TRAVEL DIARY

A weblog regularly updated by Jodi Rose.

Monday, May 3, 2004

12:04 PM
Posted by jodi rose

icaf, qadrant mall, launceston
wandered into this cosy (ie tiny) internet cafe on my way to buy postcards of batman bridge, attracted by the coffee sacks from ecuador and brasil, and promise of plougmans lunch. Had possibly the best toasted sandwich I have every eaten - homebaked bread, subtle yet spicy relish, and homegrown tomatoes, so delicious and tasty, took me straight back to Tovey's insane farm in upstate new york. All those heirloom tomatoes, pineapple, plum, zebra - bright yellow, deep magenta, orange/red or yellow/green stripes respectively, helping out at pakatakan farmers market, or running the street stall of earth covered crates on Avenue B, lower east side while tovey delivered veggies to some of the best restaurants in new york.
Hope lunch on the cruise I'm taking tomorrow, which goes under Batman Bridge is half as good. Scored a ride out to the bridge today, with Lisa, who is working at the backpackers and has been here 4 weeks. I was in the office for a long leisurely transaction about calling the people who run another tour - to wineries, the strawberry farm and the bridge - to see if they could leave me there, or stop for longer. That old magic of serendipity working again.
Hardly seem to need Eric's services, or maybe just caling him into being conceptually was enough to reactivate my latent capabilities for finding exactly the right place and person.
Wandered into the Village Cinema yesterday at 5.05pm, just as Nick was on his way out. Hi, how you going - he was astounded, what are you doing here? I came to see you, wanna have a drink? It was very cool, we drove a little way out of town, then came back to find the only pub that was a. no irish or english themed and b. open. Great to have news from Melbourne, and stories of Nick's trip to the inaugural Vladivostock Film Festival. It sounded wild, run by the state government, the australian delegation had a police escort everywhere they went, hung out on mafia yachts and drank lots and lots of vodka.
reading article on alain de botton, whether he was bastardising philosophy by retelling it simply (the writer thought not, who has time to go and read all the old masters...). Botton mentioned that he liked Montaigne as a writer, he'll tell you what he ate for lunch, and that he's reading Plato on xyz.
The backpackers came alive yesterday evening, groups of germans cooking soup, 5 young japanese travellers finely slicing onion to go with the most enormous plate of mincemeat, noodlesoup boy all fresh and clean, and eating more noodles.
Must go off now, in search of bridge stories.