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Published: March 25th 2012
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Historical Sydney
We start the morning off with indecision. I have only one full day here in Sydney and so I want to spend time getting to know the history and culture of the place, as much as possible, rather than visiting the pretty sights like the famous Manly Beach (though that appellation is rather appealing…) or taking a ferry ride that will take hours and not involve really active learning. We talk to a wonderfully nice and vivacious lady working at a travel kiosk on the Quay, the only part of the downtown that feels decidedly dirty (and smelly), and she gets us lined up with a gourmet multi-course buffet lunch at the top of the Sydney tower, a needle spire reaching up to the level of the highest skyscrapers and which has a rotating restaurant at the top. It’s expensive but we decide it’s worth it. Today is the start of the famous Sydney-to-Hobart race (sailing) and we decide that watching it from high up in the air will be better than watching it on the ground. Most of the on-the-water opportunities are either taken or too expensive.
By the time all arrangements are
Cane toad coin purses!
How to make a horridly noxious, invasive species profitable... made, we have a couple of hours to kill before lunch. So we follow the Quay and then veer into the Rocks. This is where European settlement was originally concentrated and many of the buildings are preserved from the 1800’s. Short, tightly packed rows of buildings made of roughly-cut white rocks. This could be the kitschy part of town but I find it comfortably quaint, not ostentatiously so. It may be because most of the tourist action is centered around the shopping district today (as we later find out) and so it’s quiet and peaceful in the Rocks. We catch a glimpse of an open-air, covered market being set up and start wandering down it. It’s an artisan market with homemade hats, clothes, jewelry, art, amusing T-shirts, etc. Toward the end, I immediately gravitate toward a stall that has what I would call steampunk jewelry, adornments made from disassembled antique watches and such, industrial chic. Kristy and I fall into conversation with the main artist, a young man around our age who works with his mother and father, also artists selling their wares there. He tells us all about how he finds the antique watches, what the jewels inside were
The Rocks
Example of one of the many old buildings in the area for, where each watch came from, etc. After taking our sweet time to choose and purchase, we emerge from the market, determined to get out of there without any more shopping. We were originally looking for The Rocks Discovery Museum and we find it along a narrow alley, a similarly narrow sandstone building, unadorned and plain on the outside.
The Museum is well-done and informative with a battalion of technological interpretative displays that pull the museum-goer inside the history of the Rocks, the sailors, the convicts, the native peoples, that made the Rocks what it is today. In fact, my only critique of the Museum is that it was perhaps too small to contain all that information. I could have spent at least fifteen minutes at each of the computer displays alone (and they were six or seven of those.) The Museum definitely excelled at story-telling and stories do take time.
Beware of Boxing Day It’s nearing our lunching hour so head back south toward the Tower. The Tower is actually part of a galleria-style mall and as we near the place, we are amazed by the crowds. I’ve truly never
Glimpse into the past
Mural representing The Rocks in the late 1800's been in a people-jam like this. Australia, along with other British commonwealth states, “celebrate” Boxing Day which happens the day after Christmas. I was told that it originally was a day when the better-off boxed up their leftovers and unwanted gifts to gift to the poor but now it’s been transformed into a massive sales day. It’s like our American Black Friday after Thanksgiving, when family time gives way to consumer mayhem. And it’s just as frustrating and disturbing in both countries. To my eyes, at least. Amazingly long lines queue up as private police, hired for the day, carefully monitor how many shoppers are in the Gucci store at one time or the Prada store or the . Kristy and I have to wind, squeeze, and firmly nudge our way through the crowds to get to the elevator to take us to the Tower. The entrance to the Tower elevator, which only goes up to the restaurant is closely guarded and monitored. We even go through a metal detector.
Our lunchtime plans turn out to be solid gold though. Kristy and I had wanted one good, well-done meal in Sydney and this is
View from the Tower
Hyde Park where St. James Cathedral is it. The food is absolutely delicious and we get an excellent two-person table right next to the window. The window wraps the entire circumference of the Tower. The ring of chairs rotate while the window and the center of the place remain stationary. Thus we are warned not to put our purses on the ledge of the window as we will likely lose them. We stuff ourselves and gaze at Sydney sprawled out before us. The race has just started and we track the speedy sailing boats with my binoculars (We’re the only people in the restaurant with a pair of binocs. I admit, I’m a tad surprised.) We can see the multiple islands that dot the meandering inlets of the bay, recognize landmarks from up above, and spy into business offices, talking about whether or not we would tan naked on some of the rooftops based on the probability of being “caught.”
And now for some culture Kristy wants to veg out after lunch but I still have energy and determination so I head toward the recommended Art Gallery of New South Wales. I am not disappointed. Not only is the
Look to the Tasman Sea
From the Tower looking toward the Tasman Sea past all the many Sydney bays museum itself housed in an elegantly imposing building, the collections they have are well worth the look. I especially am drawn by the Australian painters, both the late Victorian/early 1900’s European ones and the more modern Aboriginal artists who tell entire stories with their textured geometric patterns. Of course, I admit, I cannot decipher the stories myself but each of the titles refers to some folk tale or another.
I meet back up with Kristy and we end up in the one part of the town that my Lonely Planet book was rather scathing about: Cockle Bay. It’s the bay on the east side of the Rocks and is full of big attractions like the Aquarium, IMAX Theatre, and Maritime Museum as well as classic tourist spots like Hardrock Café. There are street performers, a circus tent (currently on tour), and overly expensive chain restaurants. We stop to listen to a live band, five college-age performers who can do old-fashioned pop-blues to floating perfection. I’m antsy for some good nighttime entertainment, mainly fueled by determination rather than real energy since this is my last night of my other-side-of-the-world adventure.
We bounce back down George Street because
Cockle Bay
Note the Santa koala on the right... Kristy remembered a promising-looking bar venue with the three see-hear-speak-no-evil monkeys on the door lintel. Turns out it's a 3-story bar with a dance floor on the top level. A live band starts whaling and though the music is not the most danceable, Kristy and I move out onto the dance floor. Kristy always like to draw in the folks who are clearly into the music and who can't stop their body from swaying in time but who don't ever let themselves go without encouragement. She encourages. I draw in those who are the exact opposite, who have let themselves go and are dancing without worry of censure. We continually make and break circles until finally the not-so-danceable music and our mental/physical tiredness hits us hard. I have one more morning in Sydney and I intend to make the most of it!
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