Goose Bumps
On we flew to Sydney’s crisp and efficient international airport, where we said our goodbyes to Lynda and Neale, who were flying home to California. Moments later, we were in a taxi headed to The Rocks neighborhood of Sydney and our hotel, The Observatory. The level of service at Hayman may have spoiled us, but The Observatory Hotel was equally lofty. Our luggage and cares were spirited away as soon as we arrived. Though we were early for check-in, we got a chance to walk around, have lunch, and use the internet (without the customary charge) while we waited.
The hotel is a member of the Orient-Express group and, appropriately, has an understated glamour. It’s small, with fewer than 100 rooms, and is decked out in warmly buffed antiques, marble floors and rich woodwork, polished brass, and interesting artwork. Our room was on the 1st floor (one above ground) and was enormous, with french doors opening out onto a small balcony overlooking the street. Yet another marble-clad bath, this one more luxurious than the others, with the most decadent shower I’ve ever stood … and stood some more … under, including a rain showerhead overhead. Fresh strawberries greeted us on arrival.
The Rocks is an historic neighborhood, to which the founding of Sydney, and Australia, can be traced. Because of early construction methods which involved mortar that tended to dissolve in the rain, few (if any) original buildings remain. Over the years, The Rocks had become a neighborhood of workers, and large portions of it were cleared to build the access road for the almost universally-recognizable Harbour Bridge. In more recent decades, the area has gentrified and yuppie-fied, and now is full of attractive homes, smart boutiques, cozy pubs, and good restaurants.
The location of The Observatory Hotel in The Rocks, while convenient, has only one drawback: no direct view of the harbour. But that could be had without too much effort. After settling into our room, we hit the street: left on Kent Street, right on Argyle Street. We pass through the Argyle Cut, tunneling under the bridge approach. The streets are leafy and cool; indeed, the weather in Sydney was perfect our entire stay, the kind of summer days we dream of but only have a few of each year in the mid-Atlantic: clear skies, bright sun, temperature in the high 70s, low humidity. Soon we get tantalizing glimpses of water and we know we’re getting close to what we came for….
And then, there it is. I’ve seen it a million times in photographs and on television. It’s so familiar and is universally associated with the city. But actually laying my eyes on the Sydney Opera House in person brought goose-bumps. It’s like a mirage, but as you walk closer and closer to it, it doesn’t disappear. Now, I’ll admit to being a total sucker for stuff like this. On the rare occasions I fly into Reagan National instead of BWI or Dulles, I actually get a little tear in my eye when I see the monuments and the Capitol. But even if you’re not a sucker like me, I don’t see how, after coming 10,000 miles (give or take) to get here, you can’t be moved by the sight of the Opera House. It doesn’t seem like you’ve arrived in Australia until you’ve seen it.
I suppose that people who live here get inured to the sight of the Opera House. Certainly, when we stopped at the outdoor Opera Bar next to it for drinks, Sydneysiders enjoying happy hour (damn if they don’t always look happy, though) were so blasé about it as to not even look at it. But I sat there, sipping an Aussie chardonnay, staring at it. I expected it to be smooth white, but the roofs are actually tiled. Every time I got a glimpse of the Opera House over the rest of our days here, I got a little thrill of delight.
Sydney is easily the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen. The harbour is vast, reaching from the Pacific Ocean like a great, many-fingered hand, tickling its way up the hills that rise above it. The sight of water is never far. The downtown business district, including the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge, anchor it. Buildings climb and spill over the hills, all seemingly bearing the same red tile roofs. Beautiful homes perch precariously on cliffs and slopes. All sorts of vessels, from freighters to ferries to America’s Cup yachts, ply the deep blue waters.
Circular Quay, at one end of which is located the Opera House, is the hub of transportation for Sydney, and is full of people coming to and from work as well as tourists. A walk along the Circular Quay is all it takes to appreciate the melting pot that Australia has become. Restaurants of many cuisines. People of many colors, with overheard snippets of conversation revealing varied accents and languages. A survey of street performers was most entertaining, though: a group of Aborigines with drums and digideroos at one spot, a lone guy with a guitar singing “Blidge Ovel Tloubled Watels” (Laotian, Thai?), and a dreadlocked steel drum player hammering out “Waltzing Matilda.”
Surf’s Up, Mate
While Hayman had a beach, I couldn’t imagine a trip to Sydney without a day at a Pacific Ocean beach. We decided to head to Manly, a suburb accessed by ferry. We got beach towels from the hotel spa, packed up sunscreen and some clothes, and caught Friday’s 9:30 ferry from Circular Quay. For the cost of ferry tickets ($12AUD round trip), we got some of the best views of the city available, and within 25 minutes were pulling up alongside the Manly wharf. Manly is on a sliver of land, separating the ocean and the harbour, and has beaches on both sides. We headed straight for the ocean.
The beach is a golden sand bay, about a mile long, onto which Pacific surf rolls in. Australia’s beaches are famous – or rather infamous – for their treacherous currents and riptides, so warning signs were posted everywhere. Not that it mattered to the surfers, who were out in force, decked out in wet suits. The water temperature didn’t invite swimming, so we just plopped ourselves on a likely spot on the sand and enjoyed the sun, surf and people watching.
Neither Manly, nor I suspect any other Sydney beach, is secluded. Given that these are, effectively, suburbs from which one could reasonably commute to work downtown, this is not surprising. The buildings on the hills overlooking the beaches are just as likely, if not more so, to be full-year residences as they are to be hotels or short-term rental properties. There is a promenade that goes along the oceanside beaches, all the way to North Head, the entrance to Sydney Harbour from the ocean. The main commercial street is closed to car traffic, and has the typical beach-related businesses: sidewalk cafes and bars, surf shops (Rick got a pair of Billabong board shorts), and variety stores The streets and beach are filled with people, mostly daytrippers who arrived by ferry.
Because of this, the people watching is fascinating. Most of the bodies on the beach seemed young, fit, beautiful and well-tanned. There is a surf school right on the beach, and we watched class, which seemed to take a matter of minutes before the students were paddling out to meet the waves. They were none too successful, though I admire them for even attempting it. I wouldn’t even try!. The rest seemed like the usual crowd at a suburban mall in the U.S.: young mothers pushing strollers, joggers, backpackers, tourists and office workers. The only major difference – here, as in Melbourne, the clothes worn are far more brief than what we would see on the East Coast. Perhaps if we had such a gorgeous summer climate, we’d look different too.
After spending the better part of the day in Manly, we ferried back to Sydney, since we had a coveted reservation (obtained by our concierge, Simon) at Sydney’s celebrated Rockpool restaurant. It was at the slightly unfashionable hour of 6:30 p.m., but since that was our only choice, we took it. Regularly making lists of the Top 50 restaurants in the world, we knew dinner at Rockpool would be a splurge, and it was – but not out of line with the quality of the food and the attentive but not obtrusive service. We decided to consider it an early Valentine’s Day dinner. From the stylish interior, to a broad wine list (which includes special wines made under the “Rockpool” label that are well-matched to the food and priced reasonably), and fresh and innovative “modern Australian” cuisine (e.g. mud crab salad with caramelized pork belly, squid ink pasta), and creative but not overwrought desserts, our dinner was memorable and very satisfying.
Shop Til You Drop
I’m not an especially big shopper on vacation. But while I tend not to bring back piles of souvenirs, I also don’t like to go home empty-handed. For this reason, we made a point of visiting The Rocks Market, at the end of George Street on Saturdays and Sundays. There are tents permanently erected at the site, and the market attracts a dozens of vendors and lots of shoppers. Most of the wares are of the artsy-craftsy variety, from gourmet jellies and jams to handmade leather goods. It didn’t take long to cover the bases, but we walked away with little to show.
Over the course of our trip, a more urgent shopping need was developing. I needed new shoes. Other than dressy strappy sandals, my leather Teva sandals had rubbed my feet raw in too many places to count, another pair of sandals had practically fallen apart, and the driving mocs I’d brought for the trip there and back weren’t gonna cut it. This provided the perfect excuse to visit the Pitt Street shopping district downtown (and yes, I did pick up a pair of Australian opal earrings along the way, as I’d been checking out the shop windows on George Street every time we walked that way). Neither Baltimore nor Washington has old-fashioned shopping, with department stores, in their business districts anymore, so finding such an area in Sydney was a distinct pleasure. And when it comes to shopping for shoes in Sydney, one need only say two words: “David Jones.” Just imagine an elegant department store with an entire floor dedicated to women’s shoes. Nirvana.
While in Pitt Street, we decided to take the tacky tourist plunge and buy a ticket to ride to the top of the Sydney Tower. At $22, it’s kind of a ripoff, even with the films you get to see as part of your visit, but the views of this beautiful city from on high were priceless. We got even better views of the city on Sunday, our last full day in town. On the recommendation of the CTT gang, we arranged for a private 3-hour tour of the city with Margaret Wendt of Wendt on Tours. Margaret gave us a beautiful overview of Sydney and environs, taking us to the best spots to view the city, and providing opportunities to check out the Botanical Gardens (including Mrs. Macquarie’s Chair), Hyde Park, and the Harbour Bridge. She shared her encyclopedic knowledge of Sydney, and answered all of our many, many questions. Towards the end of the tour, we stopped at an overlook at North Head, the Sydney Harbour entrance, from which we got a panoramic view. Breathtaking.
Because our Australian sojourn was limited to cities and islands, we got to see little of the strange creatures inhabiting this land. Our sole encounter was with an echidna (think possum + anteater + porcupine) along the side of the road in the Yarra Valley. So, at the end of our tour, we had Margaret drop us off at the Taronga Zoo in Mosman, a northern suburb of Sydney. While it may not be the greatest zoo in the world (and I’m not a big fan of zoos to begin with), Taronga has two overwhelming attractions: an enviable hillside location overlooking the Harbour, including Circular Quay and the Opera House; and a pretty comprehensive array of indigenous animals. While the elusive platypus never made an appearance, we got our fill of crocodiles, kangaroos, wallabies, koalas (like fat babies, they are irresistible), and those poisonous snakes. From here, an easy ferry ride back to Circular Quay, a great dinner at Fish on the Rocks a block away from our hotel (and my first taste of Tasmanian wine), and our journey was coming to an end.
The Same, But Different
On Monday began the long trip home. 13 hour flight to Los Angeles. This time, crossing the International Date Line gave us back the day we lost, and we arrived at LAX 5 hours before leaving Sydney. 6 hour layover at LAX. LAX-DFW-RIC, and then the 2.5 hour drive home. All told, over 27 hours of travel time.
There is much about Australia that makes comparing it to home irresistible. On the surface, there are so many similarities: we speak (almost) the same language, we share a European heritage, and as societies, we enjoy economic and political stability. The cities remind us of other cities we’ve visited – of New York in this respect, of San Francisco in another, and of San Diego in yet another. Yet to appreciate Australia, you need to peer beneath the surface to notice the differences as well. The familiarity of Australia to visitors from the United States makes it a comfortable place to visit. The welcome extended to us – the Aussies act so incredibly pleased that we’ve come so far just to see them – makes it hard to leave.
Practical Tips
-- Bill Bryson’s book, In a Sunburned Country, is a very entertaining way to learn about Australia. While not a travel guide, it provides insights into geography, geology, culture, history and biology. Most Australians we encountered who had read the book said that it really captured the essence of Australia.
-- In additional to a passport, travelers from the United States need a visa to enter Australia. It’s an electronic notation. Championship Tennis Tours got ours for us when it booked our air, but I understand it’s an easy thing to get.
-- As old Caribbean hands, we are used to not worrying about local currency, since the U.S. Dollar is widely accepted in de islands. So we actually had to do some thinking and planning about money for this trip. We decided to get some Australian money before departure, so as not to have to deal with currency exchanges in the airport; that way we had money for incidentals (cabs, food) on hand. American Express will get Australian dollars for cardholders and mail it to you, with a slight mark-up over the “official” exchange rate of the day, and a fee. Beyond that, ATMs are widely available in the cities, so you can use your credit card or debit card. Also, it’s a good idea to call your credit card company and bank to let them know you will be using their card abroad and make sure you have the right PIN numbers (4 digits required). When I made those calls, I was also given local toll-free numbers to use in Australia; the U.S. 800 numbers would have been useless.
-- Australia uses the metric system. While I could handle this with measurements of length and distance, using Celsius for temperature totally messed me up. The quick-and-dirty way to convert to Fahrenheit is to double the Celsius temp and add 32 (the exact formula is to multiply by 9/5 and add 32, but most of us aren’t facile enough to do that in our heads). Perhaps because I am soooo obsessed with needing to be warm enough, I never found the quick-and-dirty method precise enough (for me, the difference between 74 and 78, for example, is material). So I ended up with a little cheat sheet which had some key conversions pre-figured; I carried it in my wallet.
-- Tipping is not required in Australia. Waiters, taxi drivers, bellmen, and other service professionals are paid a decent wage so that tips are generally not required (or expected) to supplement their pay. The rule of thumb is that ordinary, competent service does not require any gratuity; extraordinary service may justify a 10% bump. When paid, tips are graciously accepted, but we were led to understand that they were simply pooled.
-- Because of a hole in the ozone, the sun’s rays are particularly fierce in Australia, and proper sun protection is essential. Normally, vacations find me slathered in SPF 15 (and tanning anyway), but this trip inspired moving up to SPF 30. Despite my diligence, one day at Hayman I inadvertently wiped off my sunscreen, in patches, with my snorkel mask and Stinger Suit. While I am not one to burn easily, less than an hour in the sun seared those unprotected patches. A painful lesson for the unwary.
-- For a first class trip, Championship Tennis Tours did an excellent job. Great tickets, excellent hotels, nice activities, and a personable representative available on-site. I would highly recommend them to someone interested in attending a Grand Slam or other major tennis event.
-- Since we were gone twice the usual length of time we take for vacation, communication was important. We had rented an international cell phone from our cell carrier, Verizon; this allowed us to have an international phone number, forwarding of calls from our regular cell number, and a flat rate of $1.50/minute for international calls. We didn’t use it much, but it was handy. We didn’t bring along a laptop, but confirmed in advance with each of our hotels that we could use computers in their business centers to access the internet. Also, except for at Hayman, given the large numbers of backpackers making their way through Australia, there were lots of internet cafes with really cheap rates – I saw as low as $3AUD an hour. Finally, since I saw Blackberries everywhere, I suspect that U.S. Blackberries might have been supported, at least in the cities; however, I didn’t see a single Treo (which is what I have).
-- Since I hope to return, next time via Business Class, the important number is 125,000. That’s how many American Airlines AAdvantage miles are required to purchase a business class ticket on Qantas. I’m almost there….
