(l to r: Manu, Kirstie, Michelle, Stephen, Claire, Jeff, Julia, Clayton. Behind the camera, Dean. Sydney, just after midnight, January 1st 2008.)
For someone who supposedly dislikes C*****mas so much, I seem to have written about it quite a lot so far. And there seems to be no reason to stop now, because this year Michelle and I spent the 25th December on a beach!
First things first – a few presents are to be opened. We have a couple of pictures of Sydney from Kirstie and Manu, they have a few family presents plus our gifts, and Summer sleeps through it all. I doubt whether she will in the future. We have coffee and toast before gathering some towels and boardshorts and heading to the beach. Unfortunately, the one thing we won’t be needing is sun-screen – although warm, the sky is grey and there will be no sun peeping through. Still, it’s 25 degrees, and by the time we’ve walked the 20 minutes down some steep tracks, we are all very warm.
There is no-one else on Flint & Steel Beach, Michelle and Kirstie stay on the beach while Manu, Summer (in a papoose type thing called a ‘babybjorn’) and I go off investigating caves and rock pools. By the time we get back, we have been joined by Claire and Jeff, friends of K&M, and also poms. Claire had recently celebrated passing her citizenship test, while Jeff was contemplating going back to the UK to finish a stint in the Police Force, having taken a couple of years off.
After a glass of wine, Michelle, Claire and Jeff decide to go swimming, while the more sensible of us decide to watch. And finish the wine. I get to spend some quality time with Summer, and before long we’re heading back up the trail, saying goodbye to Claire and Jeff, and back to Wahroonga for dinner.
Manu disappears into the kitchen, refusing any offers of help, and we have some more wine. Christmas Dinner appears on the table in the form of a veggie risotto, asparagus, lobster and scallops, and I am now a confirmed pescatarian, keen to try more seafood. Late in the evening we both call home and my insistence that I’m not missing anything crumbles when I speak to my mum, dad, nanna and sister in quick succession. They all tell me it’s cold and raining, but for a while I wish I was there sharing it with them.
What do you do on public holidays when it’s warm? You spend hours on buses, that’s what. We had decided to give K&M a day on their own as Manu had generously saved all his holiday for when we were around, and we thought he might like some family time. The sun had returned to it’s normal place, so we decided to take the train into Sydney and the ferry out to Manly Beach to watch the start of the annual Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race. Which was a good plan, apart from the fact that the trains weren’t actually running. Still, we figured that we were in no big hurry, and clutching instructions we boarded the replacement bus service into the city. In the UK the streets seem pretty empty on boxing day, but here it seems like everyone is out in their car. Consequently, buses take a rather long time, and instead of the 40 minute train ride, we have an hour and a half in a hot bus before arriving at Wynard Station. As we get off, we realise that at no point had we bought tickets, and at no point had anyone asked to see any tickets. From there it’s a 10 minute walk down to Circular Quay and the ferries, and we arrive just in time to be told that the last ferry for three hours had gone. Apparently, there’s some kind of race starting in the harbour, and ferries would just get in the way…
Still undeterred, a patient ferry man tells us where the get the bus to Manly, and so we join the long queue of people who had also planned the same ferry trip as us. Three buses come and go before we get anywhere near the front of the queue, and as we board we realise nobody is showing tickets or paying the driver, so we just walk past too. It’s another 30 minutes before we get off the bus in Manly, and also about 40 minutes since the race started. As we arrive at Manly Wharf we see about 5 stragglers leaving the bay.
Manly is busy. The Wharf is at one end of a long pedestrianised street, with the beach being at the other, and everywhere is awash with people. We buy sandwiches and drinks near the Wharf and head towards the beach, finding a shady area of grass to sit and picnic. Then we reach the beach. Remember those pictures that the English tabloids print on the first sunny day of summer, showing Bournmouth or Brighton beach covered with people? It looks like that, only with less pink blobby people and many more surf boards taking up space. Obviously this far into the trip Michelle looks like a local, so I up the number of pink blobby people by one as we find a space near the shady back wall and start the ritual of changing, slopping sun screen on and getting comfortable.
I have a new book on the go, and so fall into my own little world, while Michelle tests out the water and falls asleep. When we both look up again, it’s gone 6.00pm and the beach is emptying. We call K&M to say we won’t be back for dinner, and start the ‘wandering around looking for suitable food’ ritual. I’m sure you’ve all done the same thing. We find a very posh looking place by the wharf and neither of us considers it as a possible, thanks to our self imposed budget restraints, but when we have a look at the menu it’s more affordable than we first thought. Safely ensconced inside we feel a bit grubby compared to the cool crowd surrounding us, we get a beer, some fish and chips and have a great time. The ferries are running and we get on just as the sun is going down. The views of Sydney, the Bridge and the Opera House as the ferry rounds the corner and heads into Circular Quay are breathtaking. The bus back to Waroongha takes less time than earlier that day and the 20 minute walk from the station back to K&M’s means that we sleep very soundly.
Manu’s work means that he has a few calls to make the next morning, so we relax with Kirstie and Summer before heading off in their car to Balmoral Bay for brunch. We pay in a small attempt to start repaying K&M’s generosity, and are secretly pleased that the day is a little overcast, giving us a break from all that sunny-ness. Not. It’s an odd day, warm and muggy but grey and cloudy, and we decide to go and check out the local mall while Manu does a bit of food shopping. We manage to pay for the groceries too, which goes another small way towards thanking our hosts.
While Manu slaves in the kitchen, again refusing any offers of help, the rest of us snooze through ‘Love Actually’, and then Manu presents a special treat for me – seared tuna. In my new role as fish eater, this has to be my favourite so far, but Michelle still can’t be talked round.
Manu needs to work the next day, so we take ourselves off to catch the bus again, using yesterday’s knowledge to find the right bus stop to get to Bondi Beach. Before we know it (well, 2 hours later) we get off the right bus, walk round the corner and see the famous Bondi Beach. It’s a good looking beach certainly, and in this holiday season it seems very popular, but, well, it doesn’t really live up to it’s billing. I suppose it couldn’t really.
Still, we have a splendid afternoon in the sun on the beach, hearing mostly American and English accents, and it’s only when I turn round and spot some graffiti on a wall that I get an idea of how the locals feel. It says “f**k off backpackers”.
We eat late in town and get back to our hosts an hour before Kirstie, who has been out on the town with friends for the first time since Summer was born. Summer slept the whole time, missing out on this momentous occasion.
We’re on our own again the next day, and decide to head for the Northern Beaches. More long bus journeys are only lightened by chatting with people, and the memory of Manu’s fantastic pancake breakfast. Palm Beach is our first target, having read about it as the playground of Sydney’s rich, so clearly the right place for us to be. We couldn’t see Elle McPherson, Layton Hewitt or Nicole Kidman on the beach, but apparently Sting was there the next day. He could have called us.
Claire and Jeff, K&M’s friends with whom we spent Christmas Day, did call us and we arranged to meet in Avalon. They lived just down the road in Colloroy, and had been out walking, so coffee and snacks were on the menu for us both, before they invited us to go body boarding with them at their local beach. We jumped at the chance and were soon wading into the surf just north of Dee Why. I was dreadful, managing to catch just the one wave properly, Michelle – of course – was much better, but mostly we watched C&J show us how it’s done. After a quick shower back at theirs we went out for food, and then they gave us a lift, a good half hour drive, all the way back to K&M’s in Wahroonga. Again, the generosity of these people is fantastic, and we feebly offer them a place to sleep if they’re ever in, er, Ipswich… Kirstie had stayed up to let us in, but also to let us know that plans had been made for tomorrow.
We had some toast and coffee in the morning before piling into Manu’s VW Golf to head for the Central Coast. We had plans to meet the ‘Two Shays’. Shay number one was a former rugby-playing colleague of Kirstie’s, and Shay number two was her chosen life partner. They lived in a place called Sarratoga, but we were to meet them at Hardie’s Bay, about an hour’s drive from K&M’s. Well, I say an hour – Michelle and Manu were in charge as Kirstie, Summer, Summer’s chair, and me were squeezed in the back. Not much fun for Kirstie, being sandwiched between me and a baby seat, although Summer looked quite comfy. After turning the map around three times and finally deciding we were not in the right place, the navigators found the bridge they had been looking for and we arrived in the most beautiful bay we’d ever seen. Fantastic looking houses faced the bay from three sides, while the fourth carried the bridge we had just driven across. Expensive looking boats floated on the water, waiting for someone from one of the expensive houses to sail them, and just in front of us, on the harbour wall under the shade of one of the expansive trees, Summer was having her nappy changed.
The venue for lunch was an unlikely looking shack on a T-junction overlooking the bay. We had a reserved table outside, and sat down just as our ‘hosts’ came walking down the road. About as far from any cliché you care to name, both girls are attractive, have long hair, wear nice shoes and don’t hate men. Shay one is tall, blonde, and training to be a doctor having been in the Navy for 9 years, and Shay two is shorter, dark, and works for the Australian Alzheimer's Association, travelling around Australia raising awareness. She was also very keen to ‘have a go’ of Summer, and wrestled her from Kirsties arms before sitting down to say hello. We ordered, ate, and went for a walk along the bay before S&S offered to show K&M the house they had recently bought, and have huge plans for. On the way we stopped at Pretty Beach, which was pretty, and Cabana Beach, which was pricey. To give Kirstie a bit of room, I rode in the back of the Two Shay’s Subaru on the way back to theirs, and got a sneaky look at their lovely classic Ute – a ’63 Holden, which they plan to spend money on once the house is underway, and Shay one is qualified and earning a fortune.
The house, essentially a small box, was falling apart, leaking, and mostly built using asbestos sheets. But the plot of land was magnificent. They have plans to build a series of pods, joined together to form a Japanese inspired house and they explained the plans to us while we all gasped collectively at the view over the lake. Shay one is learning the guitar, and lent me her acoustic to have a strum on. I hadn’t touched one since leaving the UK, and it was very nice of her to let me have a play with hers while everyone else wittered on about something or other… As we left they made a genuine offer of letting us stay at the new guest pod. We just have to give them 3 or 4 years. We booked.
We headed home and after thanking Manu for driving a couple of hundred kilometres, retired to the balcony for a couple of beers and some snacks. It’s New Years Eve Tomorrow.
Having realised that we haven’t checked our mail for a few days, we walk into nearby Hornsby and head for the internet café. No Wi-Fi is available, so I head off to Starbucks which has expensive Wi-Fi to allow me to upload the next couple of instalments on the blog quickly, and Chelley stays and does her email at the café. We get some supplies for Manu – it’s our job to take the starter to the party tonight – and walk back to help with the fancy dips he has planned. Kirstie calls to tell us not to buy the beer we had planned to take, as our host has called to tell her that the police aren’t letting anyone down to the Point, where his apartment is, with alcohol. All we needed to do was contribute and he would get all the beer in for us. Less for us to carry, too.
Late afternoon, we walk to the train station, carrying various dips, chips, bread in bags, and Summer is in her baby bjorn, and are relieved to find that the trains are running again. The journey to North Sydney station is a whole lot quicker then the buses have been all week, and the train is full of people carrying picnics, making their way to various vantage points around the Harbour. When we get out of the station, it’s like we’re going to a Millwall Football match, policed by the SAS. There are concrete barriers herding us across the street, a few hundred police telling you which way to go (luckily the way we actually want to go) and we seem to be accompanied by most of the teenagers in Sydney, all making high-pitched “OH MA GOD!!!” noises while sucking back alchopops.
Collective noun time again. A ‘screetch of teenagers’? a ‘flimsy of teenagers’? Most of these ones have peaked a little too early, and seem destined to be throwing up and saying “Oh my God, my head hurts” way before the fireworks actually start, but that’s not our problem. It is our problem however to make it through this pre-pubescent warzone, get through the police checkpoint and get hold of Dean, our host, to come down to the gate and let us get to the safety of his 16th floor apartment. Of course the networks are on overload, and by the time we get through to him we have been joined at the gate by his sister, Tracy, and her partner Wayne, who are also invited.
The apartment block at Blue Point is the only one for miles, and is surrounded by a small park at the bottom of a long gradual hill from North Sydney station. It’s an amazing view from both Dean’s lounge and bedroom balconies, and we can see the Harbour Bridge pretty much head on, with the Opera House just beyond, Sydney CBD (Central Business District) with it’s skyscrapers across the water and a parade of boats all taking their positions in the water. Dean, and his partner Julia, are incredibly welcoming, and we are handed beers as we arrive. I get to have a chat with Wayne, who drives an excavator and used to be a fisherman, and can’t understand why anyone travels. I tell him we’re off to Melbourne, and he tells me it’s full of poofs. Not that he’s been there of course. He used to build exhibition stands for all these designy w***ers from Melbourne, but they don’t know anything. Luckily there isn’t time for me to tell him that I used to design exhibition stands and was quite looking forward to the cultural aspects of Melbourne and, oh, we’re travelling right now and it’s great, actually!
Wayne and Tracy stay for the 9.00pm fireworks, but are needed elsewhere soon afterwards, leaving Michelle and I, Kirstie and Manu, Claire and Jeff, our hosts Dean and Julia, and a guy called Clayton, who had just come second in a national Iron-Man competition, but even so seemed like a really nice bloke and quite level headed. Despite the swimming/cycling/running madness thing.
Food was had, beers were drunk and a board game played before the giant egg-timer on the bridge (you had to be there) turned for the final time and the countdown began. Those of you that know me well will remember that I’ve never really cared for fireworks too much, but these ones are, well, outstanding. It’s clearly pointless trying to write a description of a fireworks display, but I can say that even I had the biggest grin slapped across my face. Summer found her first New Year’s Eve just a bit too much and managed to sleep right through all 18 minutes of thundering explosions, bangs and fizzes, which justified the reputation this event now has worldwide.
Half way through the display I allowed myself a minute to reflect on the fact that all our friends and family back in the UK were right now having their lunch on New Year’s Eve, and still had 11 hours to wait to welcome in the new year. Everyone in the apartment hugged and kissed and wished everyone else a happy new year, and I realised that Michelle and I already had a head start. We eventually began to pick our way home through the debris in the streets back to the station, and after a walk back to K&M’s, fell into bed at about 3.30am.
Hugs and kisses to all our friends, all over the world, and we would like to wish you all a belated, but very heartfelt Happy New Year.
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