Thursday announced itself with the unwelcome buzz of the alarm, a kind of torture these days. We were up and on the road before eight, battling traffic jams, taking three quarters of an hour to travel to the Sunshine station, and then the train was held up for a time “until further notice” at Parliament station. We finally alighted at the suggestion of the frustrated train driver, but then jumped back on when he announced with a sigh of relief that we would be on our way in a few minutes. We never did learn what the holdup was and for us it was not really a problem. We still connected fairly promptly with another train on the Frankston line, and travelled as far as the Caulfield Racecourse.
The 2012 Victorian Caravan, Camping & Touring Supershow is being held there over the six day weekend, and we were there at the gate just half an hour after opening, having taken two and a quarter hours to get there.
We have attended many shows of a similar nature in both Auckland and Hamilton in New Zealand, but none at huge as this. In fact it is touted to be the largest show of its kind in the southern hemisphere, and while we are learning to take these superlatives with a grain of salt, this one is most likely true. Most of Australian made caravans and motorhomes are manufactured in Victoria so it makes sense that the show here in Melbourne would be the mother of them all.
We certainly enjoyed it, although in six hours it was impossible to see everything, and unlike other similar shows we have attended, the entry fee is for one day only and tickets for all six days do not exist. We tried to pick the eyes out of the show, however as we made our way to the gate, we saw exhibits which would have interested us greatly, had we the time. We escaped with only bags of pamphlets, travel magazines and a new mat for the awning. Had we taken the landcruiser through rather than relying on public transport, we may have spent much more. Perhaps a generator? Perhaps even a new motorhome?
It was so good to relax on Friday morning, with no urgency to rise and be ready for a tightly scheduled day out. But despite the lack of need, we were still awake and breakfasted at a very decent hour, with the day’s exploration planned and lunch packed in the backpack.
We alighted at Flagstaff and walked the short distance to the Victoria Markets, and then traipsed up and down the aisles in search of the stall selling hats. Finally tracked down, Chris satisfied himself with an excellent replacement for his disintegrating Aussie hat.
After lunch we walked down Swanston Street to the Melbourne Town Hall to view the special exhibition titled “An Incident in Swanston Street”. There are 7,000 items in the Council’s Art and Heritage Collection and the curator has chosen to pull out a painting by William Rowsell, “An Incident in Sturt’s Trip Down the Murray River in 1831”. This has hung once before in the Town Hall but long ago before modernity had the courage or opportunity to reconstruct or redefine history. The painting depicts the famous explorer, Sturt, and his crew in a small boat encountering a group of aboriginals on the river, some in a more hospitable manner and the rest rather threateningly. Needless to say the curator’s comments and those of others who have been selectively chosen, paint another interesting slant on the scene.
Chris was not particularly taken with the exhibition while I thought it interesting that the municipal authority should give opportunity for such open discussion. Is this the role of the Council? Should rate payers’ money be used for this purpose?
Our next destination was the Immigration Museum housed in the old Customs House, a building with its own rich history. Many of the exhibitions are repetitions or confirmation of history we have gleaned from the Museum of Melbourne and other museums all over the state. Melbourne is a little unique in that it has been the destination to more varied immigration than other parts of the country. Today, according to one spiel, the languages spoken at home in Melbourne after English, are Italian, Greek, Vietnamese, Cantonese, Mandarin, more or less in that order, followed by Sudanese, Korean and a variety of middle European languages. We spent more than a couple of hours enjoying the museum, or should I say, being in the museum. Much of the first hour was spent competing with scores of primary school children, however once they had been shepherded and exiled, we were able to enjoy the star exhibit of the museum: On Their Own – Britain’s Child Migrants, which explains in great detail the child migration schemes covering the years from the 1860s through to the 1960s. Children as young as eight through to sixteen were sent to the other side of the world by charitable and religious organisations, with government support, and always with the best intentions, but often with the most tragic of consequences. Personal stories from those brought out to Australia, Canada and New Zealand under these schemes are well documented.
It was another long day, but without the public transport holdups of the previous day. The good thing about weekends, even when you are a travelling retiree, is that you don’t have to fight your way through the workers on public transport and on the street. The crowds are still the same but more relaxed. Saturday was the last live day on my rail pass and the second to last on Chris’s, due to the bureaucratic stuff up a week ago. No more of that!
We caught the train at Sunshine and soon found ourselves discussing whales and tadpoles with three little boys who settled opposite us in the carriage. They and their parents were off into the city to the Moomba Festival, which started on Friday night and will continue until the end of the long weekend; long because of Labour Day falling on Monday.
Once more into the city centre, bidding farewell to our new little friends, we caught a second train to Victoria Park, on the Epping Line. From there we walked for some distance along Johnston Road, crossed the Yarra River and walked up Studley Road, entering the Yarra Bend National Park, then up over the hill and down to the Studley Park Boatshed complex. Dozens of leisure seekers had preceded us and were enjoying the river bank; in the café, picnicking, playing a rather abbreviated game of soccer, walking their dogs and/or kids, or just sitting taking in the peace and quiet of the scene. We did the latter while enjoying our lunch and then set off across on the footbridge and down along the river following the many bends that give the park its name. We paused to watch a club cricket game, again to listen to the chime of the wonderful bell miners, and to view the Dights Falls which are currently in the midst of a construction zone; a replacement weir being built.
The path along the river is well utilised by those who enjoy the outdoors as we. We passed under the bridge which we had walked over an hour before, marvelled at the graffiti art on the supporting structures and then made our way up to the Collingwood Children’s Farm and the Abbotsford Convent. We emerged onto the street outside these two attractions and were surprised at how any cars were parked about. We poked our nose inside the convent walls to find that this is now a precinct of cafes, art studios and entertainment venues. One can do tours of the convent on Sundays, and had we not been on the point of leaving Melbourne, I would have insisted it be added to our To-do list, however, as we seem to say nearly every day, you can’t see everything.
Checking out a couple of interpretive boards there, I saw there was an area called the Magdelen Laundry . This of course reminded me of the movie I saw not that long ago about unmarried mothers sent here to complete their pregnancies and pass their babies over for adoption. Further investigation throws up a whole heap of interesting facts about this place, far too many to record here. But mention should be made of "The Sisters of the Good Shepherd” who took care of poor and vulnerable women and girls for over a hundred years from the 1860s, able to house up to one thousand at any one time, to save them from immorality or even a hint of the same. There was also an asylum in the grounds, no doubt housing some of the thousand immoral women. The whole operation was self-sufficient with its farming, Industrial Schools and Laundry. Perhaps one could say this place was infamous rather than famous, but that is all a matter of opinion. This convent should be placed on the list of Things-to-do in Melbourne.
We found our way back to Johnston Road, and jumped on a passing bus marked “City”, alighted at Swanston Street and made our way down through the crowds, pausing from time to time to view the art work for sale on the pavement side.
Both sides of the Yarra River up from the Swan Bridge were lined heavily with tents, food stalls, sideshows and stages, all well patronised by Melburnian families. We walked up through the colourful activity and settled at the Cultural Quarter to listen to a band called The Fujiyama Mamas. The Mama came on in a kimono and cowboy boots, introduced her band, including a one armed drummer and started to rock at far too many decibels for us deaf-eggs or anyone else within half a kilometre. We put our fingers in our ears and stayed for two numbers but decided that the sound mix, even filtered through our fingers was just impossible and moved on.
A water-skiing competition was taking place on the Yarra River, with international competitors including one from Hungary and another from Utah. Given the river is such an unattractive brown, it did seem a rather strange venue for such a world class event.
We wandered on upriver, crossed over and returned on the other side lined with the same business as the other. We watched boys scooting about on the skate park and listened to The Paper Kites on the main stage. I suspect this group is popular with the youth of the day, and they probably sound great on disc, but not so great in a big top with bad sound mixing. We left the young’uns to it and made our way back to the Flinders station, caught the train and headed home.
The day which was forecasted to be fine and just the ticket for a picnic at Yarra Bend, had been bleak for all the morning. By early afternoon, as so often happens, the sun had come out and the day was the best of the week.
Today we have enjoyed a beautiful autumn day after a very cold night, and so it is a shame that we have spent it undertaking household chores in preparation for our departure tomorrow. The cupboards are full, the caravan and landcruiser are cleaner than they have been for a while, the diesel tanks are full and we are looking forward to being on the road once more. As I type this, we have yet to sit down and draw up a draft plan of where we will be heading, however it will be generally north and east and no longer than ten days. That latter comment could mean all sorts of things to fellow travellers; friends of ours think nothing of heading south from the Sunshine Coast to parts south of Sydney for a brief trip, we on the other hand would take a month or three to do the same.
We have caught up with two of the kids on Skype this afternoon, and are still hopeful that my parents and the third “child” will pop up yet. I am ready to leave this camp here at Rockbank even though it has proved to be convenient, clean and very economical, but I do long for opportunity to pull up somewhere under the gums and to be alone but for the birds (and the ants if they must).
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