Sydney – Iconic
OK, OK, I’m sorry! I know that recently I’ve been about as useful as a chocolate frog in a heatwave on the blogging front in the last couple of weeks. Rest assured though, this was purely because I’ve been having the most amazing time in Australia, such a whirlwind of a time, I literally haven’t had a chance to get near a computer.
So, where was I? If I recall correctly (and it was such a long time ago!), I was arriving in Sydney at the crack of dawn. Sydney airport only accepts incoming flights after 6am, so we had to circle for a while and then touched down literally one minute past 6. Bleary eyed, I somehow managed to find the one minibus in the city that gave me a free transfer to my hostel (I didn’t even know until I went to pay the driver), and before too long was checking into the Wake Up Hostel, right in the thick of the action near the train station in Sydney. Miraculously, the lovely people there let me check in despite the horrendously early hour, and I headed up to room 206 to settle down for some much-needed sleep. Ha. The dorm was an eight-bed room, four bunk beds. All the bottom bunks but none of the top bunks were taken, and all the occupants were asleep. I went for one near the huge window, intending to slink into bed, fully dressed, and snooze until I felt more alive. Ha. As soon as I stepped foot on the rung of the bed, I started to see why this was such a bad idea. The bed creaked like an old ship in a storm. To say WD40 was needed is the understatement of the century. The bed was rocking and creaking, I was giggling, and the girl on the bed beneath me just moaned (and, incidentally, hated me from that moment on – but who can blame her?). Finally in bed, I collapsed until later that morning.
And, when I did finally wake up, is there any better way or city to wake up in? Despite it being winter, the sun was streaming in, and I was in Sydney! I was determined not to waste another second, and so got up and headed out towards – where else? – the harbour.
It was a walkable distance from my hostel, which was great news, and also gave me the added benefit of seeing more of the city. It was actually quite a surprise. I knew that it was the oldest British settlement city in Australia, and yet I still didn’t expect to see so many old buildings. I guess because we always see the trendy, outdoorsy Sydney on the television, I expected it to be a very modern city. It wasn’t though; there were many 100-plus-year-old buildings, which gave the place loads of atmosphere, and made me like it even more.
I stopped off at a place I’d seen on a tv programme a year or so ago, St James’ Church. This is a Francis Greenway Georgian gem of a church, tucked away opposite Hyde Park, and a real place of peace in the midst of the city. Judging by the visitors’ book, I was the only visitor so far that day, which in one way is a shame, and in another a delight, as it kept it so very peaceful, as if I was discovering it myself.
After the stop off here, I carried on along MacQuarie Street, and before long, the graceful curves of the Opera House roof came into view. Shivers down the spine moment. It was truly amazing to see such a wonderfully iconic building there in the flesh, so to speak. I couldn’t stop smiling. I turned to the left and there in front of me was the Harbour Bridge, looking much bigger in real life than I expected – completely dwarfing the Opera House, making it look deceptively small. The sun still had his hat on, hip hip hip hooray, and so the beautiful cream and white tiles of the Opera House were reflecting the bright light.
I’d read that tours of the Opera House were available, and so I signed up for one. This, quite apart from its magnificent architecture, was a building with a history. Construction began in 1959, led by a young, virtually unknown Danish architect, Jorn Utzon, who had put forward plans for a $7m building. Many political storms, interferences and arguments later, Utzon quit in disgust in 1966, leaving a team of three Australian architects with only the outside shell of a building, desperately trying to design an interior. They came up with a solution of designing what is, in effect, a building within a building, at a cost of $102m. In my completely untrained opinion, the inside is a total let down. It looks like any average provincial 1960s theatre, with lots of concrete and wood panelling, and in no way does justice to the soaring exterior.
We had a comedy moment inside, though. Our tour guide had made it clear that we could take as many photos as we liked outside the theatres, in the lobbies, and out of the windows, but inside the theatres, photos were strictly verboten. No problem. We all dutifully complied but, inside the main theatre, a group of Chinese tourists were being shown around at the same time as us, and started snapping away with their flashes. Our tour guide launched himself across the theatre and started shouting at the offenders, one of whom took against being belittled in such a way, and started shouting back, having to be held back by his own tour guide. It culminated in our guide shouting “Buyow” at the tourist, which is an impolite version of “go away”, as I learnt on my China trip. Nice!
Afterwards, I sat and had lunch on a bench overlooking the Opera House, in the sun, still smiling. Life is really so incredibly good!
Despite my excitement at being in such an iconic, vibrant, exciting city, my lack of sleep was really catching up with me, so before long, I retreated to my hostel again. I said hello to the other occupants of my room – Luke, from Ireland, Susanna, from Germany, and another German couple, Scary German Girl, and Scary German Boy. Scary German Girl was the one who hated me. I crawled up to my bunk – this time not disturbing anyone as they were all still awake – and began to doze off and on for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Yet another two Germans came in, two jet-lagged guys who had just arrived from home and were only staying one night, and they did the same as I, crawled into bed and started to doze. During one of my naps, the eight and final occupant came in, a guy I cunningly deduced to be Welsh due to his Wales Rugby top (just call me Sherlock). I was pretty comatose when he came in, but managed to raise one hand in a wave. He sorted his stuff out and headed straight back out again, and I wouldn’t see him for the rest of the evening. Keep an eye on him, though folks, as he reappears later in my story.
And that was pretty much that for my first day in Sydney. But still, when you get to see such iconic sights in one fell swoop, not a bad day’s work, eh?
Tags: Australia, Travel
Suzanne