Canberra Trip Part 2 - Canberra sights and sounds

It's before 7am when the announcement is quietly made. We're in Canberra. I'm wide awake, but that's no defense against the near freezing conditions that are present. It's worse for those who didn't plan on bringing enough warm clothing, or who happen to be coming down from the artificial warming effects of a night's alcohol consumption. A barbecue on the shores of Lake Burley Griffin sees people huddled under one of the park's gazebos, trying to find some sort of shelter from the cold. Sausages, bacon, bread, sauce, orange juice. Maybe it's my being a morning person with their senses fully intact, maybe it's memories of sausage sizzles at Melbourne Uni, but I restrict myself to a cup of juice. A small kick around in one of the sunny spots helps warm up a half dozen or so people, but care must be taken not kick the ball too hard or in between two people as the ball will find a way of running away. I don't suffer the fate of needing to chase, and that's a good thing.

Somewhat fed and a little less cold as Sol eventually gets to work, the group then proceeds towards Canberra International Airport, in the hopes of greeting the team who were due to arrive that morning. There is scoffing at the smallness of the facility, somehow not befitting that of a capital, though I'm about to learn that Canberra is a capital in the sense of an American state capital; somewhat in name only, akin to an Albany or Annapolis. We pass a very small group of Melbourne fans who've come up for their game against Sydney at Manuka, and families waiting for diplomats or whatever to turn up. The squad is just about to leave the departure area, and the fans chanting with the last vestiges of sleep still manage to turn a few heads, and mingle briefly with the players, who appear to either a little confused or completely at ease with the situation, though Sam Poutakidis is more than at ease. Supporting South is a state of mind perhaps now more than ever. Early morning airport sojourn dispensed with, it was time to see more of what the city had to offer.

For the benefit of international readers, Canberra has a reputation as a more liberal town, where the purchase of items such as fireworks and pornography is legal unlike in the rest of Australia. So off we went to one of the two districts which can legally sell porn, Fyshwick, which some of the more juvenile travellers had been looking forward to for awhile. Parking in front of one these infamous sex shops, it comes as little surprise to me, but perhaps more so to others, that it's juts like any other adult superstore type place that exists. More sterile than a hospital ward, which at least has plenty 0f signs of life, I wander the aisles trying to figure out what the fuss was all about. Is it perhaps the lack of stigma attached if you visit a sex store 500 kilometres from home? Isn't this stuff available on the Internet at comparatively next to no cost? Or am I lacking the connoisseurs eye? The highlight is the group photo outside the store, with one of the more creative minds inside the window display, wrapping a South scarf around one of the mannequins.

The next stop on the itinenary is a visit to Parliament House. Throughout our travels in the city, the lack of traffic is one of the things that stands out. Yes it's a small city, it's winter, and it's a Sunday, but there's still for me a slightly unnerving lack of people, of movement. After having taken the requisite group photos, some supporters had a six in six soccer match on Parliament's front lawn under the watch of the Australian Federal Police, while more highbrow fans decided to take a tour of the building. This is my time to duck out and see Eamonn so we can do my radio spot. After a quick scan of the periphery, I ask some AFP bystanders the way to the nearest taxi rank; somewhere within the underground carpark where the bus was parked. Walking for what seems a while in the massive underground space, I eventually find the payphone/waiting bay. I make the call and wait.

A white haired British Isle accented driver picks me up and we start chatting, but it's one of those forced conversations that you have with a driver so he doesn't think you're a serial killer. He parks in the driveway, and Eamonn's already there, and reimburses my fare. A good start. Inside the studio, I get the rundown, a quick practice run to make sure everything's recording, and then we're away. Going through the past, present and future, all in ten minutes, microphone slipping, Gary Hasler mentioned alongside Trimmers and Boutsi, but at the end of it, a good feeling, I didn't say anything stupid, and that my voice was made for radio anyway. Filled with a quiet sense of accomplishment, Eamonn drives me back to Parliament House, where people ask where I've been.

This was followed by a long lunch held at the Hellenic Club. Some people allegedly couldn't handle the long line - which really wasn't that long - and opted to go buy food from elsewhere. For what it's worth, the 'Mexican' chicken I had was quite nice, and we had a prime spot along the window, with plenty of natural light which wasn't as bountiful as in other places. Overall I found the decor and environment all a bit gauche to be honest. I suppose they had to include the 'Greekness' in somewhere, but it just didn't fit naturally for me. Supposed to have been on the bus by 2 O'clock, but we only at about about twenty minutes after that. Left us in a little bit of rush to get to the ground.