Saturday Night Fever

I am on my way to Katoomba. When I decided to take the 2 hour train ride from Sydney Central to the Blue Mountains, I was expecting it to match up to, if not exceed, the charm of my Caltrain ride from San Jose to San Francisco. Unfortunately, it is no where close. Perhaps it is the light drizzle or the overcast skies which seem to be soaking my excitement damp. Or the sight of black tankers labeled ‘Freight Australia’ with less than beautiful graffiti on them. Maybe I am a little sad to leave Randwick. It was charming and friendly and personal. When I get back from the Blue Mountains tomorrow, I will be checking into a backpackers’ at Hyde Park. No more of the suburban living for me in Sydney. Sigh......................

The weekend has been rather eventful. The Mardi Gras was attended on Saturday, with Rush and her friend. We paid good money to buy a plastic stool (being sold by Asians… they were the only ones doing business during the Mardi Gras… entrepreneurial Chinese men), and took turns to stand on it to catch glimpses of the parade. The floats were not very interesting. What was highly amusing were the stories you got to hear. Stories about how someone was shocked to see her Dad in the parade once. Also very amusing is the Sydneysider’s love for alcohol. There were more straight people getting drunk and cheering the parade than gays. Apparently all they need is an excuse to drink. There are stories about how all of Sydney went to celebrate the docking of a luxury cruiser and took their own champagne along. All in all, it was a fun evening at Oxford Street – the parade, the people, the stories. We had dinner at a small little pizzeria where our waiter had a slight case of OCD. He would adjust the salt and pepper every time he crossed our table. He even told me he had seem me before at the restaurant. I smiled and said – Very possible, I come here very often. Dinner was followed by a pub crawl, and we finally ended up at Jacksons on George, dancing to house funk and hip hop. It was a good evening.

Sunday started with a visit to The Rocks weekend market. It was very colourful, very charming and very expensive. From Turkish glasses to Australian didgeridoos. Some good photographs. I think lugging around my huge camera makes for a good conversation-starter. A couple of stall owners asked if I had gotten some good photos for the day. A very cute Australian bloke, chatted with me about photography, sold me his praline peanuts at a discount and offered me his beer. I told you. It is a friendly city. It is also a city of street performers. Artists everywhere… from comedy acts to music to dance. Very cultural and very touristy at the same time.

After The Rocks and Circular Quay, I headed to Rose Bay. The promising photograph in the bus brochure, of an old Convent overlooking the bay, took me to this rather faraway, non-touristy spot. For which I am mighty pleased. It was a long walk from the bus stop to Vaucluse, but it was worth the heat and sweat. The Convent took me back to school days, the view of the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House was lovely and the beach was quiet and untouched. But I couldn’t stay long. I had to go to Bondi.

Bondi Beach was amazing. Let me say that again – amazing! You would expect to feel crowded out when you see more than 500 people at this beach. You would expect to not find a good spot to spread out your towel and tan yourself. You would expect to find litter everywhere and dirty brown water. But you don’t! What you do find is that you completely fit in, blend in. You smile at everyone around you as you spread out your sarong. You slather yourself with sunblock and lie down in your colourful bikini, to tan yourself while listening to the waves. You walk the white sandy beach and clear blue waters. And you enjoy the breeze. You watch a bunch of samba performers and click away with your camera. You leave because you have to, not because you want to. You leave so that you can go back to the hotel, shower and dress up, to meet your friends at the Marriott for a music festival. And that wasn’t bad either, was it? Free entry to the festival, free drinks and free food. God bless long lost friends in far away cities, who wont let you spend a dime.

....................It has been an hour since I boarded the train, and when I look out the window, I realize we have left the western Sydney suburbs and are now in the hills. The sun isn’t out, but atleast there’s no rain. It is misty and dreamy and crisp. It is green and calm. I will have to stop writing now, because the view demands my complete attention. More later.


(written monday 5th March 07, on the train from Sydney to Blue Mountains)