The Canberra Experience
When I first notice the sound I dismiss it as somebody’s ringtone. There are five of us in the house – all with smart phones. Or maybe someone’s found an old radio amongst all the curios that adorn this borrowed accommodation of ours. Perhaps someone’s on Youtube. It’s just before dinnertime after one of a succession of full days taken up with seeing the sights of the national capital. Everyone is scattered around the house enjoying some down-time.
It’s not until someone calls out, ‘Is that a flute?’ that in the quiet, as we all stop what we’re doing, I allow myself to focus on the sound. Some of us go outside to listen and are rewarded by hearing the most beautiful lilting melody as it carries over the train tracks from somewhere beyond the surrounding paddocks.
Bagpipes.
We listen, incredulous and bemused. Curiosity satisfied, everyone else returns to their individual activities. I linger outside and soak up the sounds. Set against a backdrop of the calls of sulphur-crested cockatoos and a variety of parrots coming home to roost, the bagpipes – playing a traditional Scottish air – create a wonderfully unexpected and delicious mix of disparity. I want to follow the sound to see who is playing but at the same time I want to leave the identity of this unexpected piper a mystery; always the romantic, I’d prefer to wonder who it was.
Bungendore is a half-hour drive from Canberra. We’re staying in the house of an elderly couple. The husband passed away only a month ago and the wife has moved to Melbourne to be cared for by her daughter – the friend of a friend. We’re packing up some boxes of belongings in return for our free accommodation. The home is situated on the border of the township and overlooks paddocks on two sides. The train line is a hundred metres away – which is no problem for our little company of vacationers (my friend and our three teenagers) as the Canberra to Sydney service runs five times a day and twice on weekends. In fact, on our first evening at home, when we hear the level crossing bells, we yelp with excitement and dash out onto the front porch and wave to the train – all two carriages. One person waves back.
It’s an odd feeling living in someone else’s home amongst their belongings. At first, I feel like an intruder, a voyeur – an interloper into the aftermath of someone’s grief and loss. It’s a strange juxtaposition – our company of free-spirited holiday-makers living in and around the tailings of a flailing life-long partnership. Daily I regard the odd assortment of collections that adorn the many bookcases and wall units scattered throughout the house and carport, collections that have overtaken most of the living spaces and spilled out into a confusion of clutter. At first I wonder how I will survive a week amongst such hodgepodge and muddle – when it flies in the face of my minimalist sensibility – and after spending a precious first few days of our Canberra holiday with just the three of us – my teenagers and me – in a serviced apartment two minutes’ walk from the city centre. A resentment about having to commute so far each day for this second leg of the Canberra experience with our friends adds to my disquiet. However, after a day or so, I find myself enjoying the rural setting and fascinated by these curious collections, trying to construct profiles in my mind of the couple who lived here; whose entrance to their ensuite, I might add – and which contained the only working toilet – was through the back of the wardrobe in the main bedroom! (and as you might guess, immediately named ‘Narnia’ by us.)
When I return to Melbourne and reflect on our holiday, I’m not surprised to find it’s not our visits to the National Gallery, the War Memorial, the Mint, Parliament House, the High Court, the Zoo, the National Library, the Australian Institute of Sport, the cruise around Lake Burley Griffin, the Bus Depot Markets, the Glassworks, the drive up to Black Mountain and Mount Ainslie or all the other activities we squeezed into our ten days in Canberra that stand out in my mind – although I enjoyed them immensely. It’s the togetherness we shared each morning and evening in a curious little house in Bungendore that became our home for a week.
And the bagpipes, like a last post, resounding across the paddocks.
Bridge over Lake Burley Griffin
On the steps of the National Library
Not my best angle!
Sculpture Gardens - from inside the dome room (which had marvelous accoustics!)
Australian Institute of Sport interactive games
Carillon
Bungendore landscapes
It’s not until someone calls out, ‘Is that a flute?’ that in the quiet, as we all stop what we’re doing, I allow myself to focus on the sound. Some of us go outside to listen and are rewarded by hearing the most beautiful lilting melody as it carries over the train tracks from somewhere beyond the surrounding paddocks.
Bagpipes.
We listen, incredulous and bemused. Curiosity satisfied, everyone else returns to their individual activities. I linger outside and soak up the sounds. Set against a backdrop of the calls of sulphur-crested cockatoos and a variety of parrots coming home to roost, the bagpipes – playing a traditional Scottish air – create a wonderfully unexpected and delicious mix of disparity. I want to follow the sound to see who is playing but at the same time I want to leave the identity of this unexpected piper a mystery; always the romantic, I’d prefer to wonder who it was.
Bungendore is a half-hour drive from Canberra. We’re staying in the house of an elderly couple. The husband passed away only a month ago and the wife has moved to Melbourne to be cared for by her daughter – the friend of a friend. We’re packing up some boxes of belongings in return for our free accommodation. The home is situated on the border of the township and overlooks paddocks on two sides. The train line is a hundred metres away – which is no problem for our little company of vacationers (my friend and our three teenagers) as the Canberra to Sydney service runs five times a day and twice on weekends. In fact, on our first evening at home, when we hear the level crossing bells, we yelp with excitement and dash out onto the front porch and wave to the train – all two carriages. One person waves back.
It’s an odd feeling living in someone else’s home amongst their belongings. At first, I feel like an intruder, a voyeur – an interloper into the aftermath of someone’s grief and loss. It’s a strange juxtaposition – our company of free-spirited holiday-makers living in and around the tailings of a flailing life-long partnership. Daily I regard the odd assortment of collections that adorn the many bookcases and wall units scattered throughout the house and carport, collections that have overtaken most of the living spaces and spilled out into a confusion of clutter. At first I wonder how I will survive a week amongst such hodgepodge and muddle – when it flies in the face of my minimalist sensibility – and after spending a precious first few days of our Canberra holiday with just the three of us – my teenagers and me – in a serviced apartment two minutes’ walk from the city centre. A resentment about having to commute so far each day for this second leg of the Canberra experience with our friends adds to my disquiet. However, after a day or so, I find myself enjoying the rural setting and fascinated by these curious collections, trying to construct profiles in my mind of the couple who lived here; whose entrance to their ensuite, I might add – and which contained the only working toilet – was through the back of the wardrobe in the main bedroom! (and as you might guess, immediately named ‘Narnia’ by us.)
When I return to Melbourne and reflect on our holiday, I’m not surprised to find it’s not our visits to the National Gallery, the War Memorial, the Mint, Parliament House, the High Court, the Zoo, the National Library, the Australian Institute of Sport, the cruise around Lake Burley Griffin, the Bus Depot Markets, the Glassworks, the drive up to Black Mountain and Mount Ainslie or all the other activities we squeezed into our ten days in Canberra that stand out in my mind – although I enjoyed them immensely. It’s the togetherness we shared each morning and evening in a curious little house in Bungendore that became our home for a week.
And the bagpipes, like a last post, resounding across the paddocks.
Bridge over Lake Burley Griffin
On the steps of the National Library
Pensive
Foyer of the National Library
Mother and son
Yes - it did pelt before we completed our walk around the lake
Not my best angle!
I always wanted to be an emu
Must be funny - the coffees are getting cold!
Parliament House
The Senate
Weary
Australian War Memorial
Mmmmmm
Moi et mes enfants - Australian War Memorial
Steps of the Memorial looking down Anzac Avenue and across to Parliament House
Yum - home-made pasta at the Old Bus Depot Market
One room of this marvelous market
At the Mint
In the Sculpture Garden at the National Gallery
Cheeky
Sculpture Gardens
Sculpture Gardens
Sculpture Gardens - from inside the dome room (which had marvelous accoustics!)
From Telstra Tower Black Mountain
Canberra City from Black Mountain
Telstra Tower
Really?
Australian Institute of Sport interactive games
Ready set go!
Weights anyone?
Les enfants
Cruise on the lake - see?
And yes - we got very wet
National Library
Carillon
High Court
The Canberra Centre
Bungendore landscapes
The train!
Reflective moment
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