Tasmania Trip - Part 7
A Saturday in Salamanca
One of the main reasons we planned to be in Hobart over the weekend was to experience the iconic Salamanca Market, held every Saturday from 8:30 AM to 3 PM — rain, hail, or shine. Lucky for us, the sky was wide and blue, the kind of day that practically insists you spend it outside.
The market stretches the entire length of Salamanca Place, nestled between the old sandstone warehouses and the waterfront. From the silos at one end to the steps of Davey Street at the other, over 300 stallholders transform the cobbled street into a vibrant hive of colour, sound, and scent. It’s a true celebration of Tasmania’s creative soul — a buzzing tapestry of local artisans, growers, designers, and food vendors.
Everywhere we turned, there was something to catch the eye or tempt the taste buds — from vibrant bunches of flowers and jars of amber honey to intricately carved woodwork and hand-stitched clothing. The air was rich with the aroma of roasting coffee, sizzling sausages, and sweet pastries fresh from the oven.
We were encouraged to try a few dishes from the food carts — and we gladly obliged. A crowd had gathered around a particularly popular stall selling freshly shucked oysters. As tempting as they looked, I’ve never been one for raw food — if it’s not cooked, it’s a no from me, no matter how many rave reviews it gets!
Instead, we gravitated toward warm, comforting dishes: flaky spinach and cheese pastries, a paper tray of golden fries tossed with truffle salt, and a cup of locally brewed spiced chai. It was the kind of slow, grazing meal that fits perfectly with a market morning — shared bites, wandering conversations, and nowhere to be but here.
We spent hours meandering from stall to stall, amazed by the variety and drawn in by the stories behind each creation. We picked up a few treasures to take home — some to gift, some to keep, and some we couldn’t resist sampling before we’d even left the street.
Arms full and happily weary, we made our way back toward the hotel. On the way, we passed St. David’s Park, a leafy pocket of calm on the edge of the city. Every bench was taken, each one occupied by someone soaking up the sun or lost in a book. So, we dropped our bags and settled onto the grass — still a little damp from the morning dew, but soft and inviting. It was a simple moment, but one of those quiet pauses that lets everything sink in.
After a short rest, we wandered back to the hotel to drop off our finds and recharge.
Later that afternoon, with no particular plans and no need for them, we set out once more — this time for a slow, unhurried wander around the surrounding streets. After so many days of road-tripping and tight itineraries, it felt good to loosen the pace. To simply stroll. To breathe in Hobart as it is, not as something to be ticked off a list.
The city had a different feel now. Familiar, lived-in. We weren’t just passing through anymore — we were part of the rhythm, if only for a little while.