Gone Bush
(N.b., that’s not George, but rather an Australian term for heading out into the countryside.)
We’ve just gotten back from Canberra, Australia’s “bush capital.” Canberra is one of two planned cities built as national capitals, but the only one that can be called successful. (Brasilia turned out to be too spooky for even the civil servants to adjust to by all accounts.) We went down after some careful planning and consultation with friends resident there with two specific purposes beyond socializing with our friends: see the autumn colors and visit the National Gallery’s aboriginal art collection. We were thwarted only in the latter goal, as the NGA had that part of the museum closed for renovations. Strange that they should block off such a significant part of the gallery in the height of tourist season, but there you have it. Instead, we ended up at a private gallery, where canvasses were rolled out upon the floor for our perusal. Purchase, too, in the end, which we’re both rather pleased with, even if it will be many years before there’s any thought of investment value. I just like the pictures.

The train ride to the ACT (Australian Capital Territory) is terrific, at least once you get past Campbelltown (an hour or so from Central), increasingly bushy, so that about two hours out of Canberra you’re seeing more kangaroos than cows. The train station is on the outskirts of town, about the same distance out as the airport, but saying that is deceptive, as the outskirts are almost immediately integrated into the suburbs. Kingston and Manuka were recommended as the lively districts, with fine dining and a bit of nightlife, and while the restaurants were indeed good in Kingston, they were also all located around a single city block, albeit quite a large one, still, just a stripmall, essentially. All the streets are lined with trees, and as a result of Griffin’s plan, bright with color, because the trees are foreign, deciduous varieties on the whole, with a scattering of eucalypts through some areas to maintain the natural greenery. It’s hard to say what summer and winter would be like there, but autumn is beautiful, if a little cold at night. Once in town, you travel in and out of individual city centers, each planned district having its own character, with arterial roads leading into the government district where Parliament and the various other national buildings are located along the shores of Lake Burley Griffin. I thought the walk around the lake – quite long, and I only managed a small portion thereof – lovely, and I appreciated the civic edict disallowing development along the shoreline. That’s fallen by the wayside, at least at the far end of the lake, but so long as there are no highrises and development reaches no further than the treeline, it ought not to detract from the overall prettiness.

One of our friends works in the Senate and took us on an insider’s tour of Parliament House, the grounds of which are surrounded by temporary security barriers. This is unfortunate for two reasons. First, they’re ugly. Second, Parliament House is mostly underground, the idea being that the Australian people should be able to walk upon the top of the government, symbolically demonstrating that the ministers and so worth work for them. It’s a nice thought, now spoiled somewhat. Nevertheless, the building is terrific. Like an iceberg, the majority of the building is well below the areas accessible to the public, and we learned that it’s rather labyrinthine and requires the use of golf carts for staff to get around. We skipped that part of the tour, not having brought any thread or breadcrumbs. We visited John Howard’s office (but didn’t have our spraypaint with us) and Mark Latham’s, but most of the building was inactive, with the exception of Peter Costello’s, in preparation for this week’s finalization and presentation of the budget. The principle feeling I had leaving the seat of government was a desire to pay a lot closer attention to what gets reported on the media, both stylistically and in content, primarily from a greater sense of how things work. Our friend Simon T. gave us a much better grounding in what goes on than we’d previously been able to obtain for ourselves.

Old Parliament House, where the National Portrait Gallery is housed, the National Archives, a few other civic buildings (at least from the outside), dining and excellent conversation with intellectual and informed and enjoyable persons all added up to a terrifically worthwhile trip that I would make a pilgrimage. There’s yet more to visit and learn, and I recommend it to anyone seeking a sense of Australia, particularly its national history and political inner life.