Sydney – Or, the End of A Chapter

There was a sense of coming home, in that cab ride from the airport into Sydney. It felt like an odd mixture of Toronto, and snippets of every European city I’ve ever been to. The tree-lined streets, the front gardens, the traffic congestion, the glittery high-street shops, the wrought iron details on balconies and front gates, all familiar touch-points, yet mixed together in a way that gives this city its unique flavour. Maybe that’s why it is so popular and populous; everyone feels at home here, or at least in his or her comfort zone. And though it gave me the warmth that comes from feeling confident in my competence to navigate a space comfortably, it also weighed on me, much like Toronto can weigh on me, with its pressure, and rush, and people who look weary if you smile at them. If Brisbane in an accountant in a three-piece suit and pocket watch, then Sydney is an overachieving 30-something lawyer, Gucci everything and blinding veneer caps.

We did have a little hiccough with the transportation into the city though. The first night we arrived, before we went on to Urulu (and in Emi’s case, Melbourne), we took an airport taxi with a flat fare of $65 dollars, which was at the very least 10 dollars more than a regular hail-taxi. The second time we arrived, a week later, the cabbie took the very scenic route to our apartment, and then mentioned the $4.50 airport tax that was not included in the fare. Then he gave me attitude when I asked him why he hadn’t mentioned that extra charge, taking umbrage that I’m questioning the fare, as if he was trying to rip me off. Which I’m pretty sure he was, and was quite successful it. At the end of our time in the city, we took the public trains to the airport, which was $17 per person, super quick and very easy, and should have been done right from the get go. From now on, public transit everywhere!

We stayed in a little bachelor apartment right in the downtown core, in Korea Town, about 15 minute walk away from the harbor and just about everything else. The AirBnB pictures we saw when we booked it seemed a lot more cozy when we were booking it in Byron Bay, but in retrospect, I think the wine we were drinking kind of coloured our perception. The room was perfectly fine, but also very bare. There was a kitchen, a bathroom, and a main room that housed a double bed, 2 chairs…and that is all. Everything was functional but could have some real elbow grease on the last clean. We also had to change the sheets immediately because whoever cleaned forgot to do it from the last renter. We had a little balcony that was really sweet and had a plethora of potted plants, and someone left a bagful of incredibly hot chilies in the freezer, which did a lot to endear the apartment to us. In the evenings, we’d bring the little stools out and have our own prime time television experience, with all the young people out and about, heading out for a good time, and then coming home, with the accompanying shouted laughter, or piss-contests between guys in muscle cars. No matter where you are in the world, some things never change.

Sydney is an amalgamation of suburbs, though “neighbourhoods” would be a better way to state it for the North American, as it is not the far-flung suburbia I’m used to. The first thing we went to explore was the harbor, as we were tripping over ourselves to see the Opera House. It’s always a bit of a mixed bag when you go to places that have such an iconic presence. There’s some expectation built in your mind, and invariably, the real thing is always a little different than what you believe you will see or feel. The Opera House was grand, and the roof really was something to celebrate; the great sails being blown full by the winds off the ocean. But they were a dull cream instead of the brilliant white that I somehow thought they would be. In contrast, the seagulls in Sydney were a blindingly white, not like the dirty, bedraggled seagulls we have back home. These seagulls have some selfrespect!

 

Around the grounds are bars and patios, where impeccably dressed people were enjoying beautiful cocktails, and carafes of delicate pink sangria, with juicy-looking strawberries and plump raspberries floating like jewels at the top. Sydney is a very stylish city, with both men and women seemingly taking great care as to how they are put together. Men in tailored suits and shiny leather shoes had brightly coloured socks peeking from between shoe and cuff, while women would have a whole “look” curated, from crisp business, to relaxed Peruvian chic (yes, that’s exactly the words I would describe one woman with, her outfit a mix of patterns and textures that were ultra modern yet total Andes), to ultimate hipster. I stopped a few people on the street whose look I admired, though as my look was definitely more “country road” than “country chic”, I think they may have questioned my cred as a blogger.

We would come to the harbor a few more times, as the area is packed full with interesting sights and tastes. There’s a gelateria right across from the main harbor ferry docks that’s pretty much as good as anything I had in Italy. And a wonderful fish and chips place not far from it, in one of the kiosks along the harbor towards the Art Gallery, which had the tastiest battered fish I’d eaten yet. About 5 minutes away are the Sydney Rocks, which has a crafts market, filled to the brim with artisans of all stripes. There is some real beautiful jewelry work being done here, and I had to restrain myself more than once. Of course, we went crazy with jams and jellies, as they were made of fruit that don’t grow back home. It was a wonderful day to go, as it was Anzac day, the centennial anniversary, and the whole city was awash in patriotic festivities. And gambling.

Introducing 2-UP, Australia’s favourite game of chance, which is legal only on Anzac Day, and let me tell you, the Aussies really seize the day when it comes to this one. There are two pennies on what looks like a ping pong paddle, and you place money on whether it’ll be two heads, two tails, or one of each. The bars were mobbed, and you could hear the “haaaaaayyyyy!!!” or “aaaaaawwwwwwww!!!” for blocks. It looked like a real good time, and next Anzac Day that I’m around, I’m definitely going to join in for a round or two. But people weren’t kidding: $100, $150 being bet on single tosses. And god help you if you were the paddle handler and the coins dropped off the platform or wherever the designated coin-dropping area was, because you were standing between an Aussie and his 2-UP, which is almost as bad as standing between one and his beer.

Anzac Day is the annual celebration of Australia’s contribution to the First World War, and their heroic stand at Gallipoli. I don’t think there’s one family who wasn’t touched in some way by the war, and everywhere you looked you saw young men and women either in uniform, or dressed solemnly, with the badges of their family members who had fought, either in the Great War or in other tours of duty. Medals on the left were for duty done yourself; medals on the right were those of family members who had served. Sprigs of rosemary were pinned to lapels, as in herbology they are said to aid memory, and now are used as a symbol of remembrance for the lives given in defense of others. Australia has a proud tradition of brave sons and daughters, as this is a land of the hearty, capable, and scrappy.

The weather however was not as cooperative as it could have been; the day started off sunny and warm, but a storm was moving in by the late afternoon, and the vendors started packing it in with alacrity. We took a look at the clouds rolling in and hopped towards the apartment with a right good will. We also had to make it to the bottle shop before the weather really got to us, as we couldn’t possibly be shut in for the night without some wine (obviously). The next day the weather prospects weren’t much better, so we decided to head to the Sydney Museum of Modern Art and have a fine time indoors. There was a really awesome light installation on the main floor, and I had a whale of a time dancing around in front of it while mom and Emi took photos, but I think I pulled a Classic Silvia and somehow deleted most of my Sydney photos, which just goes to show you that you should download and label your media promptly and clearly. As I write this, I’m aware of a whole whack of photos I should be downloading off the camera and I’m somehow reluctant to get out of bed and do it. I’m taking bets as to when I’ll actually learn my lessons.

The Museum is free (imagine that, North America) with the third floor devoted to special, ticketed exhibitions. Some wonderful work, though not as extensive as the mother of all modern art museums, the Tate Modern in London, which will forever hold a special place in my heart. There was a theme of light and modern media installations, including a display of lamps and light bulbs that would spring to life in various patterns every few seconds. My favourite was a piece made up of three 6’ x 3’ panels, energetically covered in thick black paint, some sections a matte black, some a shimmering, lacquered back. You would step back and just see what shapes emerged from the brushstrokes, kind of like finding the shapes in clouds. In a few spots, bits of a vibrant cyan would peek through. I kept on seeing a raven flying up from a field of back lava stones and crags.

Later in the week, we took some time to wander around Paddington, an inner suburb of the city, which is all about the independent and trendy boutiques and shops. Mom and Emilia decided they wanted to check out Bondi beach, and I was going to meet my friend Aki in the afternoon, so we took our time wandering the down Oxford Street, which runs through the suburb. Oxford is a very long street, but looking at the map, the girls thought they would be able to walk the length of it to Bondi in an hour or two. Five hours later, they made it to the beach. They were not exactly thrilled either, as it was quite nippy – only 15 degrees or so (this for all the Canadians who are just coming out of the deep freeze late April).

I wish I had a bit more time to properly peruse the district; but we were on a bit of schedule (a four-letter word in my universe) so just hopped into the stores I really couldn’t tear myself away from. One shop was all about the linen for the season, soft stone colours, and beautiful detailing. I would have cheerfully bought the whole line, if I had six grand lying by the wayside. Another store was all about the ornate, blinged out, ultra sexy, leopard-and-peacock-everything, which made the East European in me jump for joy. One store was a wonderful mashup of upmarket shoes with upmarket bicycles – and the gentleman who owned it was so stylish himself I asked to take a photo of him. Then there was the wonderful lady who owned a cake shop, and oh my lord, those cakes were works of art. Every occasion, every style, beautifully executed. She also designed event invitations, and had a lovely graphic style.

We met up with Aki towards the end of the Paddington, and the girls went on, while Aki and I went to explore another little neighbourhood, just off of Oxford. He was actually looking for a specific store, Ginko, specializing in Japanese wares. Aki has a line of traditional Japanese undergarments that he is looking to market in Australia, and he was curious if the shop would buy any for retail (they did end up buying a few pieces – I will need to check in with him and see if they’ve sold yet!) This shop specialized in housewares, with a bit of textiles thrown in, and when I’m in Japan I’ll be looking to buy towels from a particular district, whose name I am now at a complete loss to name. I’ve been encouraging him to take a look at the Toronto market – we certainly love our handcrafted, artisanal everything, and I don’t see why underwear wouldn’t just tickle every hipster’s fancy back home.

We also stopped in to a chocolatier for a cup of hot chocolate, and I ordered the Mayan hot cocoa, thinking it would probably be fairly mild, but oy! Thick, gooey melted chocolate with enough of a kick to make even my tastebuds sit up and take notice! Best Mayan I have ever had, bar none, at least so far. I will report if and when I get to Mexico. I highly recommend visiting Max Brenner Chocolate Bar if in town.

Sydney seems to be a city of friends, for besides Aki, I met up with Steven, an old friend I haven’t seen in years. We used to work together ten years ago or so, and then kept in light touch over the years. He was a wonderful sounding board to me when I was contemplating going back to school, as he works in advertising, and I wanted to gain a better understanding of whether I should pursue design or I should stay within what I know and go into account management. We met up at a wonderful café, tucked away on Albion St. It was a converted garage, and they roasted their own beans on premise. A huge, polished wood table stood in the back of the space, golden whorls and black knots telling the story of the tree. The garage doors were pulled up, and flowers spilled out of pots by the doors and from a great big vase on the table. Great coffee and fab service. A perfect space to get creative as well; should I be back, I’m totally making it my writing/designing nook. It was wonderful to catch up with him, as he is also embarking on an adventure, having decided to just make a move for the sake of trying something new. I love kindred spirits who are willing to take a chance, and I am sure he’s going to do marvelously well here too, as he is just an incredibly nice, kind, and generous man. If I do end up Down Under, it’s nice to know I have good people around me.

Speaking of great service: YHA Central in Sydney. First of all, we had lunch at their cafe, and it was the tastiest and most reasonably priced thing I’d eaten out so far in the country. Huge portion sizes. We were on a new exploratory mission, this time to Newtown, which is where all the hipster vintage shops and all sorts of restaurants were rumoured to be. The hostel itself was newly renovated and beautiful, with a computer hub in the lobby area that looked like something you’d find at Google. But the bathroom had only 3 stalls on the main floor (which was open to non-residents) and all were taken. Another person came in and when she saw the line, she shook her head and turned on her heel, telling us to come follow her, because we weren’t going to wait. Turns out she’s one of the managers at the hostel, and she let us in to the nightclub they have in the basement, which wasn’t open yet, but had pristine (and more importantly) unoccupied bathrooms! Score! I left my water bottle on the bathroom counter, and as I came out of the stall, I saw her tossing it into the garbage. She had assumed the bottle had been missed during cleanup, and when she realized she had made an error, she immediately got me a full bottle of water from the café instead. It’s these small acts of kindness that make me happy.

Walking over to Newtown was a good trek too, though slightly shorter than Mom’s adventures to Bondi. King Street, the suburb’s main strip, was just one restaurant after the other, practically without pause. Many Thai and Indian restaurants, with a few hotels and fusion or western restaurants tossed in for balance. Incidentally, “hotel” here is a synonym for “pub”, and not a place to rent a room. You know how I said the YHA was the best food so far? Well, I’ve just recalled that it’s actually tied with Mr. Crackles, a bahn mi joint on Oxford street that makes porchetta bahn mi for best grub in town. Traditional French demi-baguette, pickled veg with cilantro and chili, and then filled with bbq pork and pork crackling inside. Oh. My. God. We stopped in a few vintage shops too, and one even carried a bag made of plastic shaped and painted like a chicken. In Toronto, the same bag retails for $40 at Queen and Portland, while here it was….get this…$165!!! Clearly, I need to start making and selling rubber chicken bags.

One other thing of note we did was go to the Sydney Planetarium for an evening tour. The cloud devils were still with me however, because while the day was clear without a cloud in the sky and the next day was forecasted to be equally amenable, the night sky brought with it a cloak of clouds. The planetarium had a telescope and we tried to get a decent glimpse of the moon’s surface and Jupiter, but the best we could do was snatch glimpses when the clouds broke up for a few seconds here and there. So we ended up taking a multi-media tour of the southern hemisphere’s night sky, which sadly triggered my sleepy reflex. (Unfortunately, I have conditioned myself to fall asleep to astronomy docs, after months of watching them while in bed after a long night of work. Now the reflex kicks in even if I watch one at noon.) I suppose I will just have to head to the Atacama Desert in Chile and check out the skies from the astronomy towers there.

Our Sydney journey wrapped up all too quickly though, as before we knew it, we were packing up to head to the airport. I did annoy Emilia in the morning when I decided to shoot an email off before quitting the apartment, when she and mom were all set to depart. I had packed up as well, and just needed to shove my laptop in my bag, when for some reason I thought now was the time to squeeze that last detail in, and she was waiting for me in the hallway, having kittens. After threatening to kick my ass, (she wasn’t kidding), I hopped to it and got in gear. I felt guilty for a week; and it’s made me realize half the reason for my lateness is that when I am on track to be on time, I feel like I have oodles of spare time to do more things before heading out the door, which then sets me behind schedule (there’s that word again). And other half of the reason tends to be because I really don’t feel like doing the thing I’m supposed to be doing, and so I vacillate by the door for a good ten minutes longer than I should before I force myself out. To that point, I really didn’t want to leave Sydney, or the girls. Unfortunately, sometimes you can’t wish yourself out of something, and you just need to get through it.

So we got to the metro station, and got our butts on to the designated train, and I hopped off at the domestic airport terminal while mom and Emi stayed on to go the internationals. After hugs and kisses and a few tears that escaped me, I girded up the ovaries and started off on the solo part of my journey, which, if the gods are with me, will take me around the world, and make for some epic adventures. I’m not going to let my baggage of fears and anxieties rule my life, and I’m really trying to live the only way I think makes life worthwhile: balls out and tits forward.

 

Other things about town….