A walk about Hobart town.

The Martin clan made the most of a glorious Hobart morning, putting on their walking shoes and making their way to the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery (TMAG). Along the way, we passed an extensive number of sandstone and convict-era buildings. I embarrassed the older kiddies (and confused locals) by taking photos of said buildings at every given opportunity.

Random photogenic building.

Post Office

TMAG housed an intriguing combination of museum pieces, art exhibits, and aloof gallery staff. There was an extensive Antarctic display, as well as a range of early Australian artists - the kids being careful not to cross the white taped line on the floor, lest they incur the wrath of the socially-challenged attendants. These guys took thinly-veiled condescension to new heights, practically sneering at visitors. Consequently, we may have let the kids run around just that little bit more, and may have let them up the ante in terms of decibels... it is hard to say (I certainly can't confirm Joshie slapping the canvas of a Streeton).

The Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery (TMAG)

TMAG Entrance

Theatre Party - Charles Blackman

Central Gallery

We wandered over to Victoria Dock, where we had the obligatory fish and chips from Mures restaurant. With the sun on our backs, and our bellies full - it was a lovely way to spend lunchtime. Some deceptively well-behaved seagulls transformed into squawking denizens of darkness as soon as we left our table. Kicking over bowls and garnishes alike - they promptly devoured any battered morsels remaining on our plates. Backing away, we turned and noticed some fairly broody clouds engulfing Mount Wellington and heading our way.

Ye Olde IXL Factory

The Martin kiddies - feeling the eyes
of a thousand seagulls upon them.

Mures - Lower Deck

We made a bee-line for Battery Point, home of countless Georgian Period cottages as well as the odd latte-sipping pseudo-intellectual (the tweed jacket and beret gave them away). In the midst of all of this quaintness, was the almost unbearably sweet Arthur Circus. Essentially an oversized roundabout-come village green, it was surrounded by more stone cottages and manicured gardens. There were also some swings, which the Martin kiddies promptly took to with relish. 

Battery Point suburbia.

Arthur Circus

The sky continued to darken, and we beat a hasty retreat to Melville Street - fully anticipating a drenching before we made it back - but were somehow spared. The newsreader this evening almost gushed about the unseasonably mild temperatures (a scorching 20 degrees) - akin to something you'd see on the mainland.

Tomorrow sees us depart our lovely piece of Hobart town, and I for one will miss the place. It is likely one of the most picturesque cities I've ever visited (every second building a Georgian work of art, sweeping harbour views and rolling hills), while retaining a friendly, welcoming feel you tend to only get in country towns. Aside from the sour TMAG-ians, and the fact they call their Jatz 'Savoy' (seriously, who does that?), I'd happily move here tomorrow.