Back to Penguin

Meg told me (once she stopped laughing at my lengthy detour) that the fastest way back North is via the Midland Highway. She gives me clear directions which I'm sure I'll forget, so I pop the address into GPS - also unreliable given that last time it took me an hour extra via the tourist route. After thirty minutes of driving even I know I'm headed the wrong way, so I retrace my steps back to Meg's street. From there, I do actually follow her directions and find myself, an hour late, driving the right way again. How I yearn for an internal compass; a sense of direction is something I've never come close to possessing.

The first pangs of hunger strike just before Oatlands; historical milling town. A quick Google search tells me that there's a pancake cafe with plenty of vegan options. It's Tuesday afternoon, definitely opening hours. Except when I make it to the end of the main street, they're closed. The only other cafe look at me like I'm an alien speaking a foreign language, and the bakery assistant looks down her nose at me as she explains that there's egg or cheese in practically everything. A quick detour to see the mill and then back on the road with a grumbling stomach.

In Campbell Town I pull up in front of a local woodwork and craft store. There's a cafe attached and they have a lentil and vegetable casserole. The service is pleasant and the chef comes out to tell me she's made it especially so they have a vegan menu option. She throws it together with leftover veg so there's no waste - but plenty of flavour. It's pretty significant given that the local population is only just over 700, and Tasmania is mostly known for its animal-based produce.

I'm happily minding my own business when an older woman walks up to the table and tells me I'm not to take the water flask home - she likes it too much! I've got a mouthful of casserole and am otherwise too confused to know how to respond. A few minutes later she returns with a lollipop, apologising for her crankiness and reasserting her right to take the jug. I assure her I only want to drink its contents and she seems satisfied. The chef smiles, "Don't pay any attention to Deirdre. I don't - and she certainly never listens to me!"

In Penguin the weather is far more pleasant than when I'd left last week. Karina welcomes me with homemade pizza and a big smile. We go for a walk and hear Ben, still at the local pub; the place where you leave your money on the counter and the bartender fills up your beer and replaces the change until you pack up and leave. It's great having friends who know all the sights. I now have a list of places to visit and begin to plan out the next few days.

Josh is in town by coincidence, another muso friend from Wollongong. We meet up in the morning and he drives us to Gunns

Plains Caves. The limestone caves are chilly and I'm somewhat unprepared. Clad in my own thin layers and swimming in Josh's oversized knit jumper, we negotiate the low ceilings and reassure the whinging woman from Queensland that she's safe to walk ahead. She hasn't stopped talking since she arrived and doesn't sound like she's going to draw breath anytime soon.

Geoff, our tour guide, knows the caves inside out. He cracks the same jokes he's likely been making for the last fifteen years since he began here, but his knowledge is impressive. Not quite as impressive as the caves themselves though. Discovered in the late 1800s by a man hunting a possum, the electric lighting and built-in paths make it far easier now than it would have been for an explorer with a single candle and some rope tied around his middle.

I don't know how to explain the feeling of standing among rock and dripstones that are thousands of years old. The stalactites and stalagmites take hundreds of years to form and even longer to meet in the middle. There are shawls hanging from the ceiling and formations which look like cakes, cathedrals and even a lion. Josh dobs me in as a singer and the pressure is on in the cave with the best acoustics. I've heard them talking about Queen outside, so after a while I sing a few lines of Bohemian Rhapsody. I'm so glad it's dark enough that they can't see me blushing. Josh gets his comeuppance later, forced to sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" before the lights go out and glowworms shine like neon lights all over the darkened cave.

Back in the warm sun, we decide there's enough time to visit Preston Falls before heading back. It's generously marked as a 15 min return route and within about two minutes we're already at the lookout. I think we've been expecting something... more. The falls are tall but

not particularly abundant. A pretty detour and something to tick off the list. Back we go. Josh buys a loaf of sourdough, some hummus, salsa and vegetables and we make sandwiches at a picnic table while the wind blows our spread everywhere. I'm eating more of my own hair than my lunch and it's a relief to be finished so we can escape the gale.

Not long till Josh has to leave for the boat, but enough time to hide in a sheltered area of the park and play guitar. I've got a lot to learn and Josh is patient in teaching me. I suspect he thinks I know more than I do; there's a lot of nodding and blank looks while I digest this new information. Then he's off towards Devonport and I'm walking back to Karina's for nachos, ready for tomorrow's adventures.