Sydney, Day 2

Lessons I’ve learned - part two. Hopefully I never forget this particular lesson. Jet lag + alcohol = world-ending pain. I tried to explain to the Danish girl in the bunk across from me that I was dying, but she didn’t seem to believe me. See, March 1st is apparently Mardi Gras in Sydney. This is not to be confused with American Mardi Gras, although both seem to involve massive amounts of public alcohol consumption and public nudity, and lots and lots of feathers and glitter. Mardi Gras here is a GLBTQ pride parade, apparently one of the largest in the world. I had no idea this was going on until I started to see groups of scantily-clad, heavily made-up men and women traipsing through the halls of the hostel. I was meeting up with my one and only Australian friend and her flat-mates, so I figured I’d ask them about all this excitement. 

I was assured that we would be going to Mardi Gras, but first we took a little driving tour down towards some of the beaches. Along the way they pointed out to me King’s Cross, which is apparently where all the prostitutes and cross-dressers and other assorted night-life denizens hang out, and impressed upon me that staying in a hostel in that area would have devastating consequences. We took a walk along Bondi Beach, which was shockingly empty, given that it was overcast and drizzling on and off. Sydney beaches give me a strange feeling of unfamiliar familiarity. In many ways, they seem like Southern California beaches. Sand, water, rocks, little beachy cafes and murals on walls and such. But everything is just slightly different. The sand is just a little bit darker, and finer. The water is clearer, and more stunningly aquamarine. The beaches don’t stretch for ages down the coast, but instead are these incredible little pockets and coves that gives everything a much more intimate feel. And there are lifeguards and warning signs everywhere. My friends assured me that it was very unlikely that I would get eaten by a shark, but fairly likely that I would get stuck in a rip current and dragged out to sea if I didn’t follow the signs exactly. Of course, the reassurances about the sharks were somewhat negated when my friend later told me that sharks frequently get into Sydney Harbor, and that a group of divers had been attacked viciously not 3 months ago. Wanna go snorkeling?

I won’t bore you with the details of the night, but suffice it to say that we went to their beautiful flat in Newtown, got ready to go out, and turned up at the parade only to realize that everyone had brought milk crates to stand on, so we were confronted with rows of bums blocking any potential view of the parade. Every now and then a feathered headdress would be tall enough that you could see it over the rows of people, but that was the extent of it. The parade being a bust, we went to the pub and settled in, and then proceeded to drink steadily with a stream of cowboys and indians and all the other members of the Village People. I made a few notes during the evening of things I wanted to remember, which consisted solely of “She’ll be alright”, which is a catch-all phrase indicating everything will be ok (they really say it, dad!) and then a two-word phrase so completely vulgar that even I’m not comfortable putting it up here, that means that something is not working. That’s it, for the entire night.

The next day, once I finally managed to get myself up and out, I met up with my Aussie friend again for a mellow walk around Manly, which is in North Sydney, apparently the ‘posh’ part of the city. We took a ferry across the harbor, which provided stunning views of the bridge and the opera house, which really is as remarkable looking as all the photos say it is. Manly is a wonderful beach suburb, that manages to somehow feel like you’ve been plopped down in the middle of a tropical island. Expansive and exotic greenery grows right down onto the beach, and the surrounding hills are covered in a lushness that seems out of place in civilization. The weather was still lousy yesterday, so these beaches were deserted as well, except for a few brave souls paddle surfing, and one intrepid man in a rowboat with a very excited terrier. 

We spent a very pleasant evening in Manly, had dinner with a friend, and took the ferry back after dark, which provided even more stunning views of Sydney Harbor. The highlight of the evening, though, came during dinner, when one of the girls mentioned having tried kangaroo meat, and that it was actually quite delicious. Australia is the only country I can think of where they eat their national animal, the animal that is on their crests, and their money, and is emblazoned on basically anything that holds still long enough. And they grill it up and eat it. It’s absolutely brilliant, and I think that sums up Australia, and Australians, perfectly.