The last leg of our trip was to Sydney, the seat of New South Wales. For many who visit Australia, Sydney is the first and last stop. A city of five million, it sits on Port Phillip Harbor, which many consider to be the world’s most beautiful. Flying into Sydney Airport, shimmering fingers of the harbor reach out in all directions, dotted with sailboats, and lined with mansions. The weather is usually sunny and fine, cultural landmarks abound, and Manly and Bondi Beaches are world-renowned. Syndey is the unfortunate cause of Melbourne’s mild inferiority complex.
Waking up early on Sunday morning and excited to finally be a part of civilization again, I decided to walk the city. I grabbed my backpack and left the hostel, heading north on George Street towards the harbor. I expected a city that never slept, instead I found one reluctant to wake up.
Street-sweepers lumbered past every few minutes and clubbers waiting for taxis huddled on the sidewalks. By 10:30 in the morning, shops were still closed, and I began to wonder what was going on. When I finally found my way to the Royal Botanical Gardens my questions were answered as hundreds of Sydneysiders had already set-up camp on the lawns for a lazy afternoon. The ‘no-worries’ Aussie lifestyle apparently isn’t confined to the outback, but alive and well in the city too.
But I had a city to see, so I headed back downtown to hit the tourist trail. At the top of the AMG tower, Sydney stretches to the horizon in 360 degrees. The Syndey Opera house sits regally on the harbor, far larger and more imposing than I had envisioned. Ferries and yachts reverse out of Circular Quay, some bound for north Sydney, others setting out towards the Pacific.
The group met that evening at the docks for a dinner cruise, a prospect I had initially raised my eyebrow at. And there we were, nine Americans, a handful of Canadians and 200 middle-aged Japanese tourists. It wasn’t until Aida, the resident lounge singer, emerged in her green-sequined dress and started belting out Aretha tunes that we all met on the dance floor. YMCA was especially exciting as we tried to teach our cruise-mates the art of spelling out words with one’s arms. So we YMCA’d the night away while the boat trolled up and down the harbor, disturbing the reflection of the city in the water.
The next day was much less exciting. Truthfully, it only involved three things: a towel, an 80 degree day and a white-sand beach. I’ve tried hard not to talk about the fact that it’s summer here, but laying on Bondi Beach on a Monday afternoon watching the waves roll in was definitely a highlight of my year, and therefore worth mentioning. But I digress. By Monday evening we were headed back to Melbourne, leaving thousands of miles of Australia behind.
On the plane, I realized the contrasts I had experienced in two short weeks. Desolate outback landscapes and abundant city streets, each existing within the framework of Australia. Struggling Aboriginal communities veneered over by tourist havens. National landmarks known by two names, one traditional and one colonial. The fact Australia’s land is host to histories simultaneously so old and new is challenging in its complexities. We visited land mapped 60,000 years ago by Aboriginies, and sailed on a harbor where British convicts arrived a mere 220 years ago to change this same terrain forever.
Australian history is right under our noses, but I couldn’t have named the states of Australia four months ago. When I came to Australia, I was worried that it wouldn’t be exotic enough, that it was too much like the States. Not surprisingly, I was wrong. Bill Bryson puts it best in his travel novel, "Down Under": “This is a country that is at once staggeringly empty and yet packed with stuff. Interesting stuff, ancient stuff, stuff not readily explained. Stuff yet to be found. Trust me, this is an interesting place.” Thankfully, I have another month and a half to discover all this stuff.
