The problem with sensibly early nights is that they lead to stupidly early starts. At 6am I was admiring Sydney.
Stood on the aft deck I had a strange sensation the world was overtaking us, but it was just the 90,000 ton ship I was stood on reversing through a harbour.
At 7.30am I was enjoying my second coffee of the day, which continued to progress swiftly. By 8.30am I was officially back in Australia, by 9.30am in my hotel, by 9.35am I knew the footy score and by 9.45am I was on a bus with no roof.
The bus took me back out of the city, up some hills, into some expensive suburbs. I put on the audio commentary, leaned back, enjoyed the ride.
Everybody got off the bus at Bondi beach, but I’m not sure why. As beaches go I’ve swum on better just in the last week. I guess for people learning to surf it’s a good one, or for people stuck in a big city without the common sense to move out.
A little girl in a tutu got off, climbed up and stood on a plinth, her father photographing her on his phone. She reached out to be lifted down but he ignored her. Realising he wasn’t going to help she jumped down by herself and as he held out a hand to take hers walked past without looking at him. Reaching her mother she raised her hand high above her head and tapped her mother just above the hips.
Her mother looked down in surprise, half shrugged and they walked off holding hands. The father was left stood by the plinth.
Eventually the bus returned to the stop I’d got on, but I hadn’t seen the bridge (except from some way away) or opera house. In surprise I checked the map, found out I’d been on the out of town tour.
The ticket covers both so by 11.30 I was on a second bus, this one much busier. I did find a seat on the top deck, put on my sun hat, had it blown off. By the time I’d spent 5 minutes fitting the laces that tie it on in windy conditions the wind had become rain, light but getting heavier. Moments later the open top deck was deserted, 20 Chineseish passengers huddled downstairs and only a handful of Australian tourists left upstairs, looming bemused at the exodus.
2 minutes later the sun was back out, quickly drying us all off. It had been a nice break from the heat, albeit too late for my already sunburned hands.
The bus tours interspersed the recorded tour commentary with a selection of famous Australian music. Down Under cycled around 7 times..
Then again the tours themselves were repetitive. Where the two of them overlapped for a couple of stops they included a street crossed at multiple points by the same tour so I heard the same joke repeated three times. I’m sure it was funny in the mind of the person that wrote it.
The tours reinforced that Australia is so young, and acts it. They have the insecurity of being a young country, eager to keep and share their history yet lacking much of it. Perhaps that explains the deep national focus on sport and sporting prowess, the primary modern measure of relevance on a world stage.
I did get to see the opera house. It didn’t look much, up close, in person. More interesting are the old buildings, balconies lined with cast iron railings.
There are quite a few of these scattered through the city, holding an ancient mirror against the bland modern structures, identikit balconies showing no personality, no style.
The trees in Sydney seem to feel the need to camouflage themselves.
The two tours didn’t just fill the day, they did help me understand why some people love Sydney. There are certainly some nice parts to the city, some of the architecture is cute if a little overwhelmed by the growth around it and the coast and harbour have multiple excellent viewpoints letting you admire them and the city by them. I still can’t imagine trying to live and work here, dealing with the traffic and the backpackers on a daily basis.
Off the bus I walked to what had been described as the world’s tallest garden. I couldn’t find a way up to look at it and from the ground it just resembled a building with a lot of window boxes. Inside the glass ceiling was covered in water but still no way up to see whether that was by design or poor drainage.
In the basement I found a Brazilian restaurant that didn’t serve coffee. They sent me across the road for that, and I brought it back, waited for the Brasilia Platter.
It wasn’t bad. The coffee wasn’t either; it had arrived looking like a bad Americano but proved very strong and a deep rich flavour.
I skipped pudding, went to the Woolworths next door, bought some Lindt chocolate. It’s expensive here but some needs must be answered.
Back at the hotel I finally checked in, retrieved my luggage, headed to the top floor. They’d given me a room with a view, but the hotel is well placed for convenience not aesthetics and the new tram works aren’t as exciting as the trainee on reception maybe hoped I’d find them. She did her best, my frustrations with the process she had to follow rather than her following it. The man dressed as a bellboy had more knowledge and understanding, and indeed came in behind reception to deal with a customer issue for her. Maybe he’s the manager and just likes dressing up. Or dressing down.
He did tell me where the hotel laundry is located so that’s tomorrow morning sorted.
The room not only has an attempted view, it has a balcony from which to view it. The balcony is reminiscent of an exercise yard for a condemned prisoner, eight foot by eight foot, concrete walls topped by wire grills to let you see through but not pass, uneven tiles underfoot. It’s a luxury hotel designed by someone that’s never seen one, trying to follow a badly written description while complying with health and safety legislation.
Incidentally I feel the need to apologise for the title of yesterday’s update. Apologies. Of course, I wont change it as it’s still making me giggle.
I’m not sure how far I walked today. 5km before I went dancing, allegedly another five to music, so probably around 7 walked plus the dancing. The dancing was ok, some good dancers, good dances, but the music wasn’t familiar, the beat too steady, the floor full without the need for floor filling tracks.
The best follower in the room was condescending to me, told me I was a lovely lead. The lady running the event eventually worked out where she’d seen me before: she was judging at the northern champs, where I was videoing. The sexiest woman in the room gave me by far the best feedback of the night. Not the way she responded to a hip lead, taking my hand and holding it off her body, but by coming back for another dance. Twice. I guess she liked the other body leads i do.
The taxi there was excessive so I asked for suggestions to get back. Annoyingly i found out there’s a train station a kilometre from the venue, $4.40 to get back to Central, a five minute walk from my hotel. I felt silly for not checking before getting a taxi there in the first place, could’ve saved a lot of money.
The train was a double decker, busy for 11.40pm, seven stops in the company of three young men calling each other bro. The train only stopped at the last two so I listened to one of the men complain about football training in the cold, slide tackles on frozen soil. I’m guessing he didn’t mean in Australia.
Gone midnight before I was even back to the hotel, so no chance of an early night. No major plans for the morning though, just laundry and then a walk. I did spot a kebab shop on the way back from the station so if I don’t eat tomorrow I can still head out late, navigate once more past the homeless people and drug addicts and have a kebab.
Tonight’s hotel is described as a ‘budget four star’ hotel, a mostly accurate description. The room has a light switch by the door, another below the TV, two by the balcony, one each side of the bed and one by the bathroom. They all control different lights, a lengthy process to get ready to sleep. Not that sleep is likely, heavy rain hitting the balcony, the sounds of the city beyond that. I’ll go to bed, a book and vodka a fine end to a long day.