Rose Garden (Amsterdam day 5)

Good morning dear reader. This Saturday morning saw Amsterdammers walking, jogging, cycling, playing netball, volleyball and soccer, doing yoga and any number of other unseen activities. That's not quite true. We did witness all of those activities in Vondelpark but it was closer to lunch than to breakfast. The locals we spotted this morning were all working, cleaning up from last night's festivities. The summer holiday is coming to an end this weekend apparently.

No reason and out of context. I just like birds.

Today is our first true lay-day of the trip because we have nothing organised except dinner at Momo. Why there? Well, Amex offered me money back on an overseas dining experience and Momo is all of 5 minutes walk from our hotel.

We slept late, well a little later and walked back to Café Luxembourg for breakfast. A walk through one of the bar/restaurant areas in the morning before it has re-opened, or before the street cleaners have through, can be confronting. I'm always amused that Paris is constantly criticised for being "dirty" and yet we have found Amsterdam to be less clean. Perhaps the street cleaning squads that work tirelessly have made the population complacent, but the morning detritus of broken bottles, discarded cans, fast food packaging, cigarette butts and more could not be missed by anyone who was out and about before 9am.

Random picture to break up the text. It's in Vondelpark. Nope. No idea.

Anyway, on to Café Luxembourg because I espied on their menu, when we were there yesterday, croque monsieur et madame. Who can resist ham and cheese and bechamel sauce? Not this little black duck as Daffy used to say. 

As you might imagine, dear reader, there was no trouble getting a table at this time of day. We were seated under the awning directly in front of the restaurant window in Paris style seating. The espresso shot to commence the day was welcome. My croque monsieur was as enjoyable as Jayne's croque madame. Ick. Egg. And the second coffee, a long espresso, capped a great breakfast.

The traffic and passing parade was commensurately reduced, given the time of day. But there were still the amusing antics of bike riders and pedestrians. A local homeless person walked unsteadily toward us, approached our table and leaned in, mumbling something in French I think, before being scared away by one of the wait staff. That was about as exciting as it got. Then off to Vondelpark to find the rose garden. Unlike the 1970 song by Lynn Anderson, we were promised a rose garden and I was determined to find it.

The man after whom the park is named.

The walk to the garden is a common path for us. However, the sights today were not. It's Saturday and all those bucks and hens parties from the UK had arrived over night and were wandering the streets of Amsterdam in hormone fuelled packs. Or were merely attempting to find their accommodation. It rekindled memories of Budapest. I can't imagine too many people on the continent are sad about Brexit. I don't know where this tradition commenced or how it has grown to what it is today, but cheap, trashy and tawdry is all I see. No pictures. I don't wish to encourage them.

Not a rose garden in sight

Did you guess? It's a fountain.

A home for the bees.

We walked one complete side of the park and refused to yield a rose garden. We paused for a few kodak moments, like the cat in the shrub. 

What are you doing puss? There are no birds there.

I watched it and I still have no idea what it was doing. Around the bottom of the park and heading for home, there were fountains and flowers and statues and finally a rose garden. It was well past its best, but you get the concept from the pictures. It would have looked quite spectacular a couple of weeks ago.

The other aspect of today was a new spectator sport. Our room overlooks a rent-a-bike establishment. I'm not sure who has the most fun, the people that work there or Jayne and me. Watching people observing the ruling, "it's like riding a bike" and then find that riding a bike is not so easy 40 years later has been a hoot. This morning, child gets on bike and rides off. Dad gets on bike, pedals, gets the death wobbles (at low speed) and falls over. Gets up, squares his shoulders, looks at his wife and wheels away very unsteadily. I've seen drunks negotiate a better line. Then mum, feeling superior and smirking away at her husband's indignity rides off with the stand down. She almost comes a cropper too, stops, kicks up the stand and pedals away. I'm just sad I can't see these people hit the cycleways of Amsterdam, the most unforgiving of paths. This scene, or something similar, was repeated with monotonous regularity. If only the hotel had a café or bar looking out onto this area. I'd be there as much as possible.

And so to dinner and Momo. Conceptually not our gig. It is certainly aimed at a demographic from which we have graduated. That said the food was amazing. We appreciated everything we ate, loved some, enjoyed some, thought some was next level. We didn't agree on every dish because we have different tastes. The sushi tempura prawn was next level, I could eat it all night. Jayne's favourite was the beef skewer. Service was attentive and helpful. If only we could transport this to a restaurant where there wasn't another hen's night party in the room or a DJ playing mindless music ... yeah, ok, I'll go to bed now.

Until tomorrow.

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.