Sydney

Sydney really only has one landmark and you can see it if you look closely over my puzzled ferry companions. On the advice of a trusted fellow traveller, and reader of this newsletter, I had taken in the Opera House from Mrs Macquarie’s Chair. Many people were doing the same, including a man who adopted a folded wide leg squat in order to take the perfect picture. In advance of the trip, I’d spent many hours debating whether I should buy tickets to see Wagner’s Siegfried, but the 4 hour run time really put me off. That and the fact Hitler loved Wagner.

Please allow me to take the opportunity to make a political point. Whilst enjoying Sydney’s wonderful Botanic Gardens, I stumbled upon a herb garden showing off a wide range of herbs and spices from around the world. Nestled amongst many of the plants were signs such as the one pictured. Clearly the gardens are managing challenging social issues. I found it surprising. Surely the gardens can’t be closer to the kitchens of Sydney’s residents than the wide range of supermarkets? Just as I was leaving, having concluded the signs were a bit pass ag, I saw a woman of some 40-50 years, plastic bag in hand, pulling herbs off stalks with great abandon. I was captivated. I was watching a high crime play out. I asked Claude how to perform a citizens arrest in Australia, but by the time I’d built the confidence to tackle her, she was gone. All that remained were the floundering bushels.

Australia is a fascinating combination of America and Great Britain. America’s large cars, Britain’s sense of humour. America’s AC units, Britain’s pubs. America’s road signs, Britain’s sports. I thought East Sydney Hotel encapsulated the point well. No doubt it would sit quite comfortably in NOLA’s French Quarter, but the loud beer drinkers celebrating a recent LBW? That could only be experienced on Vauxhall’s streets, in the shadow of the Oval.

It’s offensive how many good coffee shops there are in Sydney. Having recently spent a lot of time in Sub Saharan Africa and Asia, I was totally overwhelmed by the milk choices and the compelling range of international beans. Indeed there are so many options, you find far too many of them completely empty. An unspoken hierarchy has emerged. You’ll struggle to stumble upon a coffee shop with only 1 patron. They are either rammed to the rafters or completely empty. A good reminder that sitting in a coffee shop is as much about generating sex appeal and intrigue as it is getting caffeinated. Sorry ‘The Palladium’ I would have loved to stop for a sip, but you know the rules.

I like to think of myself as dangerously modern. I was an early adopter of Heelys and I use Apple Music. If you don’t know what Heelys are, you have effectively proved my point. Seemingly, the Art Gallery of New South Wales has a different definition of dangerously modern. Good museum though. Serves an excellent salt beef bagel.

As my time in Sydney was coming to an end, I decided to take a walk around their harbour. There is almost nothing that gets me going quite like urban renewal, and the conversion of former industrial facilities into cultural spaces. I’ll never forgive London for allowing Battersea Power Station to become the kind of place people buy protein shakes and upload Instagram stories about London’s hidden gems. Sydney’s Harbour now houses the Sydney Theatre Company and a wide range of dance studios and rehearsal spaces. What was once a place of misery and trout, is now a place of high art. Public toilets are abundant and frankly there is little need to be anywhere else. To get there, I took a cab and encountered a man who was enormous in personality and in belly. As we discussed England’s chances in the Ashes, he got cut up by another car and screamed “Struth!” in response. My Granny used to use that expression in jest. I could have kissed him.