Imagine (Canberra)

And the weather bureau got it right. It was zero when I checked the temperature this morning before 7am. I parted the curtains to reveal a pristine, cloud free, beautiful blue sky. Despite the temperature, it didn't feel that cold. We had well and truly warmed up by the time we had walked to Old Parliament House, a brisk 40 minute walk, excluding the 10 minutes I spent trapped on the median strip. Let me explain. I crossed to the western side of the road to take photos of the National Museum. Do not attempt to take on the Capital Hill traffic, dear reader. Much like London, Canberra is populated by passive aggressive people. They smile as they run you down. I'm uncertain whether the similarities are due to the cold climate or the population of bureaucrats or a population of cold bureaucrats. Regardless, they drive fast and are unsympathetic to pedestrians. In Redfern, as in New York, the pedestrian rules. Canberra was a culture shock. At home you can tell an out-of-towner by the fact that they disregard pedestrians.

Arriving safely, we were removing layers to enjoy our breakfast at the Terrace Café in the sunshine. We found ourselves in the company of a group of walkers. Loud walkers who were discussing one walker's daughter's impending wedding, as well as some function that someone was required to attend even though the notice was intolerably short and required some diary reorganisation for a suitable representation to be made. First world problems. Imagine if they had to work for a living as well? Goodness. How would one cope? I frequently had to lean across the table to hear what Jayne was saying. Clearly this was another 'destination' café', although I rated the one at the Museum much more highly. When my coffee arrives and my first words are "Oh dear..." it does not bode well. The food was acceptable. The service was entertaining - every time the young girl came out to deliver food and beverage to the walkers' table, the tray was precariously positioned over Jayne's shoulder. We were only ever one misstep from catastrophe.

The Museum of Australian Democracy or Old Parliament House

Like the museum, we had booked a tour. This is not the first time we have visited Old Parliament House (OPH), now renamed the Museum of Australian Democracy or MoAD. I find the whole concept of a museum about democracy in Australia somewhat laughable. And not just because the democratic part is only 120 years old. There is also the fawning, sycophantic behaviour toward the English Monarchy, but more on that later. And then there is the Aboriginal Tent Embassy across the road. The fact that it is still there and still needed, after almost 50 years, is an indictment on every government that has held power. I know, dear reader, you don't expect me to make political statements. You expect that I will be impartial, as always, and a model of decorum. That is especially the case, if you follow me on Twitter.

The foreground is what is important

My mind has wandered again. Where was I? Ah, yes, the tour. We last visited OPH when the National Portrait Gallery was still housed there. On that occasion we had a tour of the chambers and the PM's office and a few other areas. This time the tour focussed on the building itself, although we visited the chambers and post-tour, we wandered the former corridors of power. Actually, we were here to see the 2020 political cartoons display. Well worth a visit, and it was a delight to be there to listen to people, including us, chuckling their way up and down the corridors. The stand out? Well, Cathy Wilcox is an absolute favourite and had her own corner of the exhibition, as well as being sprinkled liberally (see what I did there?) throughout. Jayne's favourite? The first dog on the moon. See below. I even enlarged it to make it easier to read.

from The Guardian

Anyway. The tour commenced in the King's Hall. You'll never guess what is there, dear reader? Oh, of course. A statue of King George V. Apparently he was the king of some dreary little country across the sea and got to be boss of Australia at the time, despite self-government. And here comes the fawning and knee-bending. So. A country that has been permitted self-government decides, well, the men in power decide (how different it would have been if women had a voice. sigh), that the main hall to their new parliament house - the hall that joins both chambers, should not have a map of Australia depicted on the floor, nor the coat of arms of Australia on the wall. Just to reiterate, the parliament for Australia can not have a map of the country it represents. Cool and normal. Why? I thought you'd never ask, my curious reader -  because it is the King's Hall. No coat of arms higher than the king's head and "the old country" (be careful how you spell that) sent a statue of dear George. Nice mustache, cool knickerbockers and check out the roses on those shoes! I can imagine the discussion with his wife, before posing for the statue. "Do you think the roses are too much Mary?" I'm sure they would have been perfectly suited to the dusty dry plains of the bush capital. A place he never visited.  Couldn't even be bothered to turn up to open the building that houses his statue. Such a country.

Quite the dandy. (Enlarged to see his shoes)

So, we have the 'new' country (please take it as read that this land was inhabited by the first nations' people for at least 60,000 years before the European invasion. Respect.) and the architect of the new parliamentary building, a Scotsman, is being dictated to by the politicians. It was ever thus. Like, they know shit. No really. Do some research. They knew better than Walter Burley Griffin and Marion Mahony Griffin and their design for Canberra. Oh yes, we hide behind the money problems, but really ... or better than Jørn Utzon and the construction of the Sydney Opera House. Or Scott Morrison and leadership and responsibility. Oops, sorry, he is a politician and knows nothing of either of those concepts. At least, he has yet to able to demonstrate them. The list go on and on.  For both examples.

As an aside, let's look at why Canberra was chosen as the capital. Put aside the Sydney-Melbourne rivalry. It's just an older sibling arguing with a younger one. Any elder sibling can describe the difficulties faced that are not shared by the younger, so Melbourne, shut up. Anyway, the main reason Canberra was chosen was climate. Cold climate. It seems the early fathers believed a cold climate stimulated thinking and mental aptitude. A damn pity they never visited Canberra in summer. It's fucking, unrelentingly hot. Perhaps that explains the Morrison government and their series of unmitigated balls ups they have presided over this summer. Except the bushfires. Morrison was holidaying in Hawaii then and we all know what happened to Morrison's hero and the electorate named after him when he visited Hawaii. Oh. Too obscure? Morrison is the member for Cook, as in Lieutenant Cook, when he invaded this country. Not Captain, that happened later. But Hawaii was his undoing. Well. Spears. Spears were his undoing.

In case the new political set, inhabiting their parliament, were getting a bit uppity, the designer has the Union Jack as a motif emblazoned anywhere and everywhere. It was in windows, on wall cabinets, in floors. As very unsubtle reminder that England was still number 1. And herein lies the problem. Our politicians were too focused on being English that they forgot they were in Australia and governing for the people living here. To be fair, we weren't recognised as Australian citizens until 1949 and were still considered as British subjects until 1984. Pathetic really. As a result, down through the years we have had governments ruling for Britain, not for the Australian people.

The British coat of arms atop Australia's (old) Parliament House

Xavier Herbert in his landmark novel, Poor Fellow My Country, captured this sentiment beautifully. To simplify the 1700+ page tome: Australia was populated by people from overseas who left their home countries because they didn't like them and then replicated what they had left; further entrenching their unhappiness and causing them  not to accept and love their new country, because it wasn't the old country. Of course, beyond this, we had the lie that Australia was uninhabited to begin with. Any country that can't face it's past will always struggle to reconcile the present. As for the future? How can there be a sound future if you don't understand and acknowledge the past. Can you ever know where you're going if you don't know where you've been?

To further illustrate this point I tender the photo below. It was a part of an exhibition honouring the 1954 visit to Australia by Queen Elizabeth II.

FFS

We made our way back to the hotel to enjoy the beautiful afternoon sun on our balcony - and a nice bottle of Gruner Veltliner picked up on route. For our last night we decided to eat at the hotel restaurant, if for no other reason than I get a discount. I understand they need to advertise themselves as something other than the restaurant in the hotel, but you know, that is what they are and that is the standard of the food. The other issue was staffing. They were seriously understaffed and people left before all meals had arrived because they were tired of waiting. Given the number of food options close bye this is very dangerous.

The title? Ah yes, my dear reader, I was lacking inspiration to an extent and then thought of John Lennon's classic Imagine. And I guess that is where I am with Australia, imagine what could be ... because we're not there yet.

And on that note my dear reader it is time for me to pack away my keyboard until our next trip. All that focus on the 'old country' is hurting my brain. Australia is a wonderful country but we need to come to terms with our past before we can move forward as a united people.

The Captain Cook Memorial Jet (says it all really)

ps One song that didn't make a post title is Go Back to Canberra by The Kids. Google it, angry punk stuff channelling '70s punk.

Love is the drug (Canberra)

Today, my dear reader, Canberra reminded us that Australia does, in fact, have more than 3 seasons and winter is a thing. Even if it was just a subtle nudge. The westerly winds didn't help at all and tomorrow morning is supposed to drop to zero. I don't remember the last time I experienced that ... perhaps Beijing in another life.

And so, what to do in the national capital? Another museum? Art gallery? Cruise the lake? Nope. Wine tasting. If you are looking for a modern day challenge, try organising four wine tastings across the Canberra Wine Region, that includes lunch. Everything must be pre-booked, which means estimating travel times, as well as how long a tasting might last. It would have been easy to just pick Murrumbateman and do four wineries there, but that was no challenge. So we start in Murrumbateman, head to Gundaroo for a tasting with lunch, and finish up in Majura on the outskirts of Canberra. Sit, back, pour a glass of something nice and read on.

There's that museum again.

There are so many wineries to choose from in the Canberra Wine Region, most of them in NSW. Internet research kept throwing forward about eight or so. After some reading and cross referencing, I came down to four, although one was because we are members of their Hunter establishment. In hindsight, perhaps I should have stayed with the original 5, but distances and a relatively unknown area, made me conservative. Ah, dear reader I laughed as I wrote that. I wonder if it will survive editing.

Bike art. Any winery with this style is a winner.

Here's a life lesson, my loyal reader - don't use Google Maps' time estimates of travel that are taken at variance with your time of expected travel - they can be significantly disparate. As I learned. 45 minutes easily becomes 30. As a result, we were 30 minutes early to our first appointment - a combination of time shifting Google and breakfast not lasting as long as anticipated, due to an insipid cup of long black. 

My morning coffee is an existential experience and, it appears, making one is more complex than quantum physics, otherwise there would be less variability. I consider it a personal challenge to procure a decent coffee while travelling. Jayne has given up and mostly opts for hot chocolate. The coffee, this morning, resembled coffee, in that it was black-ish and warm and served in a cup. It had neither crema nor flavour. Like deliberately singing off-key, it takes talent to destroy a long black. Half a cup of hot water and a double shot of coffee. I suspect this morning's coffee was constructed 'Starbuck's' style: coffee first and then water. Philistines!

First stop

I digress. Unusual I  know. Since retirement, my mind tends to wander. Where was I? Oh, yes, wineries. Our first stop was Shaw Wines. The 'net reviews rate the wines and experience well, but the god of wine, James Halliday, only gives them 4 stars. Harsh. Anyway. They were most welcoming, despite our early arrival. Tastings are so civilised these days; sit down tables, individual service. It appears Covid was good for something. Have I mentioned that before?

The view from our table.

We enjoyed their wines. Just about the whole suite and would certainly recommend a visit. They have a great set up, the staff are friendly and knowledgeable, the view is beautiful. What more could you want? A wine club? Funny you should ask, they have one of those too. I may or may not have joined.  OK, I joined. We were both quite taken by the experience. Jayne remarked about the excellent start to the day as we walked to the car, with a dozen bottles in my arms. "It can only go downhill from here," I quipped.

Our next stop was Clonakilla, the only winery in the Canberra region, to make it into the Top 50 Wineries of Australia. I'm not sure how the rating system works, whether a winery opts in or out, or whether you need to present so many wines, but it is a thing and is easily discovered on the web. That rating is what brought us there. That rating is what made us leave disappointed.

Random shot from Mayfield to break up the words

Last year's fires ravaged much of the east coast of Australia and one side effect, putting aside the obvious devastation at so many levels, was widespread smoke taint to the grape crops. Many wineries across the country were unable to produce wines made from their own grapes and imported grape juice from the few unaffected areas. Clonakilla produced a Viognier from Eden and a Chardonnay from Tasmania. Neither came home with us. Nor did either of their straight Shiraz; we found these wines underwhelming in bouquet and taste. We did purchase the signature wine, the Shiraz-Viognier blend, but, in essence, it was a sympathy purchase. We were rather underwhelmed by the whole experience here, after really looking forward to it. Once again it proves that taste in wine is really a personal choice.

On to Gundog and lunch at their (reasonably) new cellar door and next door restaurant collaboration. Does that sentence even make sense? Normally I wouldn't have stopped here, but I was keen to see the restaurant. So, yeah nah. The wines are good, but I know that already, I've already sampled some from this year's tasting packs and other orders. The food from the restaurant ... yeah, but, I didn't need the wine tasting experience to go with it and probably would have enjoyed the long-lunch experience better. That said, the tasting room is great and the open fire most welcome on a blustery day, and we bought a few bottles. Despite being a member, I didn't know they made a Rutherglen Muscat. But, I do now. Yum!

The last stop for the day was Mt Majura Wines, but we were waaaay ahead of schedule and decided to take the scenic route via Bungendore. We thought we might wander the town and see what there is to see. Not a lot, as it turns out, so on to the winery.

Mt Majura is interesting. It's on slice of limestone - champagne country, dry wines. Apparently it was a sheep farm. No, really. Oh, yeah, Canberra was a sheep farm (now it just attempts to create sheep). And then some CSIRO dude comes along and suggests to the owner it would be a great vineyard. "You can guess the rest". Hence the title of today's post, Roxy Music circa 1975. How cool was Bryan Ferry back in the day?

Random flower to break up my ranting

Sorry, where was I? Um, the wine tasting at Mt Majura. Another sit down tasting with a charcuterie plate with individual attention. The garlic infused feta was excellent and the manchego was pretty good too. However, food alters the taste of wine on the palate and tasting wine without food makes me very picky about what I might buy. I enjoyed the plate but they probably lost potential purchases because my palate was flavoured. In the past, the wines I've purchased at the end of the day when my palate would have have been most jaded, turned out to be totally excellent because I was super judgemental.

So, here I go for a rant. Ok, I'm old. I get it. And it's not like young people don't know stuff, but, like, I know stuff too and they are unable to interact, if you take them off script. One of my superpowers has been to engage in conversation at my table while also taking in fragments of conversations around me. Should anything interesting pique my attention then I'd hone in. I didn't need to use my superpower to hear the same spiel from our host at every table. I understand the "industry" perspective, but back in the day (yeah, yeah) we'd go to a winery and speak to the winemaker or someone closely associated with the winery, or somebody passionate about wine, not an hospitality worker. 

That bloody museum again

Anyone can learn a script - look at the PM, and it appears this is what Canberra operates on. From the overpaid, overblown politicians down to the, I suspect, underpaid guides at the museums and even the staff at the wineries. It is faux life. But that's Canberra too I suspect. I'm not having a shot at the staff at any winery. They were lovely and welcoming and everything they should be, but where is authentic? What is that my astute reader, Canberra? Oh, I see, yes, Canberra is not authentic. 

And on that note, I shall step down from my soap box until tomorrow. You see my dear reader, I too lack authenticity, I am writing this a day after it occurred and the events of today have somewhat coloured my words. That or the bottle of Grüner Veltliner I have been drinking in the delightful afternoon sun. Time will tell.

Until tomorrow.

The Boy in the Bubble (Canberra)

And back to civilization dear reader. Braving the duelling GPS systems, we made it down country roads, through Taralga, into Goulburn and on to the nation's capital, Canberra. And a beautiful day it was for a drive. No stopping today, the need for a shower was far too great. Although, to be fair, it bothered Jayne more than me. As a bushwalker I've gone for days without a shower. However, it is one of the world's greatest feelings, showering after an inability to do so. I'd rate it with clean sheets.

Random flower to offset the lack of shower

Car parked, bags unpacked, it was time to go shopping. One side effect of Covid, my patient reader, has been my inability to travel anywhere without forgetting to pack something important. For someone who often travelled overseas for work, this is disconcerting. This time? My dress shirts are still on my bed at home, waiting to be folded and packed. It has been suggested that I do this in order to expand my wardrobe. I am horrified by the thought. Although my new shirt is gorgeous.

Leaving DJs, it was time to find a decent bottle shop and purchase that necessity of life, champagne. Much like our attempt to leave Oberon, the different GPS apps we were using, were dragging us in different directions. After walking in circles for a while, I scrubbed the address and put it into Google maps without direction. Despite what we were being told, we had been walking in the wrong direction.

Problem solved, we arrived at the Canberra Wine + Spirit Merchants, just in time for an ad hoc wine tasting of Enotria Wines. Very nice. Purchased a couple and a bottle of bubbles. Our hotel room has a small west-facing balcony and is quite the place for an afternoon aperitif. While we were chatting to our host at the bottle shop, we asked for recommendations for pizza and received two.

Amici's Wine Bar and Deli is less than 5 minutes walk from the hotel and was open on the way so we booked for dinner. It is an interesting place. Some would say pretentious. Others would say the staff were indifferent. I would say both. It was certainly buzzing at 6pm when we returned and neither of these factors were immediately evident. But it didn't take long. We were nodded in the direction of our table and there we sat for a while, until someone noticed we had neither menu nor drink. Menu discussed, we ordered: olives and sourdough and two pizzas. I requested the wine list: "Sorry we don't have one, our turn over is too great. We go through the stock every two weeks," I was informed. Seriously? If your wine stock doesn't last a fortnight, you have issues with whoever is ordering the wine. "Just go inside and choose a bottle from the wall" he says. Really? It was not easy to make out the labels because the wine wall was backlit. But I made a selection. A cheeky little number from Burgundy and not at all bad.

Then the food arrived. OMG! It was a plate of olives masquerading as dinner. It was massive. And quite tasty as was the olive oil and balsamic. The oil was so sweet. But just too big as a starter. We tried to eat all the olives, unsuccessfully, and had them boxed to go home. The pizzas arrived before the starter debris had been cleared and the waiter had to call another of the staff over to remove the used plates. The pizzas were a good size for one person or to share if you'd started without the olives and sourdough. If only the staff had been interested enough to tell us. Anyway. We soldiered on. The pizza was good, but I've had better and we decided it best to have the leftovers boxed for home. The waiter grunted, disappeared, and returned with a box that he almost frisbeed into Jayne's lap. Such style, such service, such a dick.

Thankfully it was a short walk to the hotel because I felt like Mr Creosote (Google it kids). I could explode at any minute. Safely home, we fell into bed to dream of tomorrow's adventure: The National Museum.

Muttaburrasaurus hangs out in the atrium

Still feeling the after effects of dinner we decided to walk to the  Museum and have a light breakfast there before our 10am tour. It is an interesting place and one designed to be noticed. If you've been to Canberra and driven across Lake Burley Griffin, you will have no doubt noticed the structure growing out from a weird building on the Western side of the lake (heading north). It looks like an unfinished roller coaster you'd see in Japan (nightmares stay away). It's all bright and twisty. It screams, look at me, look at me! Which is how we discovered the museum existed. Driving across the bridge I looked out and said, "What the hell is that?" Dr Google answered and it was placed on our (long) list of things to do one day. Like when you can't travel overseas. So, here we are.

The museum café is a destination in itself. Enjoying the best coffee I've had since I left home, we watched dog-walkers, joggers, cyclists, museum patrons, friends catching up and the dragon boat team arrive for coffee, breakfast and cake. The staff were lovely and the food was great. It is a great place to kick back and enjoy the view across the lake.

Our tour commenced with Sarah at 10am and we were the only people on it. Happy days. It focussed on the building itself which proved to be far more interesting than I thought. I'll try not to nerd up with too much information.

We commenced outside in an area that has been recently designed as a welcome to country.

A local totem

This was followed by a quick review of how Canberra came to be the national capital as well as the design of the city by Marion Mahoney and Walter Burley Griffin. Who? you say. Burley Griffin and his wife were both instrumental in the design of the capital. They were both accomplished architects who had worked for Frank Lloyd Wright in the United States. Marion gets very little recognition for her contribution, presumably because she was female. Not much has changed in Canberra in the last decade, has it?

The Burley Griffins won the design contest and then, much like Jørn Utzon of Sydney Opera House fame, they had their design altered by the government of the day, because the politicians and bureaucrats were so much better at architecture and design than the professionals to whom they had awarded the projects.  The Burley Griffins copped a lot of undeserved flack and eventually, in disgust, they decamped to Sydney where they focussed on designing the suburb they had decided to live in - Castle Crag. The fundamental premise of their focus was to work with nature and the environment rather than trying to flatten it to build houses. The design genius and innovation of Marion Mahoney has been the subject of a recent exhibition at the Sydney Museum which we had visited earlier this year.

Anyway, back to the National Museum ... the architects, whoever, wanted the building to be noticed. Ticked that box. They were also known for 'appropriating' other concepts to incorporate in their work. To that end, there is a nod to the Sydney Opera House, to the MCG (whatever - I think the Greeks had cornered the arena market well before the MCG) and famous artworks: Blue Poles and works by Tom Roberts and Streeton. They were even sued unsuccessfully by a Jewish architect who believed they had stolen a design he had created for a Holocaust Memorial in Europe. 

Australia though John Howard's eyes.

My favourite aspect? I thought you'd never ask, my impatient reader; the outside of the building is covered in rectangles that change colour with the surrounding light. The best aspect though? On each rectangle is braille and they were actually made to be read together. So, if you pop down to the museum, you'll see some of the tiles have bright shiny buttons destroying the braille statements. Sort of like a petulant child scribbling over something he/she didn't like. And that is exactly what happened here. The mundane "She'll be right, mate" was given the tick of approval, but comments about "sorry" and "genocide" were not approved and were subsequently covered over with these discs by the government of the day. Oh, seriously my forgetful reader you need to be told which government? Ok, then, the one that can be held responsible for some of the least pleasant aspects of Australian society today. The Howard government. The one that gave you "I deserve" and "I'm entitled" and demonised refugees and asylum seekers (you don't agree? couldn't care less, this is my blog not yours).

Can you read that? Not anymore. Thanks Johnny.

Despite it's relatively new status, the museum is being renovated which meant some areas were closed, making navigation a challenge. The basic displays at the moment feature early Australia, post 1788, a first nations' display and the current drawcard: Cook and the Endeavour, which juxtaposes the white European perspective of settlement (Cook fired first, that's invasion) with the indigenous perspective. It was interesting to see the original inhabitants finally acknowledged properly.

Sometimes the past is still too close.

I know I said I wouldn't nerd up, but seriously, this place is fascinating, but you must do the tour that covers the building itself. There is so much more, like it being aligned with Uluru. OK, OK, I'll stop.

Dinner that night was at SoLita, the other Italian restaurant recommended to us. I'll cut to the chase. Superb. Packed and busy, glad we booked, it was too cold to eat outside. Interesting wine list and a varied menu. Despite the crowd, the staff were delightful and the food was excellent. It was the best pizza I've had for a long time.

And thank you dear reader for staying with me. The driving has meant blurring the edges around the posts, but I'm sure you've coped. I think I'm back on schedule, although a day in front of you, or maybe two.

Today's title? Ah, yes. A tad depressing is Paul Simon's 2011 The Boy in the Bubble. Maybe you should give it a listen again, it's hyperlinked to youtube. I chose the title for the Canberra bubble, frequently referred to by our temporary PM. And the sometimes depressing nature of society as a result of the population voting for themselves and not for the greater good.

Anyway, sweet dreams. 

Rose Garden (Mayfield Gardens, Oberon, New South Wales)

Hello dear reader, so nice of you to join me again. It's fair to say I have received some off-line commentary about the "glamping" event. Not all of it justified; it was not as if I make vacation decisions in isolation. It is true, I was desperate to get away, having my last attempt, a low-level trip to South Australia, cancelled through a border closing, by a politician whose name I can't recall. If I ever knew at all. 

Regardless, the last post was not the complete story. Not that the details I am about to add might sway your opinion of glamping. The title today is courtesy of Lynn Anderson, circa 1967, and contains the memorable line, "I never promised you a rose garden". And this is true. although we did have a wonderful rose garden when we lived in the suburbs. I digress.

The vacation period was approaching and we had not booked a break anywhere. What is that you smirk, dear reader? Every day is a holiday for me? Well, perhaps that's true but I have Jayne's well-being to consider and she works in a thankless industry that consumes your energy, so she needed a break.

The Mayfield Gardens looked quite spectacular. Neither of us had been to Oberon previously so I consulted Dr Google and the website mentioned the glamping experience. It sounded quite delightful. Peace. Quiet. Country side. Warm doona. Three course meal. Wine. It certainly ticked my boxes. What it didn't mention, caveat emptor, and I should have noticed, was any reference to en suite facilities. We have glamped before, see the Marramarra post, but they were safari tents with their own bathroom. Initially, I expected something similar. It wasn't until I began preparations for the trip that I realised. Probably something best left  as a surprise, thought I.

As an interlude to the glamping fiasco, may I point out that the gardens are picturesque? It is quite a marvel what they have achieved, not just horticulturally, but also the hydro-engineering to move water around the gardens and make the best use of what is available. The gardens were well visited both days we were there. They also host festivals and weddings; there is a chapel at the top of the property. It was stunningly beautiful and I'm not sure my pictures have captured it adequately.

The colour in the leaves was beautiful, but nothing compared to what I've seen in Canada. Oberon can't compete with those temperatures. The garden is also planted out with bulbs and I would like to return in spring to see it in flower. The difficulty there is distance. It was about a 3 hour drive from home and there is precious little accommodation in the area - which is why we ended up glamping.

The meal in the restaurant on site was very good. They had a small selection of wines from the Orange/Mudgee area and much of the produce was grown in the gardens. The wait staff were very friendly and helpful and, in general, it was a great experience - except for the glamping bit. We enjoyed a peaceful pre-dinner wine in the restaurant, with nobody but the staff. There needed to be more space between the tents. I didn't really wish to hear the midnight discussion of one couple after their children had gone to sleep. Any more than I needed to hear the man in another tent snoring and being woken by his wife at regular intervals. Or the continual zipping and unzipping of the tent flaps as people responded to the call of nature or to meander across the field to star gaze.

And so, confession time. While the toilet blocks were all new and reasonably well looked after, the block designated for the glampers was also for public use during the day. The showers you ask? Would it be sufficient to say that neither Jayne nor I availed ourselves of their use? It was a semi-portable block of some description that contained 4 showers. A rough guest count had maybe 36 adults and 8 or more children. We decided to wait until Canberra. Although our duelling GPS systems made the drive interesting. One thought we should take the 5 hour scenic drive, the other the 3 hour direct drive via Goulburn. Given our state of hygiene, we unsurprisingly opted for the direct route.

Interestingly, the reason we ended up in Canberra was a lack of adequate accommodation in Bathurst. Anywhere we were interested in booking was already gone when I started preparing for this trip. The intention had been to stay in Bathurst and explore Sofala and Hill End then drive over to Orange and drop into a few wineries. Not this time.

The only other noteworthy point is that after a life-time of driving from Sydney to Dubbo we drove through places that had been little more than signposts in our past. I can now proudly boast that I have been to Sodwalls and Tarana. The latter was only ever of interest because of a race horse in the '80s named Anarattadetoor. You might need to read that backwards.

Well dear reader, that is all for this post. 

Until next time and the charms of the country's capital.

We've only just begun (Oberon, New South Wales)

Hello my dear reader, yes, I am back travelling again, but I fear what you are about to read might shock you. Nay it will shock you. However, I am getting ahead of myself. Let's reflect on where we've been recently: hmmm, the kitchen mostly and Centennial Park, riding endless laps until I'm dizzy. Or in Jayne's case, work. Well, someone needs to keep me in the manner to which I've become most accustomed. Where was I?

With international travel still not an option and Australian state borders open the choice was obvious: stay at home. Last time the state borders opened and I booked a holiday everything went to hell in a handbasket. The borders were closed (slammed shut, according to mainstream media) more quickly than they were opened and I had the joy of cancelling another holiday. Yay. So this time we stayed within the lines of our state border. Excited? Intrigued? Of course you are ... we went to Oberon. No, not the king of the fairies in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Oberon. The town in NSW. Close to Blayney and Bathurst and other destinations not normally on the holiday list. Hey, Rona has a lot to answer for.

Corona virus grows on trees up here

Before you switch off dear reader, you need to understand that the destination was not Oberon itself. We headed to Mayfield Gardens for a glamping adventure. What is glamping I hear you ask? Well, according to Google it is "a form of camping involving accommodation and facilities more luxurious than those associated with traditional camping". Well, that is their definition. Naive perhaps. Apparently the 'gl' at the front of glamping refers to 'glamorous'. Really? 

The gardens from the top of the hill

One Sunday evening, watching Sydney Weekender, as one does, a reporter, not Mike Whitney, revealed the beauty and splendour that is Mayfield Gardens. A quick search revealed the possibility of glamping and viewing the gardens. Given my most exciting recent trip was to the fish markets at Pyrmont, this was next level. Never one to rush anything I booked immediately. Act in haste, repent in leisure. Or in this case, our tent. 

Creating a holiday around the Oberon experience proved something of a challenge. We thought we might explore the Bathurst area, but were unable to secure accommodation that would balance the glamping experience. But, I'm getting ahead of myself again.

We set out for Oberon mid-morning and, despite the road closures following the recent floods, we arrived to explore the town and secure a late lunch. Made it 10 minutes before the kitchen closed. There are a surprising number of cafés in this small country town. The one we visited was lovely, home-made everything and very tasty. While there, I read the information about Mayfield Garden. Probably should have done that earlier, or at least, remembered the stuff I read. The Gardens had a closing time that would make the next part of the journey a little tight.

In the end, it was all good. We arrived, checked in, scored the key to our tent (no really), picked up a map of the expansive gardens and were booked in for dinner. Back to the car. the main car park is not for glampers, we parked near our tents. 

The glamping area looked like some sort of, well, inappropriate as this may be, an American Indian reserve - without poles coming from the top of the tents. The tents were tepee style, but with straight sides toward the ground and one central pole. Apparently, this concept of glamping means a queen size bed in a tent. Seriously? We were doing that in 2000 when we couldn't afford to stay in real accommodation. To be fair, the bed was comfortable and the linen and doona were top notch, but ... it's still a tent. The facilities are still shared, caravan park style, and you can hear every word and breath of every other glamping-tent occupant. hardly glamorous.

Home sweet home

And then we could talk about the number of children. Who shares a tent with 2 or 3 children? Well, at least three families as it turns out. Who lets their children play chasings in a tent? Yep. It happened. Dad was way too busy on a work call to be interested and mum? Well, who knows. It was well after 10pm before the last of the kids in someone's tent were bedded down. And then, parent chat, snoring, coughing ... let's not go there. I've shared bushwalking huts more closely with people who were more respectful and understanding.

There is so much more to say, but, I'm tired and need to sleep ... much like the song, we've only just begun. The original? The Carpenters, 1970.

Until tomorrow dear reader when there will be many, many more photos of the gardens.

For now I'm retiring to my hotel bed. There is neither a child nor an indolent, disinterested parent in my vicinity.

Sweet dreams.