Moving to Tasmania

This is a guest post written by Mike Smith, who is the owner and operator of Espresso Allegro, a mobile coffee van which services businesses and special events in southern Tasmania.

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Comment 1:
Isn’t it a bit cold down there?’

Comment 2:
‘Tasmania? Why Tasmania?’

If I could have a bottle of red for every time I’ve heard those comments, I’d have several cases of Tasmanian pinot by now. Except that the wine here is so good I would already have drunk the lot.

I guess the probable reason you’re reading this blog is because you’re thinking of moving to Tasmania. Right? Well, perhaps it’s not my place to try to persuade you to uproot from your current home, achieve an acceptable pulse rate (makes doctor happy, anyway), and re-engage with a way of living that doesn’t require you to ‘buy a lifestyle’. But what I can do is to tell you about our experience when we made the choice to come and live in Tasmania, just a few short months ago.   

After living in Sydney for almost 20 years (originally from the U.K.), the first time I visited Tasmania was in late 2010, when I attended a community radio conference at Wrest Point. Arriving on the early morning flight from Sydney, I could almost taste the cool freshness of the Spring Tasmanian air. Driving from the airport in the glittering morning sunshine, we approached the city from the freeway, and almost out of nowhere Mt. Wellington suddenly hove into view. It was so close I could almost touch it. The arching back of the Tasman bridge stretched its way across to the far shore like an urban boomerang. As if by magic, the city presented itself, nestling cosily between the estuary and the vast, dark mountain. This was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen.

This city is absolutely stunning. I phoned my wife.

‘I’m in love’ I said to her. I could hear her knowing smile.

‘And what’s her name this time?’ she sighed.

‘She’s called Hobart’ I replied.

She flew down from Sydney and joined me for a week’s holiday. Three months later we were back, this time visiting the north. Quite by chance one afternoon we found a beautiful beach on the north-east corner. We looked south: pure white sand, dunes, and no people. We looked north: pure white sand, dunes, and no people. The sun was hot and the sea turquoise. ‘If this is not Paradise, I wonder where is?’ we asked ourselves. ‘And why aren’t we living here?’

We’d worked hard all our lives, trying to stay one step ahead of fear. The circles weren’t always vicious, more like wearisome. We felt cornered: cornered by our own expectations, cornered by the perceptions of others, and cornered by the sheer volume of Sydney traffic, which is a very real, physical barrier to any sense of freedom.

So the scene was set. Well, almost. How could we make a living in a new location (not easy when you’re in your mid-50s)? We trawled the internet for information, opinions, anything that might indicate to us where we might like to live. The trouble was that we didn’t even know exactly what we wanted, we just knew something had to change and that Tasmania might be able to provide the answer. We eventually chose to go for acreage over suburbia, but we still had no idea how we were going to support ourselves. The answer, when it came, was a complete surprise to us, and neither of us can quite remember how it came about. The seed of an idea to run a mobile coffee van as our own business began to germinate. We were mindful of the risks of making too many major changes at once: starting our own business, changing our entire way of living, and doing all this in a new home, in far-off Tasmania.

The Espresso Allegro mobile coffee van. Photo: Mike Smith.

No more offices, no more bosses, no more fear. In many ways, our business feels like it is the child we never had, every day we plan how we’re going to present it to the world, asking ourselves what are our values, our customer service standards, how we can get major event work, how we can be the best and most respected mobile cafe in Hobart?

But enough of the navel-gazing. Can Tasmania offer a true and fulfilling life after living in the big smoke? How do we balance the peace, the sense of community and the gentle progression of our own lives, with the realisation that we’re no longer living in a place that really matters that much on the world stage? It’s not exciting like London, New York, Paris, or even Sydney. Hobart is more like a cosy armchair. It’s like visiting a favourite aunt, but you really like her, so it’s OK. 

It is in human nature to strive for personal significance. We find it here, not in high fashion, nor in the trinkets of wealth, but in warm and welcoming smiles. It’s only when we decided to release ourselves from the delusions of a high-speed life and accept that our humanity is more important, that we could feel ready to accept Tasmania as our new home, our new way of life.

Does that answer your questions?

Is it cold here?

During February we have experienced Hobart to be the hottest Australian city (hotter even than Darwin) one day, and the coldest Australian city the next. The Summers here are glorious and the days are long, and the only thing missing from the more northerly latitudes is that oppressive, burning heat in the height of Summer. I have a theory about feeling cold: in Sydney it doesn’t really get cold enough to justify central heating, so when you come indoors in Winter you’re still a bit cold, your hands are cold, it’s all just a bit uncomfortable. But when the climate is colder, most houses are heated and better insulated, so what you get is a sense of cosiness indoors, rather than a general low-grade discomfort.

Mount Wellington looks after and unites the people of Hobart. When the sun shines Mount Wellington stands dominant, like a benevolent King surveying its loyal subjects. Such is His eminence, when the clouds descend and darken, the atmosphere becomes menacing and dramatic, the tension in the air becomes palpable. There is nothing boring about Hobart’s weather. 

Why Tasmania?

Every day I drive across the Bowen Bridge on the East Derwent Highway, and every day I stop whatever thoughts I am having at that moment, wherever life seems to be taking me, and simply give thanks for having found Paradise. 

Our slice of Paradise. Photo: Mike Smith.

This is a guest post written by Mike Smith, who is the owner and operator of Espresso Allegro, a mobile coffee van which services businesses and special events in southern Tasmania.

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