Canberra
Trip Start
Nov 28, 2004
1
50
57
Trip End
Jun 11, 2005
Canberra,
Australian Capital Territory,
Australia
Wednesday, February 9, 2005
Following small lanes and sections of dirt track, I take the alternative route into Canberra ACT. Australia's nondescript capital city. A joke, I am sure. I burble through agro-residential suburbs such as Captain's Flat and Queenbeyan. There is no particular point in coming to Canberra other than to meet an old acquaintance, now an ex-acquaintance - Jeremy. This is where he lives and it turns out to be an appropriately boring place for him. As for the bush-walking adventures we've spoken about on so many occasions, they do not happen. He's become too busy settling himself into a life of middle income suburbia.
Waiting for him to finish work at the newspaper, I drink pints at the Phoenix pub. A dingy rocker's hangout that hides along one arm of a pedestrianised shopping center. It reminds me of, lets say, a bad day in Romford, UK. And yet this is central Canberra. My car gets locked in to the multi-storey car park which incredibly, is closed like a small fortress all weekend. As ingenious as a safe-cracker, and as cunning as a fox, I hatch my scheme to break in and liberate my vehicle. Naturally, I succeed. And then get a parking ticket ! In a side street near the town centre. I add it to the one I got in Adelaide. Nice souvenirs. For several days, food and drink is fairly varied and abundant. There is a well represented ' foods of the world ' street market. Is this another joke cooked up by John Howard's xenophobic government ? Perhaps it is so, and consistent with this international exchange of cultures, we visit the Croatian working men's club.
A shabby pre-fabricated den of inequity, it stands in another nameless and dreary residential area. But a crowd of us wander in nevertheless, looking for a late drink. We are received at the outset with hostility. One gruff looking merchant sailor pokes his finger as he says " I kill you one hundred percent ! " Is there a lesser percentage of killing ? We indulge the moronic Croatians with our fake smiles, patience and quiet humour. Soon , their aggressive demeanor is replaced by something typically more, Russian I suppose. Trays of shots begin appearing and disappearing as everybody present is compelled to knock them back. One after the other. These guys are quite hilarious. That's more like it. I don't recall leaving. And nobody is killed.
I have been in Canberra for about three days and as I evaluate whether to stay here any longer, somebody makes the decision for me. Jeremy meekly announces that the editor of his newspaper has called and he has to go to work, on a Sunday. Shit happens. Can I take him into the CBD to get his car ? After he's off down the road in his Toyota Rav-4, I realise my Nokia phone charger is still plugged into the wall socket at our temporary abode - a room in his mate's house. I need it back. He won't answer his phone. It's not easy to find the house relying on my memory alone, because Canberra looks like it's been assembled from a model kit. It all looks the same. " Oh shit ! " I hear him exclaim as he sees me pull up in an unmistakable car. I see that his own less-inspired vehicle is right there on the driveway, not in the car park at the Canberra Morning Post. And in the lounge, him and his bird are watching a movie in their pyjamas. Busy day at work, eh. If there's one thing I don't like, it's liars ( except when it's necessary, for example when appearing before a magistrate ) But to save him a big slice of embarrassment in front of his latest beloved sweetheart, I just smile at his lame excuse that - he's left his phone at home and is just on his way back to the office. Collecting my charger unit, I observe the house owner shrinking back into the kitchen. It's the last time I ever see that little group of dorks again. Canberra and it's inhabitants fade away as I re-adjust my scope for the East Coast. I stop for the night at a campsite which is so ordinary, so devoid of interest that I recall very little of it.
Next ; The final push
