Tucked up inside after having had dinner outside, protected from the rain by the awning. It has rained today more often than not. Just as last weekend, we seem to be hampered by this precipitation. I have just pulled up the 10 day weather forecast for Sydney, and it reads as the last few days did; possible shower. It should read “showery, possibly heavy rain”.
Soon after I last made an entry, on Friday evening, our neighbouring camper, Ken, arrived with beer in hand and his deck chair. Chris was half way through cooking the dinner outside. The reason that Chris is such a superior cook (to me) is that he actually follows cooking times, unlike me who is a bit hit and miss. You can imagine that this impromptu visitor was not entirely welcomed to stay long! He is a lovely man, who with his wife has been travelling this lovely land for nearly a decade. He had noted our Queensland number plate, and wished to greet fellow Queenslanders. He had advice for us as so many of these long time travellers do, some which we welcome keenly and some we file for future consideration.
Yesterday, despite the inclement weather, was an amazing day. We donned our glad rags, having pulled them out from storage and ironed them the best our dodgy iron would allow, and set off soon after nine o’clock for the rail station. It was still very early when we arrived at Wynyard, and so we decided to walk down to Circular Quay enjoying the reduced weekend city crowds. High heels are not the most sensible shoes to walk distances, however we took our time. The rain held off until we reached the Quay, where we enjoyed a coffee at a strange little room above the actual counter of Hungry Jacks. However from there we were able to linger over our coffee and people watch out the windows. We were not cheeky enough to pull our sandwiches from my hand bag, but ate them under some trees back from the Quay when the rain had stopped. Still not midday, we slowly set off along the quay to the Opera House, calling in to an outlet for aboriginal art. We were welcomed attentively by staff there, and we decided this was because we were so well dressed as opposed to the other casually dressed tourists. They thought they might make a sale, but with paintings ranging from $5,500 to $19,000, they were barking up the wrong tree.
By the time we reached the Opera House, the rest of the audience were gathering in the foyer. While the dress code suggests that one should make an occasion of attending the opera, even a matinee, we were a hotch potch of fashion. There were some dressed to the nines and some in jeans. Unlike the matinee crowd who attend the opera in Auckland, who are mostly the cauliflower brigade, the Sydney crowd was far more varied. There were of course the cauliflowers, but also a good representation of the middle aged and younger. But then we should not forget that we are not too far off being part of that cauliflower (white headed) lot ourselves!
The opera, Handel’s Partenope was just wonderful. The music was fabulous, with many beautiful arias, all sung in English. The story as with most operas was silly, but very comic, and certainly risqué. We did wonder what some of those older patrons thought of it all. However it was all within context and quite acceptable.
During the interval, we stood out on the balcony, behind the massive glass windows, and watched the busy boating below in the harbour. The Opera House is an incredible building, and what a special delight to enjoy such a superb entertainment there.
When we came out at about five, it was not raining. We allowed the departing crowds to carry us back along the quay, past the bars so busy with Saturday evening customers. There was a blues band entertaining at one bar, and so we paused and watched and listened to them on the concourse below us. Further along, there were the usual buskers; the didgeridoo player, the acrobat.
We had a visit to King’s Cross on our to-do list, and decided that tonight was the night, so caught the train from Circular Quay to that part of Sydney with such a terrible reputation; a den of prostitutes, strip clubs and a vibrant night life.
When we came up out of the underground, it was still only a little after five and quite light. We spent the next hour walking the streets; I had changed my shoes to a pair of far more practical flats by then. We sought a Thai restaurant for dinner, but found most of them took cash only, rather than EFTPOS and credit cards. There were lots of people out on the streets with us, a few derelict souls stretched out on the payment in drugged stupor, a couple of girls screaming foully at a liquor supplier who would not serve them without evidence of age, but mainly people just going about their legitimate and decent business. Finally we relented and withdrew cash from an EFTPOS machine and dined at a delightful Thai restaurant named the Opium Den, a place of wonderful character where we sat on round poufs at a tiny round table almost too small to support the number of dishes that were brought to us.
This restaurant was in fact at Potts Point which I have been led to believe is a rather posh part of the city. There are some very beautiful old buildings there, and some very attractive apartments. Potts Point runs seamlessly into King’s Cross. The hotels in the Cross are grungy and attract a lot of backpackers. I am sure these frugal tourists love the vibrancy of the district; the bars and the diversity of clubs and restaurants.
We moved on to our favourite Scottish desert restaurant where we indulged in our favourite sundaes. This was quite a feat given the large plates we had enjoyed at the Opium Den, however we figured the hours walking around the Cross allowed for such decadence.
By this time, it was dark. The leggy girls in their mini skirts and high high-heels were out, along with the transvestites, the burly bouncers and those heading for the night’s entertainment.
We headed back to the station, caught the train back to the Town Hall, then to Chatswood, and then to North Ryde. Fortunately the rain had held off and we walked without incident from the station back to camp, back up Plassey Road lit up enough to dodge the puddles, arriving home not long after nine o’clock.
We turned on the television and caught Kristina Kenneally giving her concession speech. The liberals had had a massive win in the state election, Labour defeated after 16 years in power.
A massive day; for the politicians and for us.
This morning we woke to more rain. I made the packed lunch as I do most mornings directly after breakfast, but we ended up eating it here “in house” at midday, not being moved to venture out into the weather.
We decided however that we really should rouse ourselves and do something. There was a break in the rain, and so we set off up the road toward the station. Halfway there, it started to rain. We dried off in the warm wind that rushed up from the underground on our descent, and then caught the train through to the Macquarie Shopping Centre, that which we had driven round and round seeking a park several days ago. Unlike that discovered at Chatswood, this is a wonderfully designed shopping centre, with many levels and those in between, full of a variety of shops, not all exclusive and expensive.
We bought a new smoke alarm from Dick Smiths; the one in the caravan having gone off without cause a few days ago, causing great distress to us who could not turn it off or remove it, and to our neighbours worried that there was an emergency. The Big W had jackets and vests to fill our needs, and the Woolworths supermarket the groceries we needed.
After packing the heavier items into the back pack, we returned to camp uneventfully and in a timely manner; no long waits at the station.
No comments:
Post a Comment