On the third day...

I discovered that nothing on the Rocks opens before 10. Except the pancake house, so an early second breakfast with coffee. Apparently it’s quite legendary. I said apparently, although the pancakes were pretty good. The are a few interesting shops – vintage clothes, candle-makers, opals (everywhere). That sort of thing, all waiting to suck the money from the purse of the unwary traveller.

When it opened, I tried the Museum of Contemporary Art. It would be rude not to, seeing as it’s opposite the hotel. And it gave me an opportunity to go back to the hotel for everything I forgot in the (wasted) effort to get out early. The original plan was to go to the beach, but it wasn’t the weather for it.

The MCA was worth going to. On the grould floor was an exhibition by a Pakistani artist who did miniatures in a very traditional style (obviously traditional painting doesn’t show TVs and the like, but that was the idea) or huge murals. Upstairs was an American artist who made the most bizarre and wonderful contraptions that made very strange noises. He had a noticeable pre-occupation with the senses, and sculptures very much on a theme. On the same level was a small exhibition by a minimalist Scottish artist amd then upstairs was a show of stuff by an Aussie who took photos of herself in strange poses. Some of it made a point – the way women are perceived etc – some of it was going just a little too far (a vidoeeof a rotting cows tongue for instance.)
After that I went for the brunch that I had been intending to. It’s a small bistro called bill’s in Darlinghurst, a suburb close in to town. Suddenly off the main drag and you walk onto a residential street, old terraces and jacarandas. The bistro is a small, modern place that, surprisingly considering the reputation, had a few tables. I really must make sweetcorn fritters more often. That’ll do for breakfast, lunch and afternoon tea. And there was endless refills of water, which was good as it was starting to get hot outside.

Afterwards I made my way back across town to the other main museum which, according to the guidebook, is “probably the best”. It’s an old power station, in a similar vein to the Magna in Rotherham (which, despite best plans, I never made it to). Being a museum of Technology (ie what the Australians gave to the world – look, see we’re really put down, everyone steals our ideas) and Design. True to the other museums I’ve been to, there seemed to be very little logic in the way things were displayed. Even the "style through the ages" display was difficult to follow and that was supposed to be chronological. And the interactive gallery had lots of machines, none of which quite seemed to work. The bubbles didn’t and the scents were worn out (did you know that the smell of mint is the same chemical as carraway, but in mirror image? Makes sense actually, particularly if you’ve used carraway as a breath-freshener). There were interesting bits and factlets, but considering the pleas for Australia that were made, it was amsuing that the centre-piece is a beam engine from London that was donated.

Maybe I’m being unfair. And at least I had the option to avoid the “10 years since Diana died” exhibition without paying. And I was there for several hours so it can’t have been bad. (No, I wasn’t lost).

I walked back slowly. It had to be slowly as it was the height of the rush hour and the pavements were crammed. Stopped at a Haigh’s shop – that’s the Adelaide chocolate factory just down the road from here. My feet hurt, plus I had cramp badly in my leg on Sunday, which didn’t help.

So I got changed and went out again. This time I took the ferry across to Manly (named because that is what the men thought they were!). There is a whole network of green and cream ferries that run like Nottingham City transport buses (in colour) across the harbour. That’s how you commute. So the way out over the deep petrol-green coloured water, past the Opera House, past the naval dockyards and the mouth of the harbour where you feel the Pacific waves to a small art deco pier by a beach. The ocean beach is a half-mile or so walk away down the Corso, where people were still surfing the pale aqua water and a man was resting by an elaborate sandcastle taking plaudits and posing for photos proudly. I ate my fish and chips (still no vinegar) on the beach wall, than wandered back to the harbour side. On the way I finally managed to find a silver ring with a peridot in – only been looking for a few years.
I sat for a while by the harbour-side beach watching a very gentle sunset. It’s noticeable how different Sydney is from Adelaide. On the whole the people seem more genuinely friendly, more willing to have a conversation and seem to care about the answer. Not like Adelaide where “how are you?” is a formula – much as in the UK. Although there were a few single women who appeared to be travelling alone like me, they all seemed fairly reluctant to talk. And Adelaide has one street that may get busy if you don’t walk in the right place, but nothing like Sydney – the impresion of Adelaide as a small, isolated town was re-inforced. The isolation is part of the problem – small fish in a tiny pond. The weather was much more pleasant and I missed a few more 40º days (thankfully) – there are floods just north of here.

And there are a lot of hacked-off looking Indians today in Sydney. Guess they’ll be coming to Adelaide via Perth.

Anyway, it was nearly dark by the time the ferry left. And the view as you come back into Circular Quay is as spectacular as you imagine it will be. Well, what you can see over all the people trying to take long-exposure photos from a constantly moving platform. It doesn’t work. The skyscrapers of the CBD line the Quay, all with lights (this is me talking – don’t particularly like cities, still mpressed by the Westpac tower which is the one medium-rise building here) and coloured logos. The Opera house to one side, the bridge ahead, then the lights of the towers of North Shore CBD on the right, with the laughing, freaky face of Luna Park underneath. All glowing against the black. Worth the trip alone.

Next day I had to be up to get the plane back into work. It was supposed to be a day off, but I’d swapped into the weekend and I can trade it off against a non-clinical day to get another day off when it suits me. Such a doctor thing to say. Ask any junior Dr if they’d rather work 72 hours straight then have 11 days off, or do six 12 hour shifts and have 8 days off, and they’ll always opt for “getting it over and done with”.

So anyhow, a final look at the view from Circular Quay station and onto the train. The airport is only 15 min or so ride, the queue at the bag-drop was much longer than on the way out (I was surprised). Back onto the Virgin Blue with “yourfantasticcrew” (I get the idea) and we flew over NSW, Vic and SA. Where the land had just looked grey on the way out, now you could see a patchwork of huge squares, each a different shade of russet or dark, and occasionally the pale ghosts of old rivers across the flatness. You know you reach Adelaide by the turbulence over the hills, then onto the airport where you’re watching, knowing you can’t land there because there’s no runway and well, we might as well drop in for a cup of tea after we’ve landed on your roof. And then you’re down and in less than an hour at home or in work.

It’s lovely being in a hotel that’s right in the centre of the world. But it ain’t half noisy at night, and even though it was much cooler than Adelaide, it was still too warm to close the window.

But it is nice to be able to have a leisurely breakfast, read the local rag (the Sydney papers are much more sensible than the Adelaide one). And to watch the crisis unfolding not far away at the SCG. I’d love to be able to respect the Aussies for winning 16 tests in a row, but I can’t. On the other hands, the Indians are being given too much power. Just one thing you want to say, really – Grow Up. (Ricky Ponting is now complaining that they are being seen as arrogant. Isn’t that how you win that many consecutive tests?)

Anyway, I wandered round Circular Quay and, as it was raining, thought it would be a good time to do the Opera House Tour. Sunday early am was probably the best time as there were no rehearsals so we could go into all the halls. It’s an impressive building, covered in millions of cream tiles outside... no, actually it’s 3 buildings. Anyway. The undercroft has a few shops, and there was a market on the forecourt with a few crafty stalls. Inside the auditoria are worth seeing. And apparently the dearest ticket is $220 (About £100). So if it hadn’t been a choice of a Carreras concert or some average female singer probably called Katie playing the next night, I could easily have gone.

The tour takes an hour, and by the time we’d finished it was already nearly midday. It was getting hot as I walked through the Botanic Gardens, which are fairly extensive, running in a semicircle round one of the bays. Out to “Mrs Macquarie’s Chair” which is the best viewpoint for Bridge and Opera House. And on to the Art Gallery.

That’s quite a building, even if the embellishments outside give the impression of only being half-finished. And interesting mix of 20th Century and contemporary stuff, an exhibition of Kitty Kantilla, an Aboriginal artist, and quite a lot of Sidney Nolan. As usual some of the contemporary was completely incomprehensible, but there were some excellent photos. I was running out of time, plus it was well past time for food. So out to a kiosk in the Domain, where all they had was a Lamb wrap that sadly had more garlic than anything else. So, still hungry. More licorice toffee, then.

What I had planned to do in the afternoon was to wander the (few) winding back streets of the Rocks. It’s a tiny area, bisected by the freeway that leads across the Bridge. Many dead ends, little cottages cut into rock and old terraces with curly wrought iron verandas. And lots of people. The market here, again lots of craft-type stalls, was a mixture of utter rubbish, a fair amount of jewellery and some interesting stalls. Plus corn-on-the cob, so at 4pm, I finally had lunch. Next was the Bridge – not intending to do the official climb, but there is a supporting pylon that costs a little bit less. Anyway, by this stage I had cramp in my left leg, so the less climbing the better. It’s still a lot of stairs, and quite a good view. The weather was getting hot but I found some cool in the Observatory. Sadly the tour in the evening was booked out, so I had to content myself with just a tour of some old polished mahogany pieces of kit.

The observatory closed at 5, and I walked back under the Bridge to my side of the Rocks where I found a pub (the Mercantile Hotel – all pubs are called hotels here, I’m not sure that all “hotels” actually have accommodation, though) where an Irish band were playing. I dragged myself away after a couple of pints. The place was packed, a group of Dublin Rugby players were drinking as though Prohibition started at midnight. Are all Rugby forwards poured out of the same mould? Cos they all look the same. The first pint took me the same time to drink as it took India to put on 8 runs. I’m not sure if that says more about the speed at which I drink , or how slow the run-rate was. They were still in the game when I left the pub. Just.

After changing I walked back down to Hyde Park where, according to the paper, there was free music. What they should have said was that you could stand outside the tent for free. That’s not much use for cabaret. So I found a café, looking as though it hadn’t been decorated since the 1920s where I had a duck risotto. It was right next to the State Theatre which has golden fan vaulting in the entrance hall, and a bizarre mix of other styles all around in attempt to look opulent.

Next was a search for ice cream which took me back past the hotel, up to the waterfront where the fruit bats were jumping around in the trees. The poem from Alice in Wonderland: “like a tea-tray in the sky”? It’s not a joke. They are huge.

I was back in the hotel by half 9, in bed shortly after. Who knows how far I’ve walked so far.

So...Sydney. Day 1

After a fairly uneventful week – Atonement at the pictures (the best film I’ve seen while I’ve been here – I like a film that makes you think), some ridiculously busy days (and obnoxious patients. Nice to meet you, too.) I thought I’d better go and have a look at somewhere else. Particularly as I’m already about half-way through my time here.

So I flew out on Friday, got to Sydney after dark in the evening with a well-hidden guidebook somewhere in my bag. Thought I’d get the train into town. Already at the airport, the atmosphere was different. Easier. A stewardess was calling out to one of her colleagues to tell him to check out a comb-over, and a family were yelling on their 4yr olds as they had races up and down the travelator.

The train was dirty, but there were lots of them and regular. I was told Circular Quay, so I got off there thinking, maybe I’d get a taxi. Glad I decided to walk – as I fond out the next morning, you can see the hotel from the station. And over there, that’s got to be Sydney Harbour Bridge (complete with the New Year timer on it), and that over there must be the Opera House. You could see the bridge from the doorway of the hotel.

The hotel was one of the cutest I’ve stayed in. Over 150 yrs old, it was originally the first hospital – and still has much of the wood panelling and features. Like others I’ve stayed in, it wasn’t perfect, but it was clean and more than made up in character. I guess that means I’d recommend it.

Next day I managed to wake at 8:30, which wasn’t too bad and I was out before 10. Thought I’d get the train first - Darling Harbour. It was just like certain recently revamped parts of Birmingham. Anyway the walk there went past one of the cathedrals, the Town Hall and the Queen Victoria Building (QVB). That last is a huge shopping arcade built in the 1800s, with mosaic floors, a Christmas tree with 13000 Swarovski crystals (apparently – there were definitely a lot, and it was a large tree), and a marble-slab basin in the loos. It is named after the statue of Queen Vic given by the Irish, who were obviously having a bit of a clear-out and managed to flog-off, I mean donate, a piece of the Blarney Stone and several other ornaments. The shops were fairly up market, one clothes shop had some lovely linen dresses in. Sadly, Australian women just aren’t the right shape and obviously don’t have enough up-top. So I saved some money which is no bad thing (I had gone with the intention of perhaps finding some interesting shopping). There were also some of the most grotesque clocks you can imagine, hanging from the ceiling (without trying to insult the craft of the clock-makers).

Darling Harbour is a big plaza around the water, full of skateboarders and families with prams. And McDs (how many McDs can a city have??) Anyway, I did find the Maritime museum, cunningly at the same time as the rain started (for the fourth time that morning – I was beginning to think it didn’t over here). The Museum is actually fairly interesting, a section on shipwrecks (most of which occurred off the SA coast), a travelling exhibition about Oetzi the bloke found in the Italian ice (obviously without Oetzi, but with an exhibitionist who was entertaining lots of children with his stories and European accent).

There is a tiny corner which is a Chinese Garden. Which would be tranquil but for being crowded and full of people. But it’s pretty and worth the $6 or so.

Sydney, like most places, is much more interesting where it is grubby. The Spanish corner is literally a corner with a couple of shops and clubs under the monorail. But China town is bigger. While the market was just full of absolute rubbish – T-shirts, Chinese massages and rip-off shades, there were several shopping arcades that were just like Singapore. Including a very strange one that just seemed to have dozens of pick-a-cuddly-toy-up stalls and sticker machines all in fluorescent colours and Japanese (I think). Opposite a tree stump partly painted in gold (who knows why?) a man sat on a stool playing Inspector Gadget on beer bottles.

Having been in the museum, it was getting late and I forewent the Dim Sum I’d been promising myself. It was OK, I’d bought some licorice toffee, anyway. Through Hyde Park (about a twentieth the size of the London one), and the Anzac War Memorial which is huge in a between-the-wars sort of way, and has a sculpture of a dying soldier held up by a load a women in a tall room with a dome full of stars.

Then on to the Museum of Aus. There’s a lot to see in Sydney. Three days is not enough. There got to be one of the most bizarre rooms I’ve seen in a museum- it’s a load of skeletons, which I think is just an excuse to have a skeletal man riding a skeletal horse (and another one reading a paper in an armchair). Upstairs lots of minerals and then some stuffed insects / birds and the Aboriginal / Reconciliation artefacts which seem to be a must in all museums. I now know that it’s a Wolf Spider in my kitchen. Previously he was just huge, but now he has a name. To be fair, the dinosaur gallery was closed down and that seemed to be a large part of the museum.

Getting hungry now, but so little time. My meandering took me past the AMP tower / Centrepoint – call it what you will, but the tallest point in the city. Sadly before going up to the several metre high lookout, you had to sit and be patronised by a “holographic” show which told you amazing things such as that the outback is hot by day (try SA!) and cold at night. Then to be thrown around in a magic carpet ride that gratuitously pretended to be a rollercoaster without a point. It just made you feel sick, quite frankly (a point agreed with by one of the cashiers I got talking too – she had the grace to be embarrassed by the “Oz Trek” experience). Eventually we were allowed at the elevators up to the lookout. Which was worth it, and while up there they appealed for more people for the “Sky Walk” as there was only one person booked in on that session. So for an extra $40 I got to walk outside on top of the tower. Better than the $200+ for the bridge climb. And despite the promise held in the grey clouds almost below us, the rain held off. By the time I’d decided that I probably ought to fork out for the photos (else you’ll just think I’ve been making this up from the guidebook), the shops were closed and I walked back to the Rocks were the hotel is.

I dived into the first café that seemed to have seats, I was so hungry. Boy was that a mistake. The promise held outside by a very old-fashioned frontage and good sounding menu... The beer came quickly, and the chicken burger came very shortly afterwards. Completely average pub food, such as you find in a Brewsters. When the woman at the table next to me started complaining, it turned out she’d ordered the same as me and I’d got her order., She’d have been welcome to it, and despite such an obvious ice-breaker, she didn’t really say much. Never mind. I paid up and left.

Anyway, it turned out to be the first night of the festival so after getting changed, I headed out into the rain. The centrepiece of the first night was 3 marriage ceremonies. I missed the first, the second was a rededication ceremony between a guy who rode up on a bicycle with a rose between his teeth and a cabaret artist who jumped out of a cake and addressed the crowd as her people. The celebrant droned on, so I left to find a big band playing in Hyde Park, and a party-like crowd in Martin Place where the buildings were reverberating with the beat and inflatables were chucking out white confetti that blocked the fountains so the street became a puddle. The third couple to get married were a gay couple who danced down the street dressed as Chinese dragons. So a spectacle. The Centrepoint tower was lost in the mist.

After the weddings, two folk groups played. The first were an Irish trio, the second a Scottish group called Shooglenifty, who were the usual eclectic mix that Scottish bands can be. Rumba for Bazouki, Ukelele and Fiddle, with a fiddle player who looked just like a fiddle player should – wild hair, grey beard etc. Both groups had a guest musician who played the Dig. And then the fireworks, orange as all the banners were. It worked.

And my feet hurt.

Christmas to New Year

Although this is late, it was written last year, and is a distillation of the paper diary entry. Too boring otherwise!

30th Dec
It’s scarily hot, upstairs at least. Poor house design, so I live in what is in effect a storage heater with no attic to provide insulation. Outside is like a furnace, bright hot. So I’m spending the days writing diary entries, letters and reading (have read Jane Eyre in the last couple of days – missed the last part on TV AGAIN). The thermocline is moving down the stairs into the lounge so that fairly soon there’ll be no cool air in the house (I spent New Years Eve lying on the floor as the layer of relatively cool was only 1’ above the carpet). Except when I really couldn’t stand it and took the car out into the hills for a couple of hours sitting in the AC.



Anyway, Christmas Eve – only went in for a couple of hours and there was no-one else in. Spent the afternoon doing a white brandy sauce for the Christmas pud and various other things. Then Ina and I went round to Jo and Seb’s for a Danish style turkey dinner which we ate outside. Hard to think that a week ago it was cool enough to not think of sitting out – and a couple of days before that it Actually Rained (poured, actually). We drank PepperJack grenache rose (from Saltram winery), another good one – and all of us had independently supplied Richmond Grove Riesling which we all took back home afterwards). I managed to get the pud lit, although not for long enough to carry it into the dining room where we decamped when it got cold. Anyway, the pud actually worked.

After we went for a quick walk to 9th Ave (from 8th!) to see the Christmas lights – all the houses lit up just like a council estate, much better than Lobethal. Again the number of people just driving through was worrying. I went home with a box of “White Christmas” which might make an appearance next year, and one of gingerbread trees all made by Seb and Jo.


I worked Christmas. Whoever bought my secret Santa pressie obviously worked out how predictable I am – two bottles of Body Shop shower gel (one the same as in the shower at the mo, the other the same as my moisturiser. Spot on.) Work was quiet – just enough in resus to keep the day flowing but only ever one at a time (which was a pleasant change). And huge amounts of food and gossip. I came home after as I was on call, so no drinking allowed, opened pressies. Apparently the Christmas decs from Doug and Jen were chosen by Evie – which explains why one is actually a necklace.

Work the next day too. Ward round, then all the rest of the day in the Rapid Assessment Unit (which sees pts as they come through the door). Actually just a chance to have a good goss. I took Thurs and Fri as days in lieu – apparently I should have been charging for on call hours (only a nominal amount) but I didn’t realise until last week. Finally booked a hotel room for Sydney next week (4th time of trying without a computer crashing at the wrong moment), then bought the rest of my Christmas pressies – a necklace from the Arts Centre (the Jam Factory), and a digital camera as I can’t buy a flash for my phone. Tried the sales too – the first day, which wasn’t as packed as they probably were at home, but I regret it every time. There were queues for the escalator in Myer at 3pm – the shops stay open until midnight.

Met Ina and Simone at the rowing club after and went for a drink then to the pictures again. The Golden Compass – enjoyed it more than I thought I would, but I really feel that the point has been missed. The local moraliser (sorry, Advertiser) “what to tell your children about films” guide had it as a simple good vs evil movie. Boy have THEY not read the books. So the film was a lot shallower – pretty much as you expect really.


A whole load of us met up for brunch the next morning – v pleasant just sitting in the shade nattering. Then Ina and I went and did a bit of shopping, the market etc where I found yet more spices I haven’t had before. Oh and a bargain £12 pair of shoes.

Yesterday was the first of the really hot days, little more than going over the road to get a rag. Oh, and work. Which was fine AND I got away at 12mn which is rare.

I do miss the English Christmas (or at least a funny idealised version, I suppose - the Christmas lights sparkling on rain soaked pavements, Christmas radio with its fairy tales and ghost stories). It was a funny half-way house so I probably didn’t have the full experience. And the TV was as bad here as at home.

2nd Jan 08

2008. Hooray. Where did that year go. I blinked. There’s not much to say about the day time. On Sunday (after writing that) we went out for a drink. As usual the impromptu evenings are often the best, and I cycled back home at 2 on Monday morning.

It was the Latino White Party for NYE. Wendy came by a around 9 – with her new man. Sadly there were not many of our class at the party, and no-one else I knew. But the music was excellent, there was lots of dancing, lots of drinking (of water). The New Year was strange without Big Ben, but flamboyant with Brazilian dancers and lots of noise. And no-one sang Auld Lang Syne. Hooray. It was the first time I have danced with someone who know what they are doing, and I just have to lead (“Relax”. “I can’t. I’m concentrating”) I want to be able to do it. We left at one. The temperature was 33ºC.

I was glad to go back to work today for a bit of cool. Busy day – the dept was full when we arrived at 8 in the morning. Don’t you just love the day after Bank Holiday with a full hospital. We coped.