Day 48
Sunday 26 February. Sydney, Australia. 24ºC, mainly sunny. We awoke to a grey, murky day but we resolved to put on a happy face (and a fleece) for the day and set off in search of breakfast. The day outside proved to be better than the view from our top floor (tinted) window and it was actually quite warm enough to walk around in a short sleeved shirt and shorts without discomfort. We had a good healthy breakfast in a small Chinese café up the road, then set off on yet another shopping expedition. In order to keep weight down on the aircraft, we had deliberately left many cosmetics and creams behind, and these would now have to be purchased locally. Also, someone omitted to pack spare shoes, so I have to buy a pair, along with another pair of chinos. Damn – I have revealed who it was.
Now here’s a funny thing about Australia. A man cannot buy a pair of trousers of short or long length. He can only buy Regular length. If you are linearly challenged like me, this is a big problem. I am 34″ waist and 30″ inside leg, but the nearest size I can get is 34″ waist and 32″ inside leg; I would have to wear stilts to get away with that. I first noticed this phenomenon in Adelaide, it occurred again in Geelong and here it is again in Sydney. Even top, expensive, shops do not provide the range of sizes. I asked ‘why’, today, and was told that short people just buy Regular, then have the trousers taken up. That would never do. The memsahib, bless her, has a horror of needle and thread and I am disinclined to dig out my old housewife from somewhere in my naval trunk in the garage so that I can do it. Besides, why buy a new thing and then have to alter it? Heaven knows what tall men do. This is bizarre.
Sydney is huge. I mean huge with skyscrapers. I imagine New York is the same. The buildings soar far, far into the sky – much taller than buildings in London. Yet, unlike those in Adelaide, the streets are relatively narrow, about three or four lanes wide in total. This combination makes for dark canyons where little sun penetrates. Jane thinks this place is better than London, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say that; I would set it almost on par with London, however, when you take into account the whole harbour and setting (see later).
We dropped the shopping and our fleeces back at the hotel and set off to explore. We were quite close to the harbour, according to the map, but there was some debate as to which direction to walk in: I favoured downhill (as water flows); Jane favoured uphill. The problem was solved when I pointed down the road to where the immense structure of the Sydney Harbour Bridge cut across the skyline. I win.
The harbour area is nothing short of fantastic. At Circular Quay it is busy and bustling, with dozens of ferries of all kinds churning out and in, and private boats pottering to and fro, all to the backdrop of Sydney Harbour Bridge and Sydney Opera House. Some ferries are catamarans, but others are conventional looking ships, but with bows, bridge and rudder at the front as well as at the the back, so it is hard to tell which way they are going. Most unusual. All of the ferries travel very fast indeed, with little concern for wash or speed limits (if any).
Right in the middle of all this activity stood QUEEN ELIZABETH (QE) (the ship, not the monarch). She was quite impressive but, of course, not as impressive as QM2 – well, I would say that wouldn’t I. Actually, QM2 had been in the day before at the same time, and much publicity had been made of the two Cunarders being together, but QM2 is too big to fit into the usual cruise ship berth and so had to be berthed around the corner, elsewhere (this is why we were berthed on so many container ship jetties on the way south).
We had a good look at QE, then walked round to the harbour bridge to cross over to the other side, to the delightfully named Kirribilly. You can actually cross over the bridge on the top walk, i.e. over the curve, but we passed on that (besides, it was $AUS150 each); just walking over, next to the road was free and spectacular enough. The bridge was completed in 1932 and designed and built in Middlesbrough. I always thought it was modelled on the Tyne Bridge, but apparently it was based on the Hell Gate Bridge in New York. Sadly, the pedestrian footpath was enclosed in high fencing to prevent suicides, and there were security guards posted at frequent intervals for the same reason, but you could still see out and take pictures. It took a fair while to cross, but offered spectacular views of Sydney Harbour.
We had a paella lunch in the sunshine at Kirribilly, then walked back across the bridge to the Opera House to explore that area and the (inevitable) Botanic Gardens. We had always thought that Sydney Opera House was large and white, but actually, it is cream coloured and slightly smaller than we had envisaged, though no less impressive. We hung around to watch QE sail at 1800, then set off to find somewhere for a light supper.
If you hadn’t already gathered, the predicted thunderstorms never happened and the whole day turned out to be baking hot, which was a pleasant surprise. By 1900, however, we had been walking for about eight hours and we were getting quite tired. Jane wanted to stop at a little café to have a cup of tea and a bun to accompany her medication, but by this time, on a Sunday, the only places open were restaurants and bars serving an evening meal and we weren’t that hungry. We walked and walked looking for the ideal place, but, in the end, we had to buy some cereal bars in a convenience store and take them back to the room. What a day.
Day 49
Monday 27 February, and we are still in Sydney. The day dawned with a 60% chance of rain but, yet again, we had blue skies and a lovely day at 24ºC. After a fruit salad breakfast at our little Chinese café, we embarked in a little more shopping, but soon we gave up on shoes and chinos and decided to move over to the next bay, Darling Harbour, to see what that offered. This was another delight, with many eateries, a marina, and a Daring Class destroyer, HMAS VAMPIRE (what more can you ask?). The latter was part of the Maritime Museum, which I resolved to visit soon. We took lunch overlooking the harbour, then strolled in the afternoon heat. This is a lovely place.
We decided to take a harbour cruise, which would visit about ten places and take about two hours. Sydney Harbour is enormous and comprises sixty six bays altogether, all suburban – hence, all those ferries that support commuter traffic. We passed the RAN Naval Base at Garden Island, where there were several frigates, all of the USN pattern, and one aircraft carrier, HMAS CANBERRA. Lovely place to be based. There was quite a swell coming in from the sea across the harbour bar, The Heads: about one metre in height. Apparently it is not uncommon for this swell to be five to seven metres in height, and that must be quite challenging for the ferries; as it was, we heaved and pitched quite a bit as we crossed the entrance. The cruise was excellent, and good value for money at $AUS30 each, but we got a good dose of sun and wind in the process and by the time we disembarked we needed turning and were nearly done. A shared pizza and glass of Sauvignon Blanc at a harbour café finished the day nicely, and we retired to the hotel at about 1800 – whacked out.
With all this walking, we should be losing weight, but I am not too sure that this is true for me. For the moment, I can still fit into my shorts and trousers, so let us be grateful for small mercies.
It is interesting to note the high proportion of Orientals here: it appears to be very much an integrated community in Sydney, and I would say that most of the faces we have seen are Asian. Jane and I actually conducted a straw poll of people who passed us over a ten minute period and came up with the figure of 60% Japanese, Korean or Chinese. It is remarkable enough to be noticeable, if you follow me. Beware the Yellow Peril, that’s what I say. Most of the Australian women are very well turned out and smart, and the men generally have a fresh, healthy, look. Quite a few people are distinctly tubby, however: probably fatter than UK.
The Australians appear to be great ones for coffee, and very good coffee at that. There are coffee bars and cafés everywhere, and if you ask for a black coffee – my favourite beverage – you get a medium sized cup of neat espresso. Crikey, that is strong even for me; certainly one cup at breakfast is quite enough. I might have to move over to tea at this rate.
Against all predictions, the weather is turning out to be lovely and Australia is now exceeding expectations in every way. Nice people, nice place.
Day 50
Tuesday 28 February. Sydney, Australia. Sunny intervals, temperature 26C. 60% chance of rain again. We had an early start today, because we wanted to take a city bus tour to Bondi Beach and pack several other things into the day. It was a long slog to the railway station where the tour started, and en route we saw the (very slightly) more seedy side of Sydney. I wonder why it is that railway stations are often in a tatty area of town, or the rail track gives you the worst view of a city. Most curious. Anyway, we piled onto the open top double decker, noting with some irritation how your Johnny Foreigner doesn’t do queuing, and – having looked at the sky – decided to sit inside. Five minutes after we started, the heavens opened and the top deck crowd came down faster than they had gone up. The tour was all right if sitting in a traffic queue at traffic lights every thirty seconds is to your taste. There was little in the way of commentary, and what there was (in earphones provided) was virtually unintelligible. Stop, start, stop, start we jerked our way grudgingly out of the city centre, through the Red Light district (alas, no scenery) and suburbia to Bondi Beach. The rain stopped and the sun came out. We disembarked. Well, so this is it, eh?
Bondi Beach was very nice (‘nice’ that most English of English adjectives that praises without getting too carried away). It is quite short at about half a mile; for some reason I thought it stretched on and on like Slapton Sands. I’m afraid it rather reminded me of Torquay, or Plymouth Lido, on an extremely hot day. It was not at all what I expected. However, the sand was very fine and the sea turquoise, and Jane expressed the intention to dabble her toe in the water. But first, we thought we would have a drink.
We sat in an outside café, which did not sell alcohol, and I ordered a chocolate milkshake for $AUS7 and Jane a fruit juice. It must surely be the worst milkshake I have ever had. It comprised a spoonful of Chocolate Nesquick topped up with half a pint of cold milk. Jane’s juice was not much better, though I dare say it was healthier. Things could only get better so, stretching my handkerchief across my head, with knots in the corners, I removed my shoes and – with Jane in the lead – I headed for the Pacific. Well, you won’t believe this: Jane pronounced the Pacific Ocean to be warm. I couldn’t get her out of the water, it was so good. She even said she would swim in it if she had the gear. I was amazed. Actually, there was quite an undertow and I am not too sure that I would feel entirely safe swimming there, what with that and the sharks (which can attack even if you are only knee deep). Still, it was a good experience and it is always nice to see Jane happy. I was also happy, because I had seen a lady with no vest on walking along the beach. Two happy people.
But the English don’t do completely happy (total enjoyment is sinful, as is looking at ladies with no vest on), and it was soon time to come out and dry our feet. We concluded that we had done Bondi. Very nice. No T shirt, thank you. Time to catch the hop-on-hop-off bus back. The return trip was, sadly, no better than the outward one. We tore through affluent suburbia at a heck of a rate, screaming around corners and bouncing over speed bumps, with the commentary still inaudible. I think the driver may have been behind schedule. I will swear that the half shaft on that bus was on the way out. And so back to the traffic jams of central Sydney. By the way, if you haven’t already gathered, the traffic here is terrible: worse than London and on par with Dublin (the worst place I have ever driven in). Thank God we are walking everywhere.
The next serial was the much promised Maritime Museum and that Daring Class destroyer. Strangely, Jane went a bit distant when I mentioned the destroyer, and she didn’t express wholehearted support when I tried to enliven the experience with the promise of a crawl round an ‘O’ Class submarine either; the excitement just didn’t seem to be there, if you follow me. Fortunately, a compromise emerged in the form of the Sydney Aquarium. I like an aquarium, but I have done one. Many times. See one manta ray and you’ve seen them all. So we agreed that I would do the Maritime Museum and the ships, and Jane would do the Aquarium. I got a discount for being an old sea dog, and Jane got none.
HMAS VAMPIRE was a most enjoyable experience, and I ran my hand lovingly over familiar hatch coamings, radar displays and gun mountings, peered into the Marine Engineer Officer’s cabin, and scampered happily up and down the companionways. Alas, the machinery spaces were not open to visitors, but I am sure everything there would have been entirely familiar. The quick crawl around the submarine, HMAS ONSLOW, was almost as enjoyable, but, curiously, not one of the volunteer guides onboard was a submariner: one was an old civilian member of aircraft ground crew from Ireland, and the other was an ex Australian Fleet Air Arm sonar operator. Even I knew more about the submarine than they did. Never mind.
I met Jane afterwards and her tour had not gone quite as well, but she still enjoyed it. There were penguins.
It tipped it down with rain at this point, and we sheltered under a bridge. Unlike England, it rains heavily here for about ten minutes, then stops and the sun comes out again. So the shower was soon over and, in steaming heat, we strolled around to the other side of the harbour and ordered a light supper in a Turkish restaurant. I wanted just a half of lager as I hadn’t drunk since that awful milk shake, but the waitress suggested that, as it was Happy Hour, it would be cheaper to have a jug. A jug? Why not, if it’s cheap. So I was given this enormous pitcher of lager: it looked like a small bucket. The scene was like a rerun of that film, Ice Cold in Alex with John Mills as I poured the beer into the frosted glass and ran my finger down the side. I must say that lager went down a treat. The Mediterranean style meal – skewered chargrilled chicken with tzatziki – was superb. Tasty food, and healthy too, if you disregard the bulk intake of beer that went with it.
Staggering slightly under the free-surface effect of all that lager, I tottered back to the hotel with the memsahib: sated, hot, tired, and sticky; but content. Another good day.
Day 51
Wednesday 1 March. Overcast, with sunny intervals and showers. 25ºC. It is our last day in Sydney and we will be sorry to go, but we think we have covered just about all we would want to see, and four days has proved to be about right. We decided to spend the day just drifting around the city, mopping up any places not already visited.
We found a splendid arcade inside the Victoria Building: a bit like the Burlington Arcade, but on three levels around the central atrium. There was a huge clock hanging from the ceiling in the atrium, showing date and time in various parts of Australia, with a little ship sailing around it, and depicting scenes from different parts of Australia’s history. Of course, we couldn’t afford a thing in any of the shops: it was all Gucci, Prada and bespoke jewellery, but we did enjoy the visit. Inevitably, the mopping up process included a visit to the Botanic Gardens where Jane was in her one hundred and seventh heaven. Fortunately, nasty spiders did not attack me and buzzing insects did not bite me, and we spent a pleasant hour in the hot sunshine. We lunched al fresco at an Italian restaurant at Circular Quay, gazing at the latest cruise ship to be alongside and the constantly moving nautical scene. We returned to the hotel for a siesta, then found a Greek restaurant for supper. Our last meal in Sydney.
Day 52
Thursday 2 March and we are up early for our return flight to Geelong. Jane loves these early starts and really joins in the spirit of things when I leap out of bed and fling back the curtains and bedclothes, welcoming a new day. This time, the alarm call was at 0515 and I think the spirit was struggling a bit, partly because the new day had yet to come. The taxi, at 0600, cost $AUS60 and that puzzled us a bit as the day tariff was supposed to kick in after that time. As it was, the journey on arriving had cost $AUS50 because, we discovered, Sydney Airport is privately owned and charges a tax of $AUS13.60 to all travellers, whether transiting by taxi, train or whatever. A bit of a rip off, in our opinion.
Although still a relative novelty to us, domestic air travel here is very common and mundane because of the size of the country. You might as well be at a bus station. Security screening is relatively quick and easy and there is no restriction on liquids in hand luggage for domestic flights. They don’t herd you in phased clumps, like they do for Ryanair: you go to the departure gate, you get on the aircraft. Simple. The departure gate is also the arrivals gate, and the off-going passengers have to push their way past the on-coming passengers, or climb over their legs, to get into the terminal (Australians are great ones for sitting on the floor, for some reason). The unfortunate cabin crew have just ten minutes to clean up the cabin before the next batch of passengers sweep in. Fortunately, it is allocated seating; apparently Jetstar used to offer a graded free-for-all system (gold members got a twenty yard start, silver a ten yard start etc), but this produced a complete melee and some altercations, so that was abandoned in favour of common sense.
Watching all this going on was something of a novelty, for air travel to me always conjures up pictures in ‘Janet and John’ books of flying boats, Imperial Airways and BOAC; of air hostesses in blue uniforms and little hats; of gentlemen in suits and ties; and of ladies in pearl and twinset with court shoes. Some of the passengers I was looking at didn’t even have shoes, let alone court shoes. Oh dear, and no First Class cabin.
The flight to Avalon (Geelong) was going tolerably well, though I missed my in-flight breakfast and warming cup of aviation coffee, both of which used to taste like nothing else on earth. It all started to fall apart at the end when visibility closed in at Geelong and we were placed in a holding pattern somewhere over the state of Victoria. The cloud base at Avalon was too low to land, so round and round we went in endless figures of eight in the sunshine, the pilot assuring us that we had plenty of fuel. I later found out that there was talk of us diverting to Melbourne or Adelaide, or even returning to Sydney, which would have been a bit of a bummer, as Laura and Derek were waiting for us on the ground. We circled for a total of two hours before, at last, things improved and we descended safely, two hours late on a one hour journey. Never mind, we were back and alive.
A warming cup of tea at Laura and Derek’s was followed to a visit to Clyde Park Winery at Moorabel Valley in the emerging sunshine, where we sampled some wines. Afterwards, we gazed over a lovely valley and huge tracts of Australia while eating a light lunch in the shade. Most pleasant.
I confess to a Dog-Watch Zizz on return, as I had not slept well on our last night in Sydney. Then, suitably refreshed and showered, I repaired to Laura’s sitting room, where the air conditioner was going full blast. For once, happy to be cool. It was 26ºC outside and very comfortable.
I think I will fire this off now, as it conveniently concludes the Sydney phase of the voyage and avoids too much for you to read. If you print it off, then it will also provide useful kindling for starting that fire at the weekend. The verdict on Sydney? Excellent – possibly even better than Cape Town. Shacklepin Graffiti Factor, 10%; litter, Nil (Yes, nil); dog turds, nil; skateboarders, 4; scooters, 2; strange men with hair in a bun held by a scrunchie, 5. Bonza.
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 