Sydney: April 1st to 5th
The acquisition of friends gives travelling a certain routine. Get up, call each other, go out shopping or to the beach, go home, shower, meet later at the pub. This kind of routine changes the way your current location feels. For me, Sydney becomes a much more comfortable place. By now I am a connoisseur of the bus system (Jessamie, my wise teacher), am beginning to know where many of the city's streets and parks are, know the best time of day to visit Bondi or Circular Quay, and remember the location of some of Sydney's cheapest watering holes.
I wake up on Sunday morning with a headache and a writhing stomach. It seems that's Jessamie, with the help of Passion Pop and Bundaberg Rum, got me ever so slightly drunk last night. I lie still for a couple of hours, wondering how my body is still running when my blood appears to have been replaced by alcohol. Midday rolls round and I decide to kick my hangover to the curb and visit Bondi Beach for the first time.
Bondi, for all its hype and celebrity, is actually somewhat of a muted sight. It is more sprawling than Cogee, and seems to embody, to a certain degree, the idea of faded glamour. The first thing I notice is the skate park by the beach. Take a visit to most skate parks in rural England and you will find a dull mixture of nervous and talentless eleven year olds, large packs of chavs with no visible skating equipment, and groups of giggling girls huddled around boys whose trouser crotches almost touch their shoes. This is not so at Bondi. I sit down and watch with amazement and envy and kids and adults alike flip, spin, roll and fly their way over various obstacles, performing tricks I can't even pull off on Tony Hawks's computer games. It's the deep bowl to the left that holds the real excitement, and I watch disbelievingly as older but positively not wiser men drop in a fly out. There are several painful looking bails, causing a middle-aged skater with a ginger beard and mohawk to sigh and say, "I wish you'd wear pads you mad buggers".
I pass the rest of the day lying in the sun, and exploring the Bondi beach front. I recklessly buy an expensive hat from the market where Justine is working today. It was calling out to me and I seemed to have misplaced my will power. Before I know it, it is time to meet my new friends for dinner.
As I approach Alex and Elinor, waiting and chatting inside Central, I smile. It feels a little like meeting up with friends at home. Rachel joins us a few minutes later, but Ryan pikes (a very useful Aussie word meaning 'drops out') due to a crippling hangover. We wander through China Town being yelled at by restaurant owners to come and eat at their identical establishments. An incredibly enthusiastic and wonderfully camp Chinese waiter grabs Alex's arm and practically drags him to a table but we manage to break free and make a run for it. Eventually an offer of free soft drinks makes us choose an establishment at the top end of the road. One hour later and I am arguing with the hostess- Eli had a scrap of metal in her dinner, and we found a caterpillar hiding in Oxford's- but to no avail. No free meal for us. Let this be a lesson to you: never eat somewhere simply because they offer you cheap knock-off cola for free. It has, however, been one of the most amusing dinners I've ever had so we forgive and forget as we wander into a very Australian pub filled with middle-aged people singing karaoke.
Now. Karaoke can usually be one of only two things- either it is immense fun or it is arrestingly embarrassing. The decision as to which of these situations will prevail on any given night is usually made by how much beer you manage to consume before your name is read out. Tonight however, neither of these two usual case scenarios occur. This pub is full of men and woman at the greying end of middle age, all drunker than we are, and not a single on of them can sing. I can not imagine what would have to happen to cause embarrassment in this company. Everyone is very sweet though and no one seems to mind when we all start dancing with slightly too much enthusiasm, using bar stools as props and generally throwing each other around. Alex and Elinor sing that karaoke classic, 'Summer Nights'. Oh what a joy. Alex substitutes the line 'she got friendly down in the sand' for 'she got friendly down in my pants' and the Swede nearly falls off the stage laughing.
Later, Eli, Oxford and I perform a spectacularly crap rendition of 'I Will Survive'. Laughing we spill out of the pub at closing time, roping a bouncer into having his photo taken with us, and are all grabbed by the feeling of not wanting to part just yet. And so, still laughing and singing, we skip and heel click our way to the Opera House- quite a walk. The city is sparkling from this vantage point, but it is two in the morning and all except the lights are sleeping in Sydney. It is, after Maccers of course, time for bed.
The following day the gang come to Cogee. I am filled, strangely, by the desire to show people how much nicer it is than Bondi, and so am glad when Elle, Oxford and Alex love it. Jessamie's hospitality and her wonderful flat have made me fall head over heels for this suburb. The weather is perfect, it's a storybook day. The water is crystal clear and we swim first in the bay, then later in the natural baths. Easy conversation in the sun colours both my mind and my skin and as I float, hands behind head, watching Eli cuddled in a towel sit on a rock above me, Alex fiddling with barnacles by the breaking waves, and oxford deep in contemplation in the shade of the cliff, I wonder why some people don't travel. There are moments as simple but incredible as this to be had all over the world.
The next day I awake with the best intentions but, as usual, I am sidetracked by the sun, laziness, and Maxibon cookie ice creams. Plans to do the Bondi to Cogee coast walk melt away as Eli, Oxford and I never get any further than Bondi's grassy banks where we lie for hours in the sun, discussing how we miss Alex who has departed for Uluru, and many other subjects. I seem to be spending more and more time horizontal these days. Pretty soon I'm just going to have to sleep in the park so I needn't bother rising at all.
This evening I have my first experience of World Bar, a place I am instantly taken with. The Bridport Massive would be right at home here. This large club in King's Cross (slightly dodgy but fun area of Sydney) is a haven for backpackers- good music, cheap beer, free stuff and friendly people. And, most importantly, karaoke on Tuesdays. Tonight, I realise with a gulp, is Tuesday. Thankfully though the list for singers is already full and so the torture this evening comes not from my own mouth, but from hearing various people from all over the world (and most especially Holland) wail their way through "hits" by artists as diverse as Bryan Adams and Evanescence. Rachel attaches herself to the face of a fellow Scot and we see little of her this evening (I suspect her male friend sees a great deal more) and Elle introduces me to a lad from Aberdeen named Steve. Friendly, inquisitive and open, I like him instantly. Somehow it is 3am and after meeting a bunch of weird and wonderful people, drinking shots from tea pots (six shots in a tea pot for A$10!) and generally enjoying myself, I leave Eli (Rachel is long gone) and walk to my bus. Before arriving home a Sri Lankan guy I point the bus timetable out to asks me back to his for a beer. Men are so funny. Needless to say, I choose my bed.
I arrange the next morning to do something truly shameful with the Swede. Yes, today we are going to Ikea. Being on the other side of the world makes no difference to the appearance of this megastore. The Swede, however, is like a kid in a candy shop. She pulls books from the shelves and reads happily aloud in Swedish. She explains what all the furniture names mean and dives in and out of the little show apartments, discussing how she will deck out her future home with floor to ceiling Ikea. I laugh and ask if she will have a flat pack family also, remarking that she reminds me of Edward Norton in Fight Club. We find a particularly comfy bed in the linen showroom and lie down for a long while, forgetting for a time that we are in a shop. A swift reminder comes in the form of a couple who are interested in actually buying our resting place, and so we run through lighting and into the food shop where Eli buys all manner of unappetising looking sweets. The evening I pass at a little party for Justine's flatmate Tristan, a fabulously stylish, amusing, and sweet boy who is turning twenty two today.
The next day, as I wander around Paddy's markets with Eli and another Swede name Natalie -Paddy's is a huge indoor market that runs Thursday to Saturday, a regular treasure trove of tempting tat- we chat about perhaps travelling together for the next few weeks. Deciding on the house rules of travelling we reach a decision that it would be a great idea. Later though, as we browse for jumpers on George Street, the work Elinor didn't think she was going to get called and the dynamics change. She must now stay in Sydney and work. This is a shame, but I know now that it is time to go. Time to see something new. Time to explore.
And I am excited.
I wake up on Sunday morning with a headache and a writhing stomach. It seems that's Jessamie, with the help of Passion Pop and Bundaberg Rum, got me ever so slightly drunk last night. I lie still for a couple of hours, wondering how my body is still running when my blood appears to have been replaced by alcohol. Midday rolls round and I decide to kick my hangover to the curb and visit Bondi Beach for the first time.
Bondi, for all its hype and celebrity, is actually somewhat of a muted sight. It is more sprawling than Cogee, and seems to embody, to a certain degree, the idea of faded glamour. The first thing I notice is the skate park by the beach. Take a visit to most skate parks in rural England and you will find a dull mixture of nervous and talentless eleven year olds, large packs of chavs with no visible skating equipment, and groups of giggling girls huddled around boys whose trouser crotches almost touch their shoes. This is not so at Bondi. I sit down and watch with amazement and envy and kids and adults alike flip, spin, roll and fly their way over various obstacles, performing tricks I can't even pull off on Tony Hawks's computer games. It's the deep bowl to the left that holds the real excitement, and I watch disbelievingly as older but positively not wiser men drop in a fly out. There are several painful looking bails, causing a middle-aged skater with a ginger beard and mohawk to sigh and say, "I wish you'd wear pads you mad buggers".
I pass the rest of the day lying in the sun, and exploring the Bondi beach front. I recklessly buy an expensive hat from the market where Justine is working today. It was calling out to me and I seemed to have misplaced my will power. Before I know it, it is time to meet my new friends for dinner.
As I approach Alex and Elinor, waiting and chatting inside Central, I smile. It feels a little like meeting up with friends at home. Rachel joins us a few minutes later, but Ryan pikes (a very useful Aussie word meaning 'drops out') due to a crippling hangover. We wander through China Town being yelled at by restaurant owners to come and eat at their identical establishments. An incredibly enthusiastic and wonderfully camp Chinese waiter grabs Alex's arm and practically drags him to a table but we manage to break free and make a run for it. Eventually an offer of free soft drinks makes us choose an establishment at the top end of the road. One hour later and I am arguing with the hostess- Eli had a scrap of metal in her dinner, and we found a caterpillar hiding in Oxford's- but to no avail. No free meal for us. Let this be a lesson to you: never eat somewhere simply because they offer you cheap knock-off cola for free. It has, however, been one of the most amusing dinners I've ever had so we forgive and forget as we wander into a very Australian pub filled with middle-aged people singing karaoke.
Now. Karaoke can usually be one of only two things- either it is immense fun or it is arrestingly embarrassing. The decision as to which of these situations will prevail on any given night is usually made by how much beer you manage to consume before your name is read out. Tonight however, neither of these two usual case scenarios occur. This pub is full of men and woman at the greying end of middle age, all drunker than we are, and not a single on of them can sing. I can not imagine what would have to happen to cause embarrassment in this company. Everyone is very sweet though and no one seems to mind when we all start dancing with slightly too much enthusiasm, using bar stools as props and generally throwing each other around. Alex and Elinor sing that karaoke classic, 'Summer Nights'. Oh what a joy. Alex substitutes the line 'she got friendly down in the sand' for 'she got friendly down in my pants' and the Swede nearly falls off the stage laughing.
Later, Eli, Oxford and I perform a spectacularly crap rendition of 'I Will Survive'. Laughing we spill out of the pub at closing time, roping a bouncer into having his photo taken with us, and are all grabbed by the feeling of not wanting to part just yet. And so, still laughing and singing, we skip and heel click our way to the Opera House- quite a walk. The city is sparkling from this vantage point, but it is two in the morning and all except the lights are sleeping in Sydney. It is, after Maccers of course, time for bed.
The following day the gang come to Cogee. I am filled, strangely, by the desire to show people how much nicer it is than Bondi, and so am glad when Elle, Oxford and Alex love it. Jessamie's hospitality and her wonderful flat have made me fall head over heels for this suburb. The weather is perfect, it's a storybook day. The water is crystal clear and we swim first in the bay, then later in the natural baths. Easy conversation in the sun colours both my mind and my skin and as I float, hands behind head, watching Eli cuddled in a towel sit on a rock above me, Alex fiddling with barnacles by the breaking waves, and oxford deep in contemplation in the shade of the cliff, I wonder why some people don't travel. There are moments as simple but incredible as this to be had all over the world.
The next day I awake with the best intentions but, as usual, I am sidetracked by the sun, laziness, and Maxibon cookie ice creams. Plans to do the Bondi to Cogee coast walk melt away as Eli, Oxford and I never get any further than Bondi's grassy banks where we lie for hours in the sun, discussing how we miss Alex who has departed for Uluru, and many other subjects. I seem to be spending more and more time horizontal these days. Pretty soon I'm just going to have to sleep in the park so I needn't bother rising at all.
This evening I have my first experience of World Bar, a place I am instantly taken with. The Bridport Massive would be right at home here. This large club in King's Cross (slightly dodgy but fun area of Sydney) is a haven for backpackers- good music, cheap beer, free stuff and friendly people. And, most importantly, karaoke on Tuesdays. Tonight, I realise with a gulp, is Tuesday. Thankfully though the list for singers is already full and so the torture this evening comes not from my own mouth, but from hearing various people from all over the world (and most especially Holland) wail their way through "hits" by artists as diverse as Bryan Adams and Evanescence. Rachel attaches herself to the face of a fellow Scot and we see little of her this evening (I suspect her male friend sees a great deal more) and Elle introduces me to a lad from Aberdeen named Steve. Friendly, inquisitive and open, I like him instantly. Somehow it is 3am and after meeting a bunch of weird and wonderful people, drinking shots from tea pots (six shots in a tea pot for A$10!) and generally enjoying myself, I leave Eli (Rachel is long gone) and walk to my bus. Before arriving home a Sri Lankan guy I point the bus timetable out to asks me back to his for a beer. Men are so funny. Needless to say, I choose my bed.
I arrange the next morning to do something truly shameful with the Swede. Yes, today we are going to Ikea. Being on the other side of the world makes no difference to the appearance of this megastore. The Swede, however, is like a kid in a candy shop. She pulls books from the shelves and reads happily aloud in Swedish. She explains what all the furniture names mean and dives in and out of the little show apartments, discussing how she will deck out her future home with floor to ceiling Ikea. I laugh and ask if she will have a flat pack family also, remarking that she reminds me of Edward Norton in Fight Club. We find a particularly comfy bed in the linen showroom and lie down for a long while, forgetting for a time that we are in a shop. A swift reminder comes in the form of a couple who are interested in actually buying our resting place, and so we run through lighting and into the food shop where Eli buys all manner of unappetising looking sweets. The evening I pass at a little party for Justine's flatmate Tristan, a fabulously stylish, amusing, and sweet boy who is turning twenty two today.
The next day, as I wander around Paddy's markets with Eli and another Swede name Natalie -Paddy's is a huge indoor market that runs Thursday to Saturday, a regular treasure trove of tempting tat- we chat about perhaps travelling together for the next few weeks. Deciding on the house rules of travelling we reach a decision that it would be a great idea. Later though, as we browse for jumpers on George Street, the work Elinor didn't think she was going to get called and the dynamics change. She must now stay in Sydney and work. This is a shame, but I know now that it is time to go. Time to see something new. Time to explore.
And I am excited.
posted by Aisling at 3:51 AM
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