The Sydney Saga: In the City

June 17th

Lucas's place in Beacon Hill faces onto standard suburbia, but is backed by acres and acres of honest bushland. This morning, I'm graced with a magnificent view, the early sun burning through the mist.

For a few minutes, anyway. Then it starts to rain.

People tend to be harsh on Sydney -- and to be fair, in my brief experience, rudeness seems par for the course -- but it is a gorgeous city, with national parks tucked in here and there, beaches galore (a little cold to get the most out of them now, it being officially winter), and divine architecture. The Opera House is quite grand, but I'm a sucker for a good bridge, and The Harbour Bridge is a mighty one at that.

***

The dreariness of the morning dampens our saunter through the Botanical Gardens -- the highlight, my dramatic tumble while running for cover from the rain -- and we make our soggy-footed way to the Opera House.
In lieu of the $35 tour, we opt to take in a performance Friday evening. The slightly sour lady in the box office seems unlikely to sell us tickets for anything other than Stephen Hough performing with The Sydney Symphony Orchestra.

"He's only the most magnificent pianist of the generation," she says in an exasperated tone, the depth of which was limited only by the amount of energy she was willing to exert.

***

Next on the exploration front: The Rocks.

This is one of the sights of Sydney you hear about -- "Sydney? You must go to The Rocks" -- but it's certainly not what we're expecting, all gentrified, pristine, and -- as far as we can find -- remarkably absent of anything worthwhile (excluding the Museum of Contemporary Art).

Very often, it seems "must-see" areas of cities consist predominantly of shops and restaurants, the must-see-ness of their locale reflected in the elevated mean of their prices. I can only assume it's this phenomenon that fascinates people.

"I looove this place! It's just so... expensive!"
"Um, yeah. Wow...? I guess."

***

Suddenly, the sun bursts through the clouds. And there is the bridge. More than anything in that moment, I need to walk across that bridge. I know if I don't, I will leave Sydney disappointed. So across we go.

On the other side, with the sun quickly setting, Chris plays around with his camera, getting various combinations of the bridge, Opera House, and skyline. An older man in a purple hat and matching scarf takes time lapse shots at the end of the dock. A burly guy sits quietly on a bucket, patiently waiting for the fish to bite.

The rain starts up again. The photographer, who had been excitedly chirping away on his phone, gingerly covers the camera with his hat and strides off to the shore. He returns a few moments later, his head now covered with a purple towel. The fishing guy pulls up his hood and I duck into the water-cab shelter.

Chris wants to wait until the lights of the bridge and Opera House come on. The rain lets up and we sit on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the side, watching as the city goes from day to night. In the distance off to the right, the carnival lights of Luna Park blink and flash.

Mr. Fishing slaps a squat squid on to the boards, its white flesh seeming to glow in the fading light. Maybe he hadn't been fishing at all, but jigging for squid the whole time [clearly, the process is similar, but the verb jigging is infinitely superior]. I watch as his hands become increasingly covered in ink with each failed attempt to get the squid into the bucket.

Mr. Photographer suggests we go to Oxford Street for Indian food.
So we do.