We woke up freezing in our cabin on the Tasman Penninsula. We were in a bunkhouse on a campsite, but as it's the off-season we were the only occupants. Sarah and I huddled together for warmth on the bottom bunk of one of the three triple-deckers in the room. Having failed to figure out the heater, we had had to pile all of the other bedding onto our one bed in order to survive the night.

Checking out of the campsite I asked the receptionist if there was anywhere good for breakfast nearby:
'Hmm.. well there's a bakery in Dullersbury (5km away) that might be open (on a Wednesday at 10am, you would hope so), or you could drive to Hobart (the capital, 1.5 hours away), or there's Mackers (MacDonalds) in Sorell (1 hour away)'. I am beginning to understand Tasmania's reputation as being somewhat more 'provincial' than the mainland.

We lucked out with the bakery, so come 1030 we were both full of pastry and coffee, speeding north up the A9 with the car stereo belting out some quality local radio.

Tasmania reminds me of New Zealand – lots of stunning scenery, and very few people. We drove all morning on empty roads through rolling fields and forested hills before arriving at Triabunna by the sea. From there we continued north up the coast, winding around the headlands. Great fun to drive. I snatched sideways glances of the amazing sea views whenever I could safely do so.

Nearing Swansea (!) and a lunchstop, Freycinet Peninsula reared up across the water to the east, enclosing Great Oyster Bay. This was our destination for the afternoon: Freycinet National Park is the home of the stunning Wineglass Bay, apparently one of the 'Top 10 Beaches in the World'. (according to whom, they didn't say). To reach the bay we hiked up through temperate rainforest to the mountainous peaks of 'The Hazards' – four pink granite summits that guard the entrance to the peninsula. From these heady heights we were afforded a fantastic view of Wineglass Bay: As the afternoon sun threw the forest around it into shadow, the beach still gleamed white, and the sea a sapphire blue. We climbed down to walk on the beach and stood listening to the booming surf until it got cold and dark enough to make our hike back a little interesting.

As the final fragments of sunlight left the sky, we drove the up to the town of St Helen's in the North East of Tasmania. On the way we very nearly annihilated a wallaby which had decided to take a breather in the middle of the highway. Blinded by the full-beams, he sat there for a good couple of seconds before hopping off into the undergrowth. It was quite a shock to see a living animal on the road, having observed such a massive amount of roadkill over the previous two days of driving.

St Helen's had a strangely American feel to it when we arrived: A one road town with a supermarket, off-license ('bottle store'), petrol station and a couple of diners; every other car a 4x4. We had booked into a 'Unit' for the night, which turned out to be a self-contained bungalow on the outskirts of town. Over-excited at being able to play house, we decided to eat-in and cooked ourselves a lovely dinner before settling down on the sofa to enjoy '20 best break-up songs' and other fantastic programming with a bottle of wine. It's amazing the things you miss when you're travelling – lazy evenings in front of crap TV are definitely one of them.