It's been a strange few months past, the passing of our Mum and the travel linked to that, eventually leading us to Tasmania in a hope to escape the madness for five minutes peace.
On arriving it felt somewhat familiar, almost like coming home, but having never visited before this feeling then became odd.

The cobbled streets and the relaxed pace all added to the mood, finding a world of incredible art and meeting wonderful artists breathed new life into us, with a blue sky day, we made our way to Port Arthur.

From the moment we entered the park it hit me, that heavy feeling I have experienced before, that feeling of having walked these paths before, it surrounded me like fog.
As beautiful as this place was, the feeling of desperation hangs in the air, the horror of being sent here as a prisoner, if you even survived the journey was haunting, maybe this is what I was feeling, some residue from the past or maybe it was something more.

We intend to return to Tasmania, but this time we will seek out natural beauty, the kind only place like Cradle Mountain can provide, like many before us and many yet to come.