Back in Devonport, the northern part of the island has lost some of its charm. At the end of summer (yes, March is already autumn here), lack of rain and a relentless exposure to the almost unfiltered UV-light has not only tanned the unexperienced visitors but also the country. The land that was lushy green just a couple of months ago, is now yellow and brown. The gaze wanders over acres and acres of agriculture and rests hopefully on the few healthy looking potato fields, kept alive by gigantic sprinkler systems, meter-tall arms of pipes arched over the crop and supported by sets of wheels that roll slowly and live-giving over the almost fully-grown plants. Another introduced species. One starts to wonder what all the Aboriginees ate before the westerners came if it was necessary to supply all these extra plants and animals. Or maybe it wasn’t necessary at all, just lazy and arrogant. On the other hand, Devonport is still empty, still bare of people and cars, still full of houses and churches. One day it is hot and a trip to Boat Harbour Beach provides relieve for both body and soul, another turquoise blue bay, one last snorkel trip before all the unnecessary belongings change owner. Snorkels and camping equipment can be found anywhere in the world nowadays. No need to take them on that journey. One day it is cold and overcast and only a trip into the island’s centre provides escape from the clouds and autumn weather. With the Central Highlands Tassie has one last surprise up its sleeve. A landscape similar to the Cradle Mountain National Park, with low-growing dark-green highland shrubs, provides the hope to have another last Wombat cross one’s path. Alas, they only do as roadkill. Everything goes really fast now. An email arrives to remind that the country has to be vacated by this and this date. In case of non-compliance consequences are implied but not explained further. To be left to one’s imagination. Rumours of unpunished visa-extensions make the rounds but why take the risk. A flight has to be found and booked that doesn’t turn the number on the bank account negative. A small challenge since Tassie hasn’t turned out to be the worker’s paradise as expected. The number is low. Turkish Airlines provide. A surprise in itself. Starting in Melbourne. There, suddenly, it feels like Australia again. A heat wave haunts the city for a few days before the temperatures drop by twenty degrees and a dense mist reduces visibility to a few metres. Every so unexpected, they tell me, that’s Melbourne for you. On Labour-day weekend the city organizes the Moomba festival, for no apparent reason, just to have fun. In forty degrees various more or less celebrities in ridiculous customs drop ceremoniously from a five-metre-high platform into the Yaara river. The audience cheers and sweats and finds relieve in front of fans that spray water vapour onto the blazing gravel paths along the canal’s edges. That’s Melbourne for you. Just a short ride outside the city’s boundaries the famous Great Ocean Road, starts, literally indicated by a big gate that every car passes and a carpark next to it for those wanting to preserve the occasion on photo, one of millions on their phones with chances to get looked on again pretty much zero. The road shoulders endless stretches of beautiful coastline, beaches and cliffs but also renders access to inland national parks, short and long hiking paths, lakes and stunning waterfalls, probably more so in the beginning of summer than in the end. But it doesn’t keep the visitors away. Neither does the modern looking building of the Chocolaterie, offering easter-themed cocoa products and ice-cream to overheated tourist busses. A staff member walks around smilingly distributing small pieces of chocolate to the kids and adults staring fascinated through the glass-front window separating the shop from the factory. The smile spreads quickly. This last day is themed Australian foods. Not an easy assignment but the chocolate factory gives way to an easy start. A scone with jam and cream. In that order. Did that wrongly before. For lunch, Maroccan salad, one of the many introduced and assimilated cuisines in a land mostly inhabited by former immigrants. A discussion arises about native edible plants. A short internet search follows. Should it be a surprise that there are a lot growing happily and healthily in the Melbourne area unbeknownst to most of the locals? The evening brings fish and chips, in a home setting with grandparents and grandchildren, family-highlight of the week. As desert there is Lemmington cake and TimTams, fairy-bread (toast with butter and sprinkles) and Mango, and so much more. And that is Australia for you with all its strengths and weaknesses.