I could blame the fog for the fact that we were late venturing forth this morning, but it would be a lie. We simply overslept, so despite the best plans for popping across the park to view the best of the Farmers Market wares this morning, we were treated to the dregs. And that too is not entirely true, at least not in all cases. Canberrian’s were still arriving in their masses as we walked the short distance from camp and there was still plenty of the certified organic produce available. The nursery plants, coffee, wine and jams were still there for the taking too, however we were more interested in the plain old chemically sprayed vegetables which sell at half the price. Obviously there had been plenty of likeminded buyers because that left was substandard and we decided that we would wait until we next hit one of the large supermarket chains. And even from here, I can hear the shouts of, “Traitor!” Alas we have found with most of the Farmers Markets we have visited both here in Australia and in New Zealand, the supermarkets do give the consumer a better deal, although I do accept that you do not actually get to chat with the grower and that must be worth something.
Tucked in a corner of the large corrugated shed, which serves as an excellent venue for the market, was a group of about thirty men of over sixty, one female conductor and another woman on an organ. These were the Canberra Blokes and their harmonies were wonderful. We stood there spellbound for several numbers until another woman came around with little slips of paper inviting men in the audience to join the “club”. This is obviously a ploy for women to keep their retired husbands out of mischief, just as the Men’s Shed movement does.
As we left we were met near the entrance by a chap with an alpaca all harnessed up with bit and bridle. The alpaca’s name is Honeycomb and he is quite famous here in Canberra, not just as a bizarre pet, but as a worker in Hospices and the like. Makes a change from the boring old canine companion I guess, however not so easy to get on the lap. We stroked his neck and made noises of appreciation and came away feeling good about the world, so we would have to confirm that Honeycomb is good for one’s soul.
We returned briefly to the caravan disappointingly with nothing in the two green bags we had taken with us, had a cup of tea and then set off back into the city, or more specifically back to the Old Parliament.
Yesterday we had explored the two houses; that of the Senate and that of the Representatives, and immersed ourselves in the history of Australian politics. Today was spent learning about the origins of democracy on a worldwide scale and the repercussions here in Australia. Not only are these educational, sophisticated and interesting for adults and senior school students, but there is a large section given over to the instruction of the same to those of far more junior years. Hats off to the powers that be that set this up; it should be compulsory viewing for all would be voters. And here in Australia enrolment is not only compulsory, but the act of voting also; something I do not support. I personally believe that while enrolment should be compulsory, voting should be left to those who are capable of making an informed and considered choice. I am sure there are many, who when they are bound by law to vote, simply toss a coin.
The museum boasts a great treasure of the evolution of democratic government in the western world, one of the few copies of the Magna Carta. It is certainly proudly framed there on the wall, but in the small print one learns the truth of the matter.
In 1215, copies of the Magna Carta were sent to every county in England. It is believed only four of these original documents survive today. Subsequent versions were distributed throughout England between 1215 and 1416, of which only 23 survive. Only two of these are held outside the United Kingdom; one from 1297 here in the collection of the Australian Parliament House, and the other in private hands but on permanent loan to the National Archives of America.
We finally left the building at half past one, sat in the land cruiser out of the cool breeze and ate our belated lunch gazing across the lake and to the aboriginal tent embassy, watching more particularly a youthful dark man, ostensibly the ambassador or perhaps just the caretaker, raking circles around the fire pit on the governmental front lawn. By the time we wandered across to the parliament gardens, thick smoke was rising from the big logs he had loaded into the pit.
We had intended to continue on to the Art Gallery, however we decided it was too late in the day to make such a start. Instead we made our way into the city centre, eventually found a parking spot that could accommodate a landcruiser with a roof rack, and walked to Canberra Central, the city’s shopping centre. There we walked about the centre which stretches over several blocks but is still very small compared to those we visited in Melbourne. We poked through book stores with marvellous sales on, but with still a pile of unread books under the bed, came away with just the weekend newspaper.
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