Opinion: Tasmanians could teach Queenslanders about manners

Queenslanders are a bunch of uncouth oaths, Des Houghton concludes after sampling Tasmanian hospitality. VOTE IN OUR POLL

I have come to the regrettable conclusion that Queenslanders are a tribe of uncouth oafs.

That is the feeling I got during a glorious 12-day sojourn in Tasmania where everyone seemed to be unfailingly friendly and genuinely welcoming.

How different it was to Queensland where, in recent years, I have noticed a decline in civility, especially in the restaurant and hospitality sector.

Compared to Tasmania, service in Queensland seems uncaring and unfriendly. Perhaps we have had it too good for too long.

I’m tired of staff in Queensland who interrupt conversations and think they are doing you a favour by serving you. I’m tired of waiters often reading the specials as though they are reciting the times tables. I’m tired of sommeliers who adopt a superior air while handing out predictable wine lists with very few surprises.

Indifferent and even boorish behaviour is not just in the hospitality industry. I went for a jab recently and a receptionist asked me if I had an appointment without looking up from her computer to make eye contact.

Tasmanian drivers may be better than Queensland drivers. They pull over to let you pass. I saw none of the aggressive driving I frequently see on the Gold Coast highway.

Life in Tassie seems less hurried.

Queenslanders excel at being impolite.

When I said I was from Brisbane a young Queenslander in a Hobart shop asked me if I had heard about the rough-house behaviour at a Suncorp Stadium footy match.

And a backpacker at Freycinet National Park said that he had experienced surf rage in Queensland when he was accused of cutting in on a local surfer’s wave.

Our reputation for poor behaviour seems to be spreading.

On the Gold Coast not so long ago a concierge point blank refused to help me unload my bags, saying I hadn’t checked in yet.

He refused again after I did check in, directing me to an underground car park. I would have to find my own room and we would have to carry our own bags, he said. He became quite belligerent when I complained.

At the lovely Henry Jones Art Hotel in Hobart this week the service was first-rate. And the food at the Landscape restaurant there was exemplary. It was the story of Tasmania on a plate with succulent local lamb, seafood and beef, and of course, a glorious Pooley pinot.

We left on Wednesday morning.

In the distance there was snow on Mt Wellington, and it was chilly.

The hotel’s concierge insisted we wait in the warm lobby while he got our hire car and packed our suitcases in the boot.
“If you are from Queensland, you may feel the cold,” he said politely.