becoming pals with a friendly wallaby at the carpark.
The highlight of most people’s visit, however, is the Wineglass Bay Lookout Walk. After huffing and puffing over knotted stumps and granite rocks to the summit, we saw it, this perfect crescent of sand and sea unfurling below us. Secluded and picturesque, Wineglass Bay is only accessible by foot and is probably a great option if you’re just two adults longing for some privacy (and perhaps to be able to get it on in the wild).
In other words, not for us.
We went to Friendly Beaches instead, mainly because we liked its amiable name and it didn’t require a 3 hour trek. The sand was unbelievably white and powdery and, while it was tempting to spend hours rolling around in it, the bitter wind soon drove us back into our car.
Since it didn’t make any sense if one left the Great Oyster Bay without eating any oysters, we dropped by Melshell’s Oyster Shack, a cute turquoise-hued stand dishing out these juicy mollusks with a variety of hot sauces. While the kids busied themselves in the quirky playground littered with oyster carcasses, the adults — or rather, I — stuffed ourselves silly.
Mel, the enterprising owner, seemed to developed a special fondness for the husband because his shirt had inadvertently matched the pastel-colored flamingo theme that is all the rage here and he looks like one of her employees.
We also went to Kate’s Berry Farm, which is more of a dessert cafe than a farm. Most of Kate’s organic berries are actually grown up north where there is more rain, but her fruits of labour — pun intended — are available for sampling in her shop. There are jams, ice creams, scones and crepes made from all sorts of berries (including ones you’ve never heard of, like mingleberry and boysenberry) so one can never keep within their daily calorie intake even if they tried.
We were glad we had sampled all the delights Swansea had to offer on the days leading up to Christmas, because the place transforms into a ghost town come Christmas Day. We were hoping to shop for our Christmas dinner — our supplies had run out the night before — but not a single restaurant or grocery store was open. And Lord forbid if you slipped on some Christmas wrapper and suffered a concussion because the clinic was closed too.
Except for a poor Chinese tourist who was walking around like a lost puppy and peering into darkened shopfronts because he had presumably no food as well, the street was devoid of souls.
It took us awhile to swallow our pride and knock on Linda’s door to request for a bag of pasta like a bunch of traveling gypsies. Her mother looked at us like we were asking for a ménage à trois, but she handed us a bag of pasta anyway.
And standing there and clutching that precious bag of pasta and each other, we’ve never felt more thankful on Christmas.
STAY
Freycinet Lodge One of the few hotels nestled within the national park, the lodge is pricy but a good choice if you’re looking for swish rooms in a secluded setting. There are also two onsite restaurants — one of which has great views — so one doesn’t need to venture far for food. $$$$
Belmont Homestead Whether you are staying in the historic cottage or the quirky gypsy van, you’ll be enchanted by the wonderfully furnished rooms and beautifully landscaped grounds on this 14.5 acre property. Lots of animals and plenty of room for the kids to run around make this place an absolute delight for families. $$
TIPS
- Freycinet is a big highlight for many visitors, but there are pros and cons to staying inside the national park. While staying inside the park gives you immediate access to the wilderness, hotels and restaurants are few, and prices are higher.
- As with all national parks in Tasmania, an entrance ticket is required. You can buy these — and get a map of the walking trails — in the Visitor Centre. If you’re visiting two or more national parks in Tasmania, it is best to buy a ‘Holiday Pass’ for one person or one vehicle (up to 8 people), so you are able to go national park-hopping on the island for up to two months.
- There are plenty of walks ranging in length and difficulty within the park. The easiest one is Cape Tourville takes about 20 minutes and is easy with young children. The Wineglass Bay lookout walk is the most popular walk, but goes uphill and may be more challenging for the very young or very old. Or kids, who are 4 and 6, had no problems with it though!
- If you do decide to stay outside, the seaside towns of Swansea and Bicheno are great bases because of their proximity to the national park. The East Coast Natureworld in Bicheno gives visitors a chance to view Tasmanian devils up close, while Swansea has yummy desserts and more oysters than you can handle!
- There are several great beaches for swimming in the vicinity, but Tasmania’s whimsical weather means that it’s usually pretty cold even in summer.
