Our first port of call, although it’s difficult to understand why Holland America calls in here – unless it had something to do with the timing of our departure across the ditch they call the Tasman. Eden was picturesque and I’m sure the 300 Americans/English on board were delighted to be visiting a seaside Australian village, but for me alas, it was seen as an opportunity to pop into town and pick up the hat and a pair of teavers Sir Ken had forgotten to bring with him.
No problems I thought, it will give us a good excuse to get off the ship and go for a walk and perhaps not feel guilty for the two servings of lobster we were bound to order this evening….. great idea until we docked in the harbour of Eden, picturesque yes, some may even say idyllic sea escape, but the flat isthmus where the tenders docked was a mile all downhill from the township….. if I had to walk up this hill Sir Ken would be taking any hat and any pair of sandals I could find!
The walk to town was very pleasant despite the incline that had a foothpath that resembled Lombard street in SanFrancisco…. It had to switch back every few metres due to the steepness of the slope….. slowly making my way to the top I realized some mystical force was punishing me for making Sir Ken pack his own suitcase….. that will teach me. Fortunately right at the dock the business folk of Eden had stalls selling all kinds of Australiana including acruba hats and wallah – item one was crossed off the list first up, unfortunately they didn’t sell sandals, so the hill climb still beckoned….. our journey was pleasant and unhurried, until, when on the way back I looked at my watch and thought my goodness – we had better a wriggle on, Sir Ken expressed concern at my sudden change of pace, ‘is everything all right dear?” he queried, of course I replied – “you have your hat and shoes” and I’ve just realized there’s less than an hour before happy hour – and I can’t possibly miss those marguerites’ ….thank goodness it’s all down hill from here…
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