After some, but not much, discussion, we decided to fly up rather than drive. Pricing it out, there was no real advantage to flying, but there was a distinct time advantage, and we opted for having more time in the city, which was fine with me. We also had discussions about where we wanted to stay -- being close to the attractions versus saving money on a hotel room we would really only use for sleeping. Having been in a situation where saving money was judge more important than location before, I know that my choice is always to be closer to the attractions, justifying it by being able to walk to the sights rather than spending all the savings on taxi, bus, or Metro fares. We finally settled on a basic hotel well within walking distance of the sights we really wanted to see. After settling on a time to meet my friend for dinner on Friday night, we were set to head off.
Canberra marked the sixth National Capital I have visited (Washington, DC, Stockholm, Tallinn, Helsinki, and London are the others), and the second in my "home" country. I knew that dearest would not be happy with a quick guided tour of the Parliament House before we moved on to the next sight, so I planned our sightseeing to schedule the majority of a day at the Parliament House. I wanted to see it as well, so this was not as self-sacrificing as it sounds. Other than touring Parliament House and having dinner with my friends, I really had no other plans for our trip to the city. I was willing to wander where our whims took us -- until I saw an advertisement for an exhibit at the National Library. The exhibit was "Handwritten: Ten Centuries of Manuscript Treasures" featuring handwritten documents from Michelangelo to Heisenberg. As soon as I read the advertisement, I knew I would hate myself if I missed the chance to see it. So I checked out the National Library's website and booked my tickets for the free(!) exhibition. Knowing that we would spend the better part of a day touring Parliament House, and that the tickets to the Handwritten exhibit were for a timed entry, I decided to book that for Friday afternoon, before we were to meet my friend for dinner. The trip had all come together. All that was left was getting to the airport and having a good time.
Friday morning was a bit of a rush, because someone decided there was no need to check in for the flights online before leaving the house. Our house is, on a good traffic day, about 2 1/2 hours from the airport. We had planned to leave with plenty of time to get to the airport, but things happened and we were delayed a bit getting off. After some nervousness, I managed to check in from my phone on the drive to the airport, and breathed a bit easier on the remainder of the drive, which felt unusually long -- as they do when you feel rushed. We got to the airport in time for our flight and breezed through security, arriving at our departure gate with enough time to settle ourselves before boarding the plane.
The flight up to Canberra was scheduled for forty-five minutes gate to gate, and I suppose it was about that flying time, but since we were held on the ground for a while after pushing away from the gate, we were a bit delayed in landing. The turbulent flight didn't help my feeling of playing catch-up on the day, as I sat white-knuckled ignoring the tempting book I was reading (Buffalo West Wing), praying that pilot was not as distracted and disinterested as he sounded. We landed safely, if bumpily and headed off to find the taxi rank.
I had checked it out online, but until you are actually there, you are never sure about the airport. Walking from the gate to the taxi rank, my initial thoughts were confirmed: Canberra Airport is the smallest airport I have ever seen in a National Capital. Seriously! All I could think was that the airports in Lincoln, Nebraska and Little Rock, Arkansas were bigger and had more to offer than the Canberra Airport. Fourteen gates, one souvenir/sundries shop, and two food outlets were all there were for traveller comfort. It must be said that the stalls in the ladies' room rival those in Gatwick or Dallas Love for size and convenience; and I do appreciate nice, wide, deep stalls in ladies' rooms.
Airport disappointment aside, we found a taxi and were off to the hotel. As I said, we decided location over savings for this trip, and we were in a good location for everything we wanted to see. After checking in, dropping our large luggage, and rearranging the things we would need for the afternoon, we were off on a walk to the National Library in search of the exhibit, and lunch. It was nearly 2:30 and other than sharing an airplane snack of bread sticks and pumpkin dip, we had not eaten all day. Both of us were hungry and food was a priority. Even so, we took our time, stopping for pictures and touristy investigation, on the 2.5 kilometer walk to the National Library. Upon arrival, we found there was a cafe and a sandwich shop. We tried the sandwich shop for "real food" but they were just about to close for the afternoon, so we headed back up to the cafe and found an interesting looking trio of dips with ciabatta bread to share. So fortified, we found the check-in desk for the exhibit and redeemed our tickets.
The exhibit was an amazing collection of handwritten documents including things from Galileo's handwritten reference multiplication table card and Beethoven's draft of his Fifth Symphony. To me, one of the most interesting pieces in the exhibit was one of Louise Braille's first Braille letters -- it was definitely a first draft using embossed dots in the patterns of Arabic letters, more a raised type, than the 6-dot patterns used for modern Braille. We took our time viewing the pieces, reading the documents that were in English, (and for me French). We were in no hurry, and as this was the last weekend for the exhibit, it was busy and crowded. In some areas, even if we wanted to, we could not have zoomed through. It took us about an hour and a half to see the approximately 100 pieces in the collection.
Upon leaving the exhibit rooms, we were not at all pleased to find it had started raining. Even though one of us had read the weather forecast, and knew afternoon showers were expected for Canberra both Friday and Saturday, she did not bother packing for the very real possibility of rain. We had two options -- stay at the National Library hoping for the rain to blow over, or head out on our way back to the hotel, taking our chances in the light rain. We made it about a third of the way, and seeing the drips were getting larger, we decided to duck into the Old Parliament House to see what we could see and wait out the passing heavy shower. We had about fifteen minutes to wait out the rain, and took the time to investigate an exhibit on the Best Political (Editorial) Cartoons of 2011. I have always enjoyed political cartoons, and was really excited to see the best on offer. We didn't have enough time to see them all, or do much exploring, but it did confirm that we would need to make a bit of time to visit the Old Parliament House after touring the new one tomorrow.
Old Parliament House closed, and the rain broken up, we resumed our walk to the hotel. Ominous clouds were gathering, but neither one of us was in any real hurry, and running on slick sidewalks, or trying to beat the traffic at intersections did not really appeal to us, so we took a leisurely, if quick-paced, stroll back to the hotel. We had made it about another third of the way, when the skies opened and heavy drops began to fall. Seeing a chance for shelter on the porch of an apartment complex, we took it as the storm passed over. We made friends with a spider and waited out the brief, heavy storm before resuming our walk, and making it back to the hotel without any further interruptions.
We were not as wet as I had thought we would be by the time we made it to the hotel. While dearest headed for the shower, I dried off playing a few levels of Angry Birds. We had over an hour before my friends were picking us up and we spent the time getting ready at a relaxed pace. I had no idea where we were heading for dinner, and truthfully it didn't matter. It was one of the meals when the food was far less important than the company, and I knew it would be good.
It was still damp in the gathering dusk as we waited for my friends to pick us up. I was really beginning to wish I had paid more attention to the weather widget forecast and less to the weight limit for the carry-on baggage. But soon enough my friends arrived and the lack of a warm sweater was a moot point.
Driving to dinner, we saw a couple of sights that we would not have seen walking, including the fence to The Lodge, the Prime Minister's Residence in Canberra. I was surprised at the simplicity of the fence, and the seeming lack of security. But that may just be my American-ism talking. I have wondered about The Lodge. I know it's more like Number Ten Downing Street than it is like the White House -- in that it it's an office and a working residence, not a National Landmark/Tourist destination, but even so, I would have loved to have been able to tour it. The White House is on my list of must dos the nest time I am in Washington, DC. I have been to DC twice, each time hoping to tour the White House, but each time my plans were foiled, and the next time, it will be done, even if it means sacrificing my travelling companion's bucket list visits.
Back to the drive and the singularly unimpressive fence we were passing. We discussed the ABC (Australian) show "At Home with Julia" giving it as much mention as it deserved, and possibly more, by saying that the ten or so minutes I happened to catch were one of the most painful television shows I had ever seen -- worse than an audition episode of American Idol and many forgettable sitcoms.
After some more driving -- I can't really tell you what we passed, I was too involved in catching up with my friend to notice the scenery -- we arrived at the restaurant. My friend had made a booking, but even so, there was a slight wait while the hostess figured out which table was to be ours. As it turned out, we were seated at a round table for six, even though there were only four of us. After some discussion, we took seats around the table -- I ended up having a great view of a brick wall, but I was too excited to be with Americans again to take much notice of the wall.
Service at Australian restaurants is slow and indifferent compared to the standard at American restaurants. All of us had been in Australia long enough to know that the was no hope of quick service, and we were not in a great hurry. We had plenty of time to peruse the menu and even then there were last minute decisions on drinks and appetizers (or entrees to the Aussies) when the waitress made it over to our table. Dearest and my friend's husband decided on a glass of the local James Squire Amber Ale, while my friend had a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and I finally settled on a bottle of sparkling cider. After a full-table debate, we decided to split a half & half roasted garlic and sun-dried tomato focaccia. Drink and appetizer orders in, we had a nice long chat about all kinds of things, including the logistics of my friend's upcoming move back to the US and her recent "bucket list" trips around Australia and New Zealand.
When the waitress came back for our mains order, I had decided on a prawn and scallop risotto, dearest had a pumpkin and caramelized onion stuffed rolled pasta, my friend had the chicken special of the day -- which appeared to be a fusion of cashew chicken and chicken marsala, and her husband had ... to be honest, I do not remember what her husband had. I remember a discussion of a couple of options, but not what he finally ended up ordering. I am getting bad at remembering the details!!!
Our mains came and we continued the meal and discussions. I was having a great time playing do-you-remember and what-ever-happened-to with my friend, and every time I glanced over at dearest and my friend's husband, they appeared to be having a nice, friendly discussion. It looked as though both were having a genuine good time, not as though it was just a case of suffering through the evening on their wives' behalf. My friend was a bit nervous as the night began, because it was the first time she had left her children (9 and 13) alone for so long, but after she put her cell phone on the table, in case they called, her apprehension melted away, though maybe the two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon had something to do with that as well.
Before I knew it, the restaurant had gotten quieter (it was one of the bare walls, open kitchen type restaurants, which are awesome from the photo-shoot standpoint, but really useless for anything other than whispered, intimate conversation) and my friend's husband was commenting that they hated to be party poopers, but they needed to get home to check on the kids. I checked my watch and found it was nearly 10:30. Where had the night gone???
The bill was handled and we were on our way back to our hotel, my friend and her husband giving us some tourist tips for our adventures on Saturday, and places close enough to check out for dinner the next night.
After farewells were made at the hotel, dearest and I wandered back to our room and rounded out our evening with some silly tv -- we caught the tail-end of one showing of R.E.D. and then, scanning through the channels, found it beginning again. I was out before I recognized any of the filming locations in New Orleans.
The flight up to Canberra was scheduled for forty-five minutes gate to gate, and I suppose it was about that flying time, but since we were held on the ground for a while after pushing away from the gate, we were a bit delayed in landing. The turbulent flight didn't help my feeling of playing catch-up on the day, as I sat white-knuckled ignoring the tempting book I was reading (Buffalo West Wing), praying that pilot was not as distracted and disinterested as he sounded. We landed safely, if bumpily and headed off to find the taxi rank.
I had checked it out online, but until you are actually there, you are never sure about the airport. Walking from the gate to the taxi rank, my initial thoughts were confirmed: Canberra Airport is the smallest airport I have ever seen in a National Capital. Seriously! All I could think was that the airports in Lincoln, Nebraska and Little Rock, Arkansas were bigger and had more to offer than the Canberra Airport. Fourteen gates, one souvenir/sundries shop, and two food outlets were all there were for traveller comfort. It must be said that the stalls in the ladies' room rival those in Gatwick or Dallas Love for size and convenience; and I do appreciate nice, wide, deep stalls in ladies' rooms.
Airport disappointment aside, we found a taxi and were off to the hotel. As I said, we decided location over savings for this trip, and we were in a good location for everything we wanted to see. After checking in, dropping our large luggage, and rearranging the things we would need for the afternoon, we were off on a walk to the National Library in search of the exhibit, and lunch. It was nearly 2:30 and other than sharing an airplane snack of bread sticks and pumpkin dip, we had not eaten all day. Both of us were hungry and food was a priority. Even so, we took our time, stopping for pictures and touristy investigation, on the 2.5 kilometer walk to the National Library. Upon arrival, we found there was a cafe and a sandwich shop. We tried the sandwich shop for "real food" but they were just about to close for the afternoon, so we headed back up to the cafe and found an interesting looking trio of dips with ciabatta bread to share. So fortified, we found the check-in desk for the exhibit and redeemed our tickets.
Upon leaving the exhibit rooms, we were not at all pleased to find it had started raining. Even though one of us had read the weather forecast, and knew afternoon showers were expected for Canberra both Friday and Saturday, she did not bother packing for the very real possibility of rain. We had two options -- stay at the National Library hoping for the rain to blow over, or head out on our way back to the hotel, taking our chances in the light rain. We made it about a third of the way, and seeing the drips were getting larger, we decided to duck into the Old Parliament House to see what we could see and wait out the passing heavy shower. We had about fifteen minutes to wait out the rain, and took the time to investigate an exhibit on the Best Political (Editorial) Cartoons of 2011. I have always enjoyed political cartoons, and was really excited to see the best on offer. We didn't have enough time to see them all, or do much exploring, but it did confirm that we would need to make a bit of time to visit the Old Parliament House after touring the new one tomorrow.
Old Parliament House closed, and the rain broken up, we resumed our walk to the hotel. Ominous clouds were gathering, but neither one of us was in any real hurry, and running on slick sidewalks, or trying to beat the traffic at intersections did not really appeal to us, so we took a leisurely, if quick-paced, stroll back to the hotel. We had made it about another third of the way, when the skies opened and heavy drops began to fall. Seeing a chance for shelter on the porch of an apartment complex, we took it as the storm passed over. We made friends with a spider and waited out the brief, heavy storm before resuming our walk, and making it back to the hotel without any further interruptions.
We were not as wet as I had thought we would be by the time we made it to the hotel. While dearest headed for the shower, I dried off playing a few levels of Angry Birds. We had over an hour before my friends were picking us up and we spent the time getting ready at a relaxed pace. I had no idea where we were heading for dinner, and truthfully it didn't matter. It was one of the meals when the food was far less important than the company, and I knew it would be good.
It was still damp in the gathering dusk as we waited for my friends to pick us up. I was really beginning to wish I had paid more attention to the weather widget forecast and less to the weight limit for the carry-on baggage. But soon enough my friends arrived and the lack of a warm sweater was a moot point.
Driving to dinner, we saw a couple of sights that we would not have seen walking, including the fence to The Lodge, the Prime Minister's Residence in Canberra. I was surprised at the simplicity of the fence, and the seeming lack of security. But that may just be my American-ism talking. I have wondered about The Lodge. I know it's more like Number Ten Downing Street than it is like the White House -- in that it it's an office and a working residence, not a National Landmark/Tourist destination, but even so, I would have loved to have been able to tour it. The White House is on my list of must dos the nest time I am in Washington, DC. I have been to DC twice, each time hoping to tour the White House, but each time my plans were foiled, and the next time, it will be done, even if it means sacrificing my travelling companion's bucket list visits.
Back to the drive and the singularly unimpressive fence we were passing. We discussed the ABC (Australian) show "At Home with Julia" giving it as much mention as it deserved, and possibly more, by saying that the ten or so minutes I happened to catch were one of the most painful television shows I had ever seen -- worse than an audition episode of American Idol and many forgettable sitcoms.
After some more driving -- I can't really tell you what we passed, I was too involved in catching up with my friend to notice the scenery -- we arrived at the restaurant. My friend had made a booking, but even so, there was a slight wait while the hostess figured out which table was to be ours. As it turned out, we were seated at a round table for six, even though there were only four of us. After some discussion, we took seats around the table -- I ended up having a great view of a brick wall, but I was too excited to be with Americans again to take much notice of the wall.
Service at Australian restaurants is slow and indifferent compared to the standard at American restaurants. All of us had been in Australia long enough to know that the was no hope of quick service, and we were not in a great hurry. We had plenty of time to peruse the menu and even then there were last minute decisions on drinks and appetizers (or entrees to the Aussies) when the waitress made it over to our table. Dearest and my friend's husband decided on a glass of the local James Squire Amber Ale, while my friend had a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and I finally settled on a bottle of sparkling cider. After a full-table debate, we decided to split a half & half roasted garlic and sun-dried tomato focaccia. Drink and appetizer orders in, we had a nice long chat about all kinds of things, including the logistics of my friend's upcoming move back to the US and her recent "bucket list" trips around Australia and New Zealand.
When the waitress came back for our mains order, I had decided on a prawn and scallop risotto, dearest had a pumpkin and caramelized onion stuffed rolled pasta, my friend had the chicken special of the day -- which appeared to be a fusion of cashew chicken and chicken marsala, and her husband had ... to be honest, I do not remember what her husband had. I remember a discussion of a couple of options, but not what he finally ended up ordering. I am getting bad at remembering the details!!!
Our mains came and we continued the meal and discussions. I was having a great time playing do-you-remember and what-ever-happened-to with my friend, and every time I glanced over at dearest and my friend's husband, they appeared to be having a nice, friendly discussion. It looked as though both were having a genuine good time, not as though it was just a case of suffering through the evening on their wives' behalf. My friend was a bit nervous as the night began, because it was the first time she had left her children (9 and 13) alone for so long, but after she put her cell phone on the table, in case they called, her apprehension melted away, though maybe the two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon had something to do with that as well.
Before I knew it, the restaurant had gotten quieter (it was one of the bare walls, open kitchen type restaurants, which are awesome from the photo-shoot standpoint, but really useless for anything other than whispered, intimate conversation) and my friend's husband was commenting that they hated to be party poopers, but they needed to get home to check on the kids. I checked my watch and found it was nearly 10:30. Where had the night gone???
The bill was handled and we were on our way back to our hotel, my friend and her husband giving us some tourist tips for our adventures on Saturday, and places close enough to check out for dinner the next night.
After farewells were made at the hotel, dearest and I wandered back to our room and rounded out our evening with some silly tv -- we caught the tail-end of one showing of R.E.D. and then, scanning through the channels, found it beginning again. I was out before I recognized any of the filming locations in New Orleans.
