Today is the third anniversary of Black Saturday, that hideous day when so many lost their lives in bush fires just forty or so kilometres north west of Melbourne. Tonight a heart wrenching documentary relives this horror; this is a harsh country. Further north, residents of St George, just one hundred kilometres north of the cotton farm we stayed on in May last year, are waiting for the flood waters to recede, and further downstream, other towns wait with baited breathe and sand bags.
This morning the neighbours up the street were still at it; yelling abuse and totally oblivious to the fact that those around can hear all. The ruckus started yesterday afternoon, with music and yelling spiralling down to domestic grief. This and the dust storm encountered on our arrival are the down sides of this place as a stopover. One of our fellow campers who has persevered despite all of this and returned for at least the second time, told us that those who live across from the showgrounds are “known” to the police and in fact around Christmas an aboriginal woman staying here in the camp, managed to knife her partner in the eye, putting an end forever to any further bother from him. This all goes to prove that the underclass is alive and well in Bendigo. It probably is everywhere in Australia as it is in most parts of the world; but as travellers we manage to remain ignorant, or sheltered from this, most of the time.
After breakfast we left with the eski packed with lunch and headed into the more attractive part of Bendigo, soon parked and lined up at the Art Gallery door waiting for it to open. How these regional galleries surprise, and this no less than any other visited! The gallery has an exceptional permanent collection of European and Australian works and is currently hosting two other exhibitions. The first is titled “Made in Hollywood: Photographs from the John Kobal Foundation”, and is drawn from a collection of photographic portraits taken in Hollywood at the film studios, over the years 1920 through to 1960. The photos themselves are just beautiful and the blurbs with each one equally fascinating. Most of the names were familiar to us even if we knew little about them, however I am sure that would not have been true for our children, had they occasion to walk with us through the gallery. The second was an exhibition titled “The Lost Modernist: Michael O’Connell” showing textile design and craft by this talented man. Both Chris and I had to admit that much of this was lost on us although I did appreciate some of the wall hangings, Chris was left cold. But then art is for all; different strokes for different folk.
We drove a few kilometres east, past Lake Weemoona, and on to the Bendigo Botanic Gardens, or more correctly, the White Hills Botanic Gardens, and sat out of the cold wind, eating our lunch with the eski balanced between us in the front of the landcruiser. We were kept busy watching wee tots who were enjoying the playground, unfenced from the car park, while their mothers, many pregnant, enjoyed the company of each other. At one time we had to intercept one little fellow heading past our vehicle, but there were no tragedies. Mothers need to keep an eye on their tricky tots at all times, but sometimes that is easier said than done. Just as well there are oldies lurking in parked cars as a backup.
After the children had been carted off home for their afternoon sleeps, Chris and I walked about the park and found it to be a great disappointment. There are a couple of aviaries, one holding three forlorn sulphur crested cockatoos who would be happier free to fly, and another harbouring a sad colourful parrot and a more colourful Golden Pheasant. A few rare pines are well labelled but apart from that, there is a general feeling of neglect. We would not put these gardens on the Must-do list for visitors to Bendigo.
We found our way to the Market Place shopping centre where I located Just Cuts and had my hair trimmed while Chris successfully window shopped; successful in that he purchased nothing but a newspaper, unlike me who window shopped yesterday when he had his cut and was unable to resist the lure of the clothing sale racks. We picked up maps from the RACV, who here in Victoria, even for members, charge $4.95 for a map, unlike the RACQ who generously hand out maps to members without charge. We shopped up large at Coles and headed back to camp to unpack, pick up emails and spend the rest of the day digesting those and the daily newspaper.
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