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Published: March 17th 2007
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The nothingness of the Outback was so underwhelming that Gina and I decided to power through 900 kilometers to Canberra, the capital of Australia. This decision would narrow our distance to Sydney to a mere two hours.
We had spent the previous days wine tasting at some of the finest houses in Barossa and Clare valleys. Unlike the commercialized nature of Napa and Sonoma, most wineries in Australia do not charge for tasting. The one exception was a winery that charged $5 to taste their wines, which ranged in price from $50 to $225. Needless to say, we had an opportunity to taste a wide cross section of winemaker styles and varietals.
Wearily cruising into the Australian Capital Territory after an extremely long day on the road, I asked Gina to scrutinize the
Lonely Planet for accommodation options in Canberra. “There isn’t much in the midrange,” she offered.
We continued on down the tree-lined streets stopping at several hotels to inquire about vacancy. Unfortunately,
No Vacancy was the frequently offered answer. The Parliament House quickly rose in the distance signaling the center of Canberra was approaching - this wasn’t a good sign. On a long shot, Gina suggested
the University House, which she pointed to on the overly complicated map of downtown Canberra. Round and round we went, looking for a street I swore did not exist.
My impatience growing, I took a random turn in the general vicinity of the map’s marker dot and found myself staring at a cul-de-sac somewhere on the Australian National University grounds. “Ok, I think it’s time to look for another hotel.” I was disheartened.
Turning around for what seemed like the fiftieth time in half an hour, Gina cried out “Liversidge St.!”
I’ll be damned. The reason we couldn’t locate the elusive street to begin with had a simple answer: it wasn’t a city street but a private University road. Minutes later, we were parking in front of the University House hoping that there was a vacancy to reward our diligence. The woman behind the desk offered me a suite, the only available room for the evening. Hesitantly, I asked, “How much?”
“$148, including breakfast,” she replied.
“Sold!” The room was a steal in my mind after an hour of rejection.
Flashing Gina the thumbs-up after completing our registration, I finally took notice of the
1950s era structure that would lodge us for the evening. Clearly, the University House had been purpose built and was furnished with period pieces that would make any Eames collector envious. That evening, we split a succulent meal at the University House’s restaurant which also, to our surprise, served as the faculty club.
Rising the next morning to dreary skies, Gina and I decided to check out the government buildings that shape the Canberra skyline before heading on to Sydney.
The
New Parliament structure rises like a futuristic monolith in the direct center of Canberra, its architect choosing to conceal a portion of the chamber into the hillside on which it sits. In fact, portions of the roof have grassy knolls on top of them, which the public can laze about to enjoy the scenery. In stark contrast, the
Old Parliament is a very British looking structure that overlooks a mall similar to the one in Washington D.C. And then there’s the Aboriginal Tent Embassy. Since 1972, the Aboriginals have held silent vigil across from the
Old Parliament in response to Australia’s refusal to recognize native property rights. In a way, the silly amalgamation of tents, flags and
protestors reminded me of People’s Park in Berkeley. Concluding our morning in Canberra, we directed our sights on Sydney.
As the countryside slowly disappeared and morphed into suburbs, the enormity of Sydney’s population became ever apparent. Traffic thickened and we began scrutinizing road signs to get our bearing. Unknowingly missing our exit, we emerged from an underwater tunnel in the heart of Sydney’s financial district. Within seconds, Gina ‘The Navigator’ had found us on her atlas and was computing a route faster than any GPS.
Unfortunately, like any big city, Sydney doesn’t lack its share of one-way streets. Easily adding what seemed 50 kilometers to the odometer, we went round and round in a futile effort to find our hotel. Convinced I had spotted the Novotel on the corner of three converging one-way streets, I devised a plan of approach that eventually yielded successful results.
Worn out from ten days of driving, we grabbed takeout Chinese and settled in for the evening eagerly anticipating the adventure ahead.
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