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Published: September 5th 2005
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Sydeney... a beautiful city but also a CURSED city. People walk very very fast in Sydney and sometimes they even run. They are also pushy and rude. All of them, except for the people who didn't grow up in Sydney (such as all THREE nice people there - one English guy and two Italians). And they are ALL rich and have stupidly flashy cars. And the food is waaay too expensive and not that great. And they vote for John Howard.* And certainly far too few people hock loogies through John Howard's fence, though at least one person has in recent days...
But enough complaining, because Sydney is indeed a beautiful city and I had the joy and the honour of sharing my time there with the most glorious people. On Thursday, the wonderful Elizabeth (whose gender was queried in Sydney by some shouting young hoons as they drove by... !) and I wandered around Sydney in a fog of pain and suffering. All we wanted was an internet cafe (so I could do some work on my holiday ARGH! - in fact, I worked so much on my holidays, that my boss, who was not in our office in
Bangkok, thought that I was no longer on leave and was back in Bangkok), and we wandered and wandered and wandered in agony. Some words of advice for visitors in Sydney: SYDNEY IS NOT A GRID. It's roads meander, turn and twist in a pattern clearly derived from a LUNATIC and it's VERY EASY TO GET LOST. If you have a particular point you want to get to, stop a Sydneysider (easy to spot - they'll be the ones walking very very quickly), and ask them how to get there.
North Sydney is a culinary wasteland, as Elizabeth and I fast found out. Lunch was had, with my father (or Hazza as Lizzie calls him), in a decent cafe where I paid (or rather, where my father paid) TEN DOLLARS for a sandwich and was served by a rude waitress (no rude waiters in Melbourne!! only this Sydeney...). And as for dinner... oh my god... We decided to go to North Sydney proper, rather than Milson's Point where we were staying (one station down the train line), because it looked bigger. Bigger it is, but a decent array of restaurants? Oh no... This is Sydeney. To get a decent
meal you've got to fork out big bucks. So we ate at this pub - the Greenwood, for those who are interested - which was peopled by white young professionals in suits, and white young teens (well, they must have been over 18 because they were getting carded), the girls dressed in very little (and it was a cold and windy night - strange, the things a girl will do to pull), and all of them on the pull. It was like Cheers on Glenferrie Rd., but with food.
Friday, completed by the hilarious revolutionary, Lizzie, we headed out to the Museum of Contemporary Art, where we were joined by my father. They had this
incredible exhibition on, by a Turkish artist, Kutlug Ataman. Pretty much all the pieces were video installations, basically documentaries of people giving their life stories. One was of a Cypriot woman, talking about living in Turkish Cyprus, about the war there, growing up in a militarised area, returning to her home which she had been forced to flee and the guilt of the woman now living there, and about getting smuggled into Greek Cyprus. It's mind-boggling that it could be so difficult to cross from the north side of the small island
to the south - she did it once via a smuggler, and a few other times by flying out of Turkish Cyprus to London to Greece to Cyprus. She said that she felt so free when she was on the other side of the island, this sort of wildness from having succeeded in getting there.
Saturday, together with the always gorgeous George and the absolutely delightful Roberta, we attended the wedding of Jacob and Kate. Held in the Botanic Gardens, it was a lovely ceremony, very respectful and as unpatriarchal as possible. We then ate fantastic food, guzzled wine and shook our booty at the reception, still in the beautiful gardens. It was heaps fun. One of the highlights of the night for me was realising that Jacob's father was sauced - considering the number of times I've babbled drunkenly at him and felt very embarassed the next day, it was nice to have a conversation with him where he was as addled as I! (The next day, we had brunch at Kate's family's house. Kate's mother asked if our crew were cousins of Jacob's. Wes, Jacob's father, replied "Oh, if you'd asked that a few years ago I
would have been a bit worried. But now, they've turned out all right, and I'd be happy to have them as our cousins!")
After the reception we headed to a pub called The Australian, in the Rocks. It wasn't easy to find so we stopped a few people along the way, asking for directions. One guy said he didn't know where it was. When I told him the street name, he said, "Oh yeah, The Australian up there, yeah I know that, though it's not Australian at all because it's non-smoking and it's gay.." Well, it just so happens that I have a passport for the Republic of unAustralia, and non-smoking and gay sound pretty good to me, so after telling him so, we got the directions and continued on our way! (Sydney!! What is wrong with this place?)
The next day, after the abovementioned brunch, where we happily got to spend more time with Jacob (though sadly, not really with Kate), I hopped on a plane and flew, sadly, back to Bangkok. While the trip home wasn't full of excitement, hot weather and glamour, it was generally a really peaceful, lovely time. Sydney especially, (away from the
worries of my bloody university essay), was just a glorious time. This trip reminded me of the things I love about home: Over the two weeks, I went to one art exhibition opening, visited another gallery, went to two art museums; saw my little brother and sister (who told me that they think I should come home next year), had fiery political discussions and felt invigorated, stimulated, challenged and inspired by the people around me (especially Lizzie - you are just amazing!); loved my dog and shared the love with fellow dog-lovers (no, Mark, he's not for sale); went to a really interesting free public seminar (on trafficking); remembered going to fundraisers for various community organisations; laughed till my sides hurt; ate at pretty good (but overpriced) restaurants where the service was excellent (so friendly! Melbourne is SO FRIENDLY!); and just generally enjoyed the peace of being around my old, good, friends. So THANKS, sincerely, to everyone for making my trip so enjoyable, for being so wonderful, and for reminding why I still call Melbourne home... Now I can look forward to returning home, rather than dreading. Truly, you all rock my world.
By the way, I have plans to set up the Republic of unAustralia - maybe just with badges first but we could create our own passport (though I don't think we should print passports ourselves because that's wasteful, but we could put up a copy on the internet for people to download), and write manifestos etc. I think that all us people who are constantly being told how unAustralian we are need a space in which to be unAustralian. We also need to see that there are lots and lots of people who think John Howard and his cronies (Brendan Nelson ARGH!!!! You can CLEAR ORF sonny) suck pus, and that an alternative Australia is possible. Email me if you have ideas for unAustralia too.
*For my foreign friends, John Howard is the evil Prime Minister of Australia. To give you an idea of how evil he is, he engages in phone sex with George Bush. True.
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dru
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the Republic of unAustralia
Do I need to be Australian in order to be in the Republic of unAustralia? I think I probably have similar views and beliefs.