Hobart, Tasmania: Down here, the only lockdown is at Risdon Prison
Hobart is a city where coronavirus is an increasingly distant memory.
Across the nation we’re leading vastly different lives as states impose a patchwork of Covid-19 restrictions. On Monday July 19, our writers in every state ventured out to capture a snapshot of their cities and towns – a Covid-eye view of the way we live today.
After a pause and furtive glance at diners in this busy Hobart eatery, I make a split-second decision, extending my hand to shake that offered by my just-arrived lunch mate. To shake or not shake, to hug or not hug, to mask-up or breathe freely, to eat in or take out. These are still choices in Australia’s southernmost, hitherto Covid-free capital.
On the day Sydney records 98 cases and Melbourne extends its lockdown, life in Hobart appears shockingly normal. Not just “new normal” but something approximating “old normal”. Unless the hundreds of daily tests (not to mention the sewage analysis) are missing something, Tasmania hasn’t had a coronavirus case for eight months.
On my roughly half-hour commute to work this morning, I amend the rules of spotto, substituting face masks for the customary yellow cars. Try it on your next drive. It may not only get the kids off their devices, but likely provide an accurate barometer of how the pandemic is afflicting your neck of the woods – or not.
This morning, not once do I get the chance to utter spotto. Not a single mask to be seen. Aside from those attending a recent singing festival, and at airports, masks have not been mandated for the general population. Some mainland visitors – seemingly unwilling to surrender their facial safety blanket – can be seen wearing them, at least for a day or so after arrival. When the numbers are against you, sooner or later, self-consciousness overrides caution. Also masked-up are a handful of locals, a mix of the cautious or immune-suppressed, or those returning from testing centres.
However, masks are today compulsory only for those recently returned from Victoria; just for a few days until they clear the danger period. Schoolkids among this cohort were earlier today directed to extend their term break by several days; more a bonus than a blow.
The only lockdown in Hobart today is at Risdon Prison, where industrial action by guards has forced inmates to temporarily remain in their cells.
Hobart is a city where coronavirus is an increasingly distant memory and a future fear – a “what if” or “but for the grace of God”. It is no longer a significant part of everyday life. Cafes and pubs often appear packed, particularly late in the week, as do public buses on the school run. Theatre, music, movies and sport are all largely back to normal.
Few restrictions remain. Dropping into a couple of shops this afternoon, I see some customers shunning the QR code check-in, which was recently mandated. (For the record, compliance officers: I scan!) Social distancing in any serious form appears confined to the bureaucratic zealotry of government buildings.
In autumn 2020, Hobartians fretted about Covid outbreaks in neighbouring local government areas. Today, any lingering angst has a long-distance focus, relating to loved ones again doing it tough hundreds or thousands of kilometres away. Covid is still on everyone’s lips and in the headlines, but local concerns are comparatively marginal. Today’s local media focuses on sluggish use of the Check In Tas app, as well as an alleged breach of the Victorian returnee mask edict at a race meeting. Even discussion of the impact of border closures on the state’s vital tourism and hospitality trades appears to have abated.
A tourism official suggests locals barred from holidaying interstate are compensating nicely for those mainlanders unable to “Come Down for Air”, as Tassie’s marketing slogan would have it. He might be right. My wife and I have in recent months visited tourism hot spots we hadn’t seen for almost 30 years.
Given Taswegians are often the butt of mainlanders’ jokes, you’d think there might be a temptation to boast about their status as one of the world’s few Covid-free populations. Premier Peter Gutwein remains fond of describing the island as “one of the safest places on the planet”, the unspoken subtext being “thanks to me”. (The phrase is an essential part of Gutwein press conference bingo, along with the other favourite, “now is not the time to be complacent”.)
However, locals I speak with today avoid gloating about the misfortunes of the bigger states, discussing events elsewhere in the hushed tones of survivor’s guilt. A mate even suggests we stop bitching about Hobart’s peak-hour traffic jams, given the empty streets of Sydney and Melbourne seen on our TV screens. Stuck in traffic on Hobart’s Southern Outlet? Consider yourself lucky.