27/02/09

I emerge from the flat today into the fresh smell of late Aussie summer. It is easy to smell that Autumn is going to approach soon. A gentle bite modulates the softness of the air, despite the promise of 27 degrees later on. Maybe Manly today, or Luna Park. That said, I’ll go as the wind blows me today, and today it seems to be pointing towards Bondi Junction, where my friend’s flatmate works. It is not a long bus ride from Coogee, about 15 minutes, and it is rather likeable, particularly if you like shopping. It is a few streets and a monstrous Westfield shopping centre. Every surf shop is represented here, in the blazing, sunny streets, and in the coolness of the interior are to be found many designer brands happily rubbing shoulders with chain stores and smaller shops, quirky, funky or local, of lower kudos.
It is rather like the Harlequin Centre in Watford, but larger and without the chavs… I find myself another USB memory stick as mine are filling up rather more rapidly than I anticipated, and also some extra useful bog-standard pants – they are the ‘iconic’ Bond’s pants, kind of the opposite of a designer label as they used to be deeply uncool but are now as significant in every Aussie’s underwear drawer as M and S one are in the UK.
I am proud of myself for resisting the temptations of the end of summer sales in both Cotton-On and Jeans West… both of which have sweet little tops that would be perfect for an English summer…- No! Naughty!
The three orange schoolgirls who enter as I leave look intent on purchasing something though… I think to myself, at least they aren’t giving themselves skin cancer… I head for the bus.
As I’m nearby, I decide to pootle over to Bondi Beach, which is just the other side of Bondi proper. And it would be rude not to… It is nice to see the parts in between one place and another on this (very busy) bus.
Right, I’m there; possibly not the best place in the world for a good value lunch, but it’s lunchtime and I’m here so I shall see what I can find. It is, after all, 2:30 already and I want to much and paddle before heading anywhere else!
I find a little fish café in Bondi Pavilion, which doesn’t seem to be too overpriced. It’s called Surfish, which makes me chuckle, and they have an array of fish, burger and chip type dishes. I decide to go for a barramundi burger (I like barramundi!) so I can chomp on it down on the beach while I paddle. The asian chap who serves me is friendliness itself, though I smile sweetly and back off slightly when he says he’ll come and join me on the beach when his shift ends… :S My lunch arrives quickly and is hot.
Far from the soggy bun and mooshy fish with soggy lettuce I was expecting, my burger is a huge slab of perfectly cooked white fish, wrapped lovingly in a floury toasted bun with a garden of lettuce and other interesting sliced veggies and coated in a light spread of some kind of tangy sauce. Once again, a really decent fish burger; the Aussies love their fish – I could get used to this! When they say fish burger, they don’t mean the ravaged shreds of the unwanted bits of some unnamed sea-creature posted carelessly inside a sorry excuse for bread, they mean a good solid hunk of white fish, crumbed, fried and stuffed in a bun.
Yum.

Bondi Beach is relatively empty today – I have at least four metres of space on each side of me, if not a lot more, and a clear run to the sea should I so wish. See? Practically empty! I sit, curled happily on the sand with my leafy bun. I inspect the little blue tasselled balloons surrounding me along the shoreline – I suspect they are more baby stingers… But I do feel rather sorry for the silly little things.
I finish my lunch, and rinse off my sticky fingers in the sea while looking for shells (surprisingly, there are a few, even here).
Onward, to somewhere else, possibly Manly. That means I need to get the 380 to Circular Quay.
I wander back up to the main beach front. The dry silver sand squeaks under my feet as I walk. If you step on it right and scuff slightly, it squeaks all the way… I am easily amused! A quartet of surfies passes by, each perfectly spaced from the others, in identical wetsuits with identical boards… They look for all the world like the Bondi Beatles, walking along the beach instead of Abbey Road!
Bugger.
Ouch.
I’ve burnt.
This is why I go for Factor 50+. I think it may have something to do with the fact that I can only reach so far down and up my back and I have a little raw quarter circle just below each shoulder blade. Still, I guess it could have been worse – I think it’s ‘stay out of the sun for the rest of the day’-toasted, rather than, ‘Argh! Argh! Not the hot shower!’-fried’.
I hope…
I wander along the shoreline with the seagulls and the little jellies, and stop to inspect a piece of artfully-flung driftwood before I head back to the foreshaw and get the bus back to Bondi Junction. I mooch in a shop briefly and resist temptation again (doing well today – go me!) and hop on my busy bus to the City.

We pass through large amounts of Sydney suburbia and I spot at least three Flight Centres in the short distance between Bondi and the centre. I knew there was a good reason for booking my trip with them – It is infinitely reassuring to see lots of people locally who could officially help me should the need arise.
I chat to a fellow passenger from Korea who is pleasant and polite and tells me he has been working in the farms around Sydney and has come by for a brief holiday with his friend. They are both brown and happy. He tells me that they are going to wander around the outside of the Sydney Opera House this afternoon.
On a whim, I decide I shall do the same – it is rather late now to get the ferry across to Manly; I don’t want to rush it if I can help it, after all, I have time to rearrange and relax in my time here. The Opera House is just a little way along from Circular Quay (which is rapidly becoming my favourite part of Sydney, housing as it does the Rocks, the Opera House and the Bridge, and is the gateway to all sorts of other interesting places). I potter happily along this little stretch of cafes and shops in the late afternoon sun and admire the view. Palm trees dot the walkway and a lower level of cafés below contains a small throng of happy chatty people, and a gentle waft of coffee over the salty sea. This little stretch of Sydney is very like the South Bank in London – pleasantly trendy, slightly overpriced, but perfect for a healthful stroll and a little cultural interest. Eventually I reach the Opera House and admire its great, glossy, ivory, bulk from the foot of the stairs. I drink it in from every angle, peering at it from the steps to the Garden, from its own impressive and multiple flights, staring at its soaring wings from every angle and admiring the tiled architecture from below. It is a gorgeous edifice, both a feat and a monster. I touch its sun-warmed panels and, if buildings could emote, this one would be like a tortoise, sleepy and contented in the sun.
I decide to book a ticket to a performance while I am here. There is a performance of Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare and Mendelssohn on Monday, which I book – at a mere $35.
Bargain I feel!
It is 6pm and I wander back down Cahill Walk to wait for a bus back to Coogee. I still have sandy knees…
Hum. Friday traffic. Made worse by the QEII being in dock here and some scaffolding that has collapsed somewhere just outside the CBD. I chew on my spare Starburst, hungry and bored. They don’t have blackcurrant here, just cherry, which is nice, rather like amaretti.
I arrive back just in time to scramble into a nice frock and trot out with my friend to meet her friend who has promised us tapas. It is very nice out in the balmy evening, sitting on the street at the Spanish Fly in Coogee. They bring us a selection of interesting dishes, all beautifully done, and we have a lovely evening with a good natter and wine.
Back to hers afterwards for packing and sleep!

;)