I hear Hamilton Island is a nice place to visit....

Hi all! We're back again, with another set of adventures to tell!
Mike's parents are still in this neck of the woods. They spent about 5 days in New Zealand, and then met up with us again for a long weekend in Tasmania. Mike and I were TERRIBLY excited to go, especially since we cut Woodwind Performance class on Friday. (Biggest waste of time EVER.) It's only about a 2 hour plane ride to Hobart, the capital, but we were so excited to be leaving Sydney it wouldn't have mattered how long it took to get there!
The airport in Hobart is adorable, being possibly The Smallest Airport that is still known as "International." We collected Bob and Connie's 4 suitcases...waited for ours...waited for ours...oh, crap, there are no more suitcases going around the conveyor belt!!!!!
I asked the two attendants standing there if there were any suitcases left in the back room. One of them opened the door behind him, stuck his head in and said "Nope." The other guy referred us to the service desk in the next building over.
Mr. Service Desk came to the conclusion that our bag has been mistagged and sent to Hamilton Island, off the north coast of Queensland instead of way down south to Hobart. He didn't act like it would be a big deal, took down our contact information and said he'd call us as soon as he knew anything.
About 5 minutes after we'd left the desk, he called us to let us know that maybe the bag HADN"T gone the Hamilton Island...in fact...he had no clue where it was. But he'd keep us posted.
I was relatively amused, and figured the bad was still in Sydney, and we'd have it by nightfall. Mike, however, was very unhappy. We were sharing one suitcase, and although I had quite a few of my favorite clothes in there, nothing was the end of the world. But poor Mike had packed his: bassoon harness (special order), orchestra part to Tchaik 5 (concert this Friday, replacement cost ~$1500 for entire orchestra set), Beethoven part (chamber concert we're giving in less than 2 weeks) and black dress shoes (concerts Friday, Saturday, and next weekend).
We spent most of Friday trying to find a Target in Hobart to buy crucial things like socks and toothpaste. If you remember our story about going to Target and Kmart trying to get basic supplies for our apartment, you'll have a pretty good idea of what we went through trying to get outfitted for the weekend. I'll spare you the gruesome details, just know that it wasn't pretty and it is very difficult to find things in this country!
The airlines called two or so more times to continually let us know that they had no clue where our bag was, except that they were sure it was NOT in Hamilton Island. Saturday I called them to voice my displeasure. The guy I talked to acted offended that I wanted my bag, and asked "Well, had I SEEN them put a tag for Hobart on my suitcase? Because that was MY responsibility." He also lied and told me that he himself had left two messages that morning on our cell phone. The concierge at our hotel let us know that this airlines is notoriously troublesome, and that we'd have to keep harrassing them before they'd realize that we weren't going to go away. Bob and Connie even went back to the airport to voice their complaint in person.
Sunday, still nothing. We notified the airlines that we were changing hotels but that the cell phone was staying the same, and then agreed not to worry about it at all. Didn't matter--no messages from the airlines, no messages on Monday, either. Monday evening we returned to Hobart to fly to Sydney. We went straight the service desk, both of us dreading the return to Sydney to have to replace all of our stuff and tell the orchestra manager about the lost part.
"Michael Jones? We have your bag right here! Didn't anyone call you?" The lady popped into the back and wheeled out OUR BAG. "Apparently it was mistagged for Hamilton Island," she said.
Then, as a little "We're sorry!!!!!" we got upgraded to orange boarding passes. JetStar, the airline we were flying, is the Australian equivalent to Southwest--you get sorted into groups, and you find your own seat as you board the plane. Orange boarding passes mean that we could get on with the first group--"And, with luck, you can get the exit seats!" they told us enthusiastically. Nothing about the $400 we had to spend to get new sweatshirts, socks, shampoo, etc. etc. etc. etc. But, because I think the universe owed us one, we DID get the exit aisle. Nothing like a little leg room to say "We're sorry we're completely incompetent!"

Actually, despite all of that, we had a FABULOUS time in Tasmania, and hope to return as soon as humanly possible. But I'll let Mike tell you all about it!
~Ruth Ann