Sydney

Mom and I arrived in Sydney on a Saturday night and when we woke up at seven the next morning, Burma Dad was knocking on our door. We caught up with each other over a beautiful breakfast spread and then headed out to explore this new city. Sydney is unexpectedly large and busy but still a pleasant place that’s easy to navigate. At times it felt like a sunny day in a laid back version of New York City. Sydney has always seemed so far off and therefore, exotic and new but except for the accents, it could easily be a large city in the States. All the same places and things, just with a different spin. I liked the spin. Whatever it was, it made the place feel Australian rather than American and was enough to convince me I could move there and I’d only be missing my dock (And family. And friends. And proximity to Europe).

Here we did a bit of trinket shopping but because Dad was here, we did other things too. We spent our first day in Sydney wandering around town with Dad’s sixteen pound, bright green bag of Burma laundry.  Though we Googled laundry places, none were within walking distance except for one called Chinese Laundry. So we walked and we walked and we thought we couldn’t find it but at the last minute we saw a purple sign that said “Chinese Laundry” and had a dragon and some Chinese symbols. We followed the purple arrows down a seedy staircase under an overpass and down a trash covered walkway into a dark building blasting techno music. 

Chinese Laundry turned out to be a night club. I figured this out just one second too late and couldn’t stop Dad from wandering inside and presenting his big green bag to an angry man who was sweeping up last nights cigarette butts and plastic cups. Dad had a hard time understanding that they did not do laundry there and while we chuckled at the time, it was several days before we were really struck by how funny this was. We genuinely wonder how often tourists try to bring their dirty clothes to that night club. So poor Dad had to carry The Bag around all day, even letting it sit next to him in the booth while ate lunch.

We took The Bag with us to Darling Harbor, a touristy part of town with little shops and cafes. We visited a fantastic zoo, took ferry rides through the harbor, explored the city center, did lots of eating, and spent lots of time with Dad’s big Lebanese cousins and uncles. But that Lebanese crowd I will save for another post.

I’ll have you know that I tried Vegemite and I now feel violated. I’ve spent my entire life thinking that Vegemite was the Australian version of Nutella or perhaps even a substitute for peanut butter. In fact, the Vegemite was right next to the Nutella at our beautiful breakfast spread every morning, thus confirming my thoughts on the matter. So because I love peanut butter and Nutella, I slathered a hearty glob onto an untoasted piece of bread and with no hesitation, popped that puppy into my mouth and began chewing.

It has been over a decade since I have been so repulsed by something that I couldn’t even be polite enough to just power through it. I had to spit it out and I then rubbed grapefruit and butter on my tongue just to get the taste out of my mouth. “I feel different.” I told Mom when it was all over. It tasted like beef jerky, blended in to liquid with coffee, buried underground to ferment and then mixed with enough flour to make it into a paste. I will not try it again. 

I was later informed that Vegemite is a savory spread that is not intended to be eaten in large quantities. It is high in iron and B12 and would help keep you alive if you got lost in the Outback or kidnapped by Aborigines. It is NOT Nutella. I discussed my outrage with my new cousins one night and they all laughed at me and told me that you put a tiny little dab or two on toasted bread with lots of cheese and even butter. “It takes the place of meat. Like all the vitamins in a piece of meat.” they told me with genuine pity.

In other news, there was a cold wind in Sydney that kept Dad and me in the hotel room anytime there was not something we were supposed to be doing. One day, a trinket shopping day, Dad got so cold and crabby that he threw a little tantrum and took a cab back to the hotel even though it was only three blocks away. Mom and I laughed at him and then popped into a Chocolatier’s shop and had the best hot chocolate we’ve ever tasted. It was rich and thick and not like that watery Swiss Miss crap they give you at home. Just like in Europe, it is illegal to use corn syrup and chemical sweeteners to make their sweets and sodas delicious. Therefore, things taste sweeter and better and they make things like hot chocolate with real chocolate and that real chocolate is sweetened with real sugar. It a big delicious cycle of cavities and natural sweetness and Mom and I bought lots of chocolate.

On our last day of the trip we went to Bondi Beach, the most famous of Australian beaches. I have dreamt of Bondi Beach since I was a teenager and decided I wanted to be a hippie/beach bum/vagabond and I set my sights on surf havens where I’d find other ‘Stick it to The Man’ types that lived in vans and made pottery. It’s still my dream. It just costs a lot of money to a homeless traveler. So I was delighted to go to Bondi, however it was wintertime, very chilly, and covered in neon barrels and construction workers who were setting up for a running marathon the next weekend. It was still beautiful and confirmed my suspicions that it would thrill me but I’ll just have to come back in the summer someday.

I will present more of Sydney to you in my next two posts. I want to show you all the Australian creatures we encountered and the rip-roaring good times visiting Sydney’s little Lebanon.