Moving to Canberra: Getting your bearings
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Moving to a new city is a thrilling, yet inherently disorienting, experience. Moving to Canberra amplifies this with a unique cocktail of national monuments, diplomatic enclaves, and enough roundabouts to make even a seasoned Uber driver weep.
As a recent arrival from the British drizzle, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time decoding Australia’s purpose-built capital. Here’s what I’ve learned about finding your bearings without losing your mind (or your suitcase).
My initial mental map of Canberra was a terrifyingly blank slate, marked only by two historical footnotes: first, that the city was born from a feud: a grand compromise to halt the squabbling between Sydney and Melbourne. And second, that its heart held two Parliaments – the old and the new – sitting in stoic, symbolic opposition.
Then, I discovered Lake Burley Griffin. Or more accurately, I was welcomed by its dramatic overture: the Captain Cook Memorial Jet. My first approach was heralded by a pulsing fountain shooting a towering plume of water high into the air. It was a spectacular sight that made the freshly arrived Brit think, “Well, at least someone here understands dramatic weather.”
This is the anchor point from which the entire city radiates and the source of its great, unspoken civic dispute: northside versus southside. It’s a divide as fundamental as cats versus dogs, and asking which is better is a surefire way to start a friendly argument.
Cross the Commonwealth Avenue Bridge to the northside, and you enter a world of hip, slightly dishevelled charm. This is the realm of Braddon, where securing a weekend brunch table is an Olympic-level sport, and the leafy, academic buzz of Turner and O’Connor, where cafe conversations are likely about thesis deadlines and student night antics. It’s home to the Australian National University, classic pubs, and a distinctly relaxed, creative energy.
Cross the Kings Avenue Bridge to the southside, and you enter a domain of polished elegance and power. Here, the well-heeled residents of Manuka and Kingston navigate between boutique shops and award-winning restaurants. The southside is the seat of government, housing Parliament House, countless embassies, and a quiet, established confidence.
When the suburban sprawl inevitably confuses (a regular occurrence for me) abandon the street signs and look up. Canberra navigates by a collection of unofficial landmarks.
There’s the Canberra Centre in Civic, the retail titan where I earned ‘residency’ within my first week, frantically procuring a new hairdryer and approximately six types of winter thermals I never knew I needed (a pro tip: you need them).
If you spot the Telstra Tower blinking atop Black Mountain like a digital beacon, you’re in luck. That sleek concrete finger is Canberra’s true north, guiding the directionally challenged home after dark.
For the ultimate perspective, climb Mount Ainslie. The summit provides a breathtaking, real-life geography lesson. The entire elegant, gridded symmetry of Walter Burley Griffin’s stubbornly brilliant vision unfolds below you. The circles, the axes, the sheer audacity of planning a capital from scratch – it all finally makes sense.
I’ve come to learn that the initial disorientation is a vital part of the process. Getting lost is how you stumble upon a hidden gem of a wine bar or find a walking trail through a nature reserve you never knew existed. Remember, your mental map will grow from getting lost. It will slowly transform from a blank canvas into a detailed guidebook of personal favourite spots.
And what better way to fill in that map than by exploring? On foot, by bike, or – a local favourite – by electric scooter. Embrace the scooter life, but wisely. There’s no shame in permanently having Google Maps open on your phone. But the endeavour becomes slightly more risqué when attempted on a zig-zagging Neuron scooter – a thrilling, if slightly perilous, way to learn the lay of the land. A word to the wise: avoid the roads at all costs. Stick to the bike paths. And when crossing a bridge, the pavement is your only friend. Take it from me, who learned this lesson the hard way amidst a symphony of politely annoyed car horns.
But ultimately, Canberra reveals itself not through any single mode of transport, but through a state of mind. It’s in the quiet moments of watching the sunset paint the Brindabellas from the top of Red Hill, finding a quiet bench by the lake, or finally mastering the roundabout that once defeated you.
The initial overwhelm is temporary, a prelude to the satisfaction of unlocking a city designed not just for function, but for discovery. So, take a deep breath, pick a direction, and start exploring. Worst case? You’ll end up at a roundabout. And in Canberra, that’s basically inevitable.
