Ari's Planet

Sydney was not my place. A big city. Seemed nice enough. The opera house was nice and iconic. The art gallery had free admission and I admired all the very British romantic paintings from the 19th century. Students in school uniforms--white with tie for a group of young teenagers, yellow shirts for younger kids--were being tought about various works. There was an immense drawing of Russians running away from Napoleon's forces and another painting of British forces repelling 4000 Zulu warriors (I think this got made into a Hollywood movie).

My first day I trotted down toward the harbor. I walked by the Sydney Dance Company's rehearsal area, who seemed to be having a grand time. A bunch of folks were way way up there on top of the harbour bridge. Everyone in Sydney was getting married that Sunday. It was sunny and afternoon and all the photographers wanted their wedding parties in front of the opera house. One visitor had a very big lens but didn't tell me how big. Limos and ice cream trucks and cute little girls in flowery skirts, men in suits. I came across the studio of Ken Macdonald (ok, I need to check his name), a major landscape photographer in Australia. He shoots panoramic-format on film and makes big blow ups. Nice work.

The Botanic Gardens were the best part of Sydney. A gang of crazed yellow-crested cockatoos were clambering all over a tourist who was feeding them. My attempts at candid portraits of one parrot resulted in it coming after me for several minutes--I'm not sure if it was pissed I got in its face or if it was hoping for a handout. The parrots, when not gobbling up human food were pulling up the grass. There were also white ibis and a whole bunch of bats flitting around the trees. The fernery was neat, with a representative fern that is similar to ferns from 350 million years ago. That's a long time ago. Ferns have an interesting method of reproduction. A history trail teaches a bit about the Aboriginees who lived where Sydney now stands. Plaques talk about the first encounters with Captain Cook, the first colonists, the plague of smallpox that decimated the local tribes, kidnapping by British to learn about the aborigines and teach them English, on to the modern freedom ride and recognition of Aboriginal land claims and rights. A large spotted lizard ran back under the placards. At the tropical glass pyramid the name of the current exhibitition, Sex and Death, is spelled out in a shrubbery.

Near the gardens is a 50 meter outdoor pool. It's opposite a naval yard where an American navy vessel was moored. Strangely, the State Library of NSW does not have open stacks and requires a patron card to get books. Seems odd, I would have expected a free library, as I found in Auckland. Perhaps this was just the state library and there were other municipal libraries I was unaware of.

The worst part of Sydney was the hostel, Westend Backpackers, in Central Sydney. I picked this place out of a lineup at the airport, called and made a reservation. Their credit card machine was down so I paid cash, AUD$27/night for a 6 bed dorm; compare to NZD$22/night for a 3 to 4 bed room I was paying in Auckland. The place is a 13 story building. There's no real common space to chill out. The kitchen, which is small, is on the 1st floor and there's a shabby dining area with a pool table and some video games on which you can practice deer and gopher hunting, and an even shabbier TV area, but no quiet place to hang out. The hostel pipes music in the common areas 24 hours a day--that is the most annoying thing about the place. It even topped the $5/day fee for a private locker (no thank you). Oops, sorry, actually the most annoying thing are the speakers in the bedrooms through which even more annoying front-desk attendants scream 3 times in the evening about what an exciting time everyone will have when they gather down in the lobby and trundle off to some club or bar. The little girls running around the place need to learn to use less makeup, it made them look like tramps. Who wants to kiss makeup? The best thing about the hostel was that it was about 200 meters from a supermarket. The room was ho hum, but at least it had a bathroom attached, though this was sans toilet paper thanks to the idiots staying there.

Oh yes, Mr. Fucking Asshole (FA for short) was staying in my room. Granted, the personality of the guests is not the responsibility of the hostel, but they could make some effort. First, he had some chick in his bed in the middle of the day when I showed up. Ok, maybe she'll be gone by nightfall. He shows up at 11 pm, very rudely wakes me up, is drunk, and demands that I help him find his cellphone, which I decline and he tries to threaten me which I promptly and certainly shut him up about. The guy next to me snored. And Mr. FA, who was either British or Irish, not sure, spent the next hour or so texting and phoning trying to get laid. I figured, no way, and one girl he called (it could all be heard) was telling him how he was in her past and all. Sometime during the night, just to ensure his spot as Mr. FA, he goes to the bathroom and has to turn on the room light to do this (you don't do this in a dorm). Well, what do you know, in the morning there's some girl in his bed. Women, listen up. You have a responsibility to keep these jerks from reproducing. Getting into bed with them is not doing you or anyone else any favours. For $2 more a night I switched to a much quieter 4-bed dorm with a Canadian and American for roommates and no Mr. FA or stupid girlfriend.

That about sums up Sydney. I was glad to be heading on, the big city held little interest for me. My flight to Perth, on Virgin Blue, was leaving at 0610. For the record, let me say that, if you have a flight leaving this early, do not prepurchase a return shuttle at the airport. It won't get you there in time to check in. I took the train instead, which is perfectly convenient and fast. I am now the proud owner of one return fare on the shuttle from Sydney to the airport--let me know if you want it (AUD$11) since it isn't doing me any good. The airport was like all other not too big airports. The pleasure of not taking off one's belt and shoes at security cannot be overstated. The flight was entirely uneventful. The seats were uncomfortable (too hard) and sleeping was a bit pointless. I didn't have a window seat so I missed out on seeing Australia glide by from 11000 meters up. I caught a bus into town. Apparently, spitting is a crime right up there with, oh say, rape, and therefore bus drivers in Perth carry DNA collection kits. In constant terror of possibly letting some phlegm out of my mouth, I got off at King's Park and met my friend whom I met in China, who gave me a ride to his pad and introduced me to his cat and two computers. I learned that "dE" on a Samsung washing machine means "shut the bloody door". Now I look forward to exploring Western Australia.