Tasmania caught me by surprise.

It was not on my radar at all for this trip. In talking with an Aussie friend before departure, she strongly suggested I add “Tas” to the itinerary. The good thing is that although the recommendation came only days before I left, I had not yet booked my internal flights. Soon the tickets were secured, days reshuffled, and Tasmania quietly inserted itself into the Oceania quest.

I am glad it did.

Oceania quest?

I am on a personal quest to travel to all seven continents. With Australia and New Zealand now under my belt, only one continent remains: Antarctica. It also means I’ve had the privilege of living in or having spent significant time in 54 countries.

This Australian journey took me through Melbourne, Tasmania, and Sydney.

This post is about Tasmania

I already shared separately about Bruny Island because it deserved a post of its own. What follows is the rest of my Tasmanian experience.

Tasmania is south of mainland Australia, separated by the Bass Strait. It is Australia’s island state — rugged, windswept, and lush. Compared to the bustle of Sydney and Melbourne, Tasmania felt almost intimate.

And this is how it started.

Hobart & Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra

I arrived late evening in Hobart, the capital city, at the Hotel Grand Chancellor Hobart. As I checked in, a pianist was playing lovely instrumental music in the lobby and everyone seemed unusually dressed up. I noticed it but thought little of it beyond wanting to hear more of the music.

I quickly freshened up and returned downstairs finding a seat at the end of the bar. I settled onto a stool, opened the Notes app on my trusty iPhone, and started writing.

A few minutes later:

“Excuse me,” a gentleman said. “Are you waiting for someone?”

I looked up from my phone. Smiled. 

“No, I’m not.”

“Are you going to the concert?”

“What concert? I don’t know, I only just arrived.”

“There’s a classical concert upstairs at the Federation Concert Hall.”

Sidebar

At this point the puzzle pieces finally started connecting.

I had booked the hotel simply because Google said it was conveniently located for the things I wanted to see in Hobart. I had absolutely no idea it was attached to the Federation Concert Hall, home of the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra.

Suddenly the pianist made sense. The elegantly dressed guests made sense. The crowded lobby made sense.

Back to the conversation.

“Would you like to attend?” he asked casually. “It’s just upstairs.”

Sidebar again

Now, one thing about solo travel: I always leave room for the unexpected. I usually lock in a few must-do experiences, then deliberately leave space for whatever surprises the trip decides to hand me. I’ve come to know that some  of the best moments in travel cannot be planned.

Back to the conversation.

“Sure,” I replied. “I love classical music. Where can I get a ticket?”

“Please allow me,” he said. “Let me see if I can get the seat beside me. Or any seat.”

Sidebar once again

I remember blinking in surprise and bringing my clasped hands up toward  my mouth, as I often do when I’m  filled with gratitude. 

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

I have learned not to interrogate every unexpected kindness life offers. I gauge the  situations, always. Sometimes you simply receive the moment.

Off he went while I returned to my writing. He returned, sure enough pulling a ticket from his breast pocket to A Midsummer Night’s Dream. And yes — the seat beside him was available.

The concert was fabulous. The company was equally enjoyable.

And just like that, Tasmania opened itself to me through music, conversation, unexpected generosity and best of all—a new friend. 

The kindness only continued from there. I found Tasmanians — or “Tassies,” as I kept hearing — warm, courteous, and deeply proud of their island. They also pack a remarkable amount into their tourism experience for such a relatively small place.

Salamanca

Salamanca Place quickly became one of my favourite areas in Hobart. Sandstone warehouses lining the street. Cafés spill onto sidewalks. Fish an’ chips and ice cream joints along the dock. Sailboats in the harbor. Art galleries sit tucked between restaurants and bookstores. And a grand market that takes place every weekend. There was a vendor for just about every thing—from wooden neckties, to clothing, trinkets, books, food. You name it, they had it. I was traveling with a backpack so having no extra space was the only reason I couldn’t shop. 

Botanical Gardens

The Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens were another highlight. The grounds themselves are beautiful, but what stayed with me most was the Japanese garden.

There was a stillness there that was surreal and felt sacred. The curved bridges. The koi moving lazily through the water. The deliberate placement of stone and plant life. Everything invited pause. 

Travel can sometimes become consumption — ticking off landmarks, rushing toward the next thing. The Japanese garden interrupted that instinct. It asked me simply to sit for a while. So I did.

MONA

Then there was Museum of Old and New Art — MONA, owned by David Walsh who often speaks of if it as his “peacock feathers.”

MONA is not the kind of museum you passively stroll through nodding politely at paintings. It invites you to pause with seatings arranged over plush carpets and sheepskin amongst the exhibits. It also provokes. Disturbs. Confuses. Amuses. Sometimes all at once.

Built partly underground and carved into sandstone along the River Derwent, the museum itself already feels unconventional before you even encounter the exhibits. 

After the short ferry ride you walk up 99 stairs from the jetty, or through a tunnel, to enter. Once inside, the App is activated and every piece is described on it for you to read or listen to. You only need get close enough to a piece and it loads on the App. Really cool! 

Some installations made me laugh outright. Others made me uncomfortable. A few left me standing there wondering, “What exactly am I looking at?” And, “Why is this in a museum.?” And at others I sit or stand for a while in amazement. Others were the muse to unleash my creativity.

And perhaps that is the point.

MONA does not ask visitors merely to observe art. It asks you to react to it. 

To this point, the poem inspired by a piece of art in MONA got me the nomination of poet of the week on a WordPress blog site. 

There’s so much more to share about  MONA but I’ll limit it to this final experience—the restaurant, Les Dîners de Faro. 

I knew the restaurant existed but because I’m hopelesss at directions I only kind-o’-sort-o planned on finding it. I found myself walking down a white passage way backlit with subtle green lighting. I figured it was an exhibit of some weird sort but it was more. That was the runway to the restaurant with art in its decor, food offerings and entertainment including a dancer meandering between tables balancing a light fixture on her head. You just can’t make this stuff up. 

I went for the dessert because who wouldn’t want to eat: “Pearl Of the Unconscious Mind”.

Not to be outdone by the art in the museum,  the dessert was surrealist art in its own right.

It was a mascarpone and morello cherry pearl, draped by blackberry caviar, chocolate cream, toasted almonds, and red velvet cake served in a decorative shell.

The server took his time in explaining its contents. It played with the senses with different textures and tastes. It was decadent. 

What I appreciated most about MONA was: even when I did not fully “get” every exhibit, the experience remained memorable because it encouraged engagement, even touching, rather than passive viewing.

For places I couldn’t spend time exploring I learned a little from a distance on the hop-on-hop-off bus. 

I left Tasmania deeply satisfied — grateful that an almost last-minute decision became one of the richest parts of this journey.

Some places impress you with spectacle—neon lights, high rises, massive theatres. Tasmania did something gentler. It welcomed me, steadily unfolding its beauty through music, landscapes, gardens, conversations, and unexpected kindness.

Not bad for a destination that almost never made the itinerary, uh?!

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In creative solidarity, Dee