ok, may be i will.
on friday morning, i flew to Sydney solo on a 7:15 flight and had the best air traveling experience in years. by best, i didn't mean Virgin Blue as an airline, which smelled like urine and slightly overpriced. but the consistence of aussie laidback-ness in the airport. no ID check, no heavily armed militia, no loud announcement of possible terrorist threats, just easy breezy print ticket and board, exactly the way traveling should be. upon landing, i opted out the obvious logical thing to do--check in to my hostel and acquire tourist information--and headed straight to Bondi. a wonderful breakie of mango and lime buttermilk pancakes followed by a three-hour coastal walk, i felt like living again. it was exactly what i needed to wash away a whole month built-up of negativity and frustration. and by then, i was hungry, thus the hunt for food began. took a bus back into the city, as it stopped for the light at Taylor Square, i spotted a fish and oyster cafe. there are, of course, many fish and oyster cafes in Sydney, and if you know anything about me and my criteria in picking venues for food, it is always the people dining. at this particular location, sat a girl in black, supporting big shades and swallowing oysters like the world don't matter. i hopped off the bus and walked in the cafe as she walked out lighting up a cig. my instinct was right, 10 minutes later, i was sitting at a sideway table with half dozen half-shell oysters, chips, Corona, and a pack of Camel golds, beautiful. oh Camel golds, how you tampered my body and raped my spirit. but, i was in the foreign city all by my lonesome, which wasn't at all a bad thing, i just felt the need to seek solace from my smoker past. the grin from such a fulfilling meal hung on my face for the rest of the day. a pleasant stroll down Oxford Street and i came upon Hyde Park. there i sat and watched sweaty guys poi and thought to myself, i have found myself a home. i felt an extraordinary bond with Sydney after merely seven hours of our initial handshake. its meltingpot culture and the bits and pieces that resemble something familiar from somewhere, nothing original, but so much versatility. if i were a city, i would probably be something like Sydney. and then i got to Circular Quay, at the base of the Sydney Opera House. i let myself indulge in two scoops of gelato while my eyes feasted upon the view. at Wharf 5, i met Tracy, me in twenty-two years. we sailed away on the ferry going the wrong direction and talked of traveling, journalism, men, Sydney, and why i should move there. as the sun's last ray disappeared under the calm sea surface, i became weary after the day's wander and decided to retreat to my accomodation upon docking at Darling Harbor. at Kings Cross, the Sydney Asylum is located a block away from the red light district, precisely the reason behind my choice. i had a hearty serving of spaghetti bolonaise at a local pizzaria, paraded through the flashy crowd in a failed attempted to get high, and called it a night.
the next morning, i woke up bright and early to find it raining with a gray sky heavy in gloom. two blocks into walking down Darlinghurst Road, i backed into a cafe to avoid further rain-soaked-ness. strange accents, tottering hands are the hospitality crew of Sydney, aka backpackers of the world. when i finally arrived at Paddy Market, it was time to get refueled. on the second-floor food court, i quickly spotted a quaint Japanese stall that offered fresh okonomi. one seafood with mayonnaise, please! it was still a tab early in my opinion, but the streets are packed with people, lots and lots of chinese people. i got overwhelmed and evacuated promptly to explore westward, to Glede. Glede would be considered the Uptown of Sydney, colorfully decorated with paint, fabric, fresh grocer shelves, and a Boho saturday market, which would be banking a lot of my money should my migration become reality. farther down Glede Point Road, the chill, anarchist crowd was intercepted by the bustling Broadway Road shopping district. my two o'clock lunch of choice was a tasty berry smoothie. off i went, on the lightrail, over the Darling Harbor Bridge, and into the CBD. at 3:30, ben got dropped off in front of KPMG while i sat and waited on the steps across the road. we resolved quickly that we both want sex very much and that we should return to the Asylum for that reason. we were shown into a huge double room with two double beds overlooking the courtyard, the cathedral, Hyde Park, and the boring bit of the commercial district. two hours of bouncing and prancing around, we were back at town. first to the Rocks, which didn't spark much interest in either of us, then decided dinner would be ingested at "the Little Snail on the casino side of Darling Harbor" per a friendly suggestion. it was french cuisine heavily influenced by italian traditions with a hint of modern aussie tint, not bad for the price, but i would probably never step foot in there again. we ate and drank and talked till they politely kicked us out somewhere between 11 to 11:30. wtf, right?! what sensible metropolitan restaurant shut its door at 11 on a saturday night? with the sound of the siren and guys peeing down the dark alley, thus concluded my second day at Sydney.
nice weather was the veneer over an otherwise mediocre sunday morning. we had breakfast at the hippie part of Kings Cross, sitting on wood stumps on the sidewalk drinking bad long black/hot coco, eating bagel sandwiches that were toasted on the outside. then set off once again for the Paddy Market, in search for some cheap bathers and sunnies. scored, and off we went to ride the monorail that go and go and go around and round and round taking you nowhere closer to your destination than your beginning. at Pitt Street mall, we saw street performers that sucked, too many metro brand name boutiques that ben wanted to check out, and generally a perfect mixer locale if you are bored. we stopped for a choc dip and a rocket at the ice-cream van before heading up the Argyle Steps. once again, if you know anything about me, i am not particularly picky about ice-cream, but this soft-serve disgusted me to the point that i chose to graffiti the bridge railing with it. 200 steps later, we were up the South Pylon Lookout. i just have to rub this off on everyone who's been in Sydney and retardedly paid $150-300 for a panorama view. i paid ten bucks and got to take pictures to my heart's content. am i a pro or am i a pro. off to Manly on the jetcat, a scenic and speedy ride that made me adore Sydney too much to not be committed on moving. yes, i just used the c-word. the peninsula was packed, which depreciated immediately on the evalm scale of wonder. we sat down at a random restaurant on the main strip and ordered food that only tourist would eat. the 4 o'clock ray was nowhere to be seen and the beach was left windy and uninviting. so i wrestled seagulls and rolled in sand instead. back at Circular Quay, we were faced with barricades five blocks from every direction, so much for wanting to catch a taxi. fuck George W. in the ass. we made it back to Asylum quarter till six, missed the airport shuttle, left braving the sunday train schedule. when the Qantas check-in kiosk spitted out an "error, please contact service desk" pass for both ben and me, it was twenty-five minutes from our 7 pm flight, oh bloody hell, we squealed. then the brunette lady behind the counter told us nonchalantly that they had overbooked their flights (hohoho) and had to put us in a later flight with an up-graded service, i put on the impatient, annoyed traveler look, while giving ben's butt the tightest squeeze to release my frenzy. an extra hour of Qantas Club seemed too good a night cap for an already great weekend. indeed it was.
