Tuesday, April 19, 2011

The deeper the experience of an absence of meaning - in other words, of absurdity - the more energetically meaning is sought.

Mussels, seaweed and a mountain. Little Howrah Beach, April 2011.

You can get a reasonable sense of Hobart from Little Howrah Beach. On the right, you can see Bellerive Bluff on Hobart’s eastern shore. Look closely and you will see the triumphant light towers of Bellerive Oval, home of the all-conquering Tasmanian Tigers.™

Behind that, and across the Derwent River Estuary, you can see Hobart’s western shore nestled in the foothills of what eventually rises up to Mount Wellington, which tends to dominate the vista of the city (except on cloudy days).

You can see the Sullivans Cove and Hobart’s waterfront area at centre-right of the picture, with the imposing flourishing meagre scant spattering of large buildings sitting just behind it. Shifting further left you’ll see Battery Point, Sandy Bay, Lower Sandy Bay across to Taroona on the left of the image.

At the extreme left you can just about see Long Beach – home of the ‘big Park’ – which has featured prominently on the blog, as the fancy-pants playground is surrounded by a nice bit of flat just right for tearing about on scooters.

Mussels and a mountain. Who ate all the seaweed? Little Howrah Beach, April 2011.


me said...

Best views of Hobart (along with those from Mt Wellington summit) are from Little Howrah Beach.

Nice weed.

Who Is Afraid of Alfred Hitchcock? said...

Hi! Kris...
What very beautiful photographs Of
Mussels, seaweed and a mountain at Little Howrah Beach.
Thanks, for sharing the quote too!
DeeDee ;-D

Roddy said...

Who's tourist brochure are you reading from? You amaze me with the amount of useful information in your meagre brain.

Carola said...

Wonderful photos and a great quote.

Kris said...

Me, best crabbing beach in Hobart too, don’t forget! BTW, that last comment sounds like Tommy Chong.

DeeDee, always a pleasant morning there. We stop off at the French patisserie (Jen and Hen) and the Japanese bakery (Ez and I) on the way back.

Roddy, my own.

Carola, in some places it’s almost impossible to take a bad photo.