Beggars and Strange Fruit...

25/02/09

Another lazy morning; really must get up and Do tomorrow!
But much-needed, so I guess that’s ok…
I acquire postcards and we head for a local tour operator to book our tickets for the weekend – the Blue Mountains! It’s not bad value and I am excited about it, despite the necessity of an early start.
Onward, for bus to the Botanic Gardens!
It’s a nice easy bus trip into the city from here; the buses go practically from the seafront, so we find one with little difficulty and sit tight til we get to Circular Quay. Hazel points out a tourist shop, which we end up in (can’t imagine how that happened…) and we browse around happily for a few minutes. We are both revolted by some of the souvenirs though. I’m pretty sure that the kangaroo bollocks looked far better on the kangaroo than with a lighter stuffed in them as a rather gruesome souvenir…
They’re still furry…
Euch…

We head into a large shopping arcade on the way to the gardens, as it seems now to be lunchtime, and buy big sandwiches. They’re made in front of us and very well-packed with the components – so much so that they will hardly shut – not like the dirty-knife’s-worth you sometimes get waved over the meagre bread in the city sandwich bars in the UK.
Well satisfied with this state of affairs we head off. I’m beginning to feel far less incredulous that I’m out here now, though still full of wonder at everything. Maybe it’s a little nugget of self-confidence building up too…
We pass through the CBD (Central Business District) on the way to the Gardens and pause occasionally to peep in the windows of clothes shops. Fashion has certainly hit Australia since I was last here a couple of years ago; they seem to have imported and adapted, which is nice. There are some lovely clothes and well-dressed people about!
We arrive at the Botanic Gardens and decide to find a bench and sit in the dappled shade. It is nice and cool just here, under a huge, spreading tree. There are two young men in the bandstand behind us on the hill; they are practicing a Coldplay song on trumpet and guitar. It’s very good… While eating, a black and white bird hops out of the undergrowth behind us (where he has been pecking a tap; we wonder if he’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic) and bounces around the bench in front of us. He’s one of the local crows, with a wicked beak and scraggly black feathers with white streaks and rump. He cocks his head at us in a friendly way, but he’s not been cute enough yet to qualify for crumbs… If we’re going to share our lunch, he’s got to earn it! Eventually, he cocks his head, hops about, and sings. The crows have an unusual song here – not the harsh caw of the European ones, but a burbling, bubbling, liquid tune. He pours this out for our enjoyment, slyly watching to see how we’ve taken it, and is rewarded with a shower of crumbs, cheese and lettuce. The crumbs vanish, he is not quite as keen on the cheese, but the lettuce gives him some problems. It is pecked, shaken and he ends up with this soggy bit of green wrapped around his beak. I don’t think he’s too keen on his greens…
He is soon joined by a few friends – we end up with a motley, cute, polite collection of begging birds. We have two yellow mynahs (I think that’s what they are – rather like pale starlings who’ve found yellow eyeliner and got it everywhere), a female mallard (not native as they were introduced from the UK, but here, the eye stripes are far more pronounced; they have a very Egyptian look to them!) and also an ibis. They aren’t huge birds, but can be quite intimidating. We end up with two, one bald and presumably male, the other smaller and daintier. One of them eyes my toe short sightedly when the supply of crumbs runs out briefly and I fling another crumb at the duck to distract him. She catches it neatly in her beak and quacks appreciatively. He pokes the ground in a desultory sort of way with his long, hooked, beak and stalks into the background.
We head off after feeding the birds, which was rather fun.
Wandering onwards we look for the Oriental Garden, which turns out to be a few bamboo plants and a couple of lion statures, which isn’t quite what we’d hoped, but pretty nonetheless. We pause at the pond to look at the view (and for me to hug a tree, simply because it seems like a good idea. It is a very tall palm tree. But Hazel decides she’s going to find a ‘better’ one…). We pass the shop and potter in to look for batteries. Batteries found I ask where the flying foxes are to be found and the lady at the till looks at me happily and incredulously and takes us both outside to show us where they are, all several thousand of them! They hang from the sun-drenched trees like strange fruits, huge wizened pears perhaps, or wrinkled mangoes. There is a constant twittering, individuals call out, a strange cry not unlike a bird or a small child being poked. Occasionally, one will spread its large wings and stretch the paper thin leather in the sun, turning its auburn head and big black eyes before folding itself away into a huddle of darkness again.

Thus entranced by the beasties in the gardens, we decide to wander up to the other end of the garden, towards Mrs Maquarie’s Chair, which is a huge rock overlooking the harbour, into which someone has carved a seat. On the way, we admire the Opera House and the Bridge in the view, and the CBD, which is glossy, glassy and angular in the strong sun.
Having found Mrs. Macquarie’s Chair, and sat upon it, we carry on… It is not until we are footsore that we realise we have completely left the Botanic Gardens behind and are heading into Wooloomooloo and Kings Cross!
Oops.
We manage to find someone who knows where we are, totally miss the bus, which is annoying, but find ice cream, which is not. We give up on the bus and walk back towards town… We find the central shopping centre and spend another hour happily trying on clothes we don’t need… Well, a girl’s got to keep her stock of nothing-to-wear up to date hasn’t she??
;)

I can’t decide whether to do the Bridge Climb or not… On the one hand, it is an exciting and iconic thing to say you have done and to remember doing… On the other, it is over $170 for sweating up girders and steps for three hours, which could be spent on food and other more enduring things…
I reflect that the world is shrinking for me; much of it is now mine, familiar, returnable, remembered, liked. However, I still catch myself longing for delicacy of an English summer – the fragile breezes and the gentle, watercolour sun, unlike the coarse, brash, oil-paint brightness of Australia.
We are footsore and weary, so we head back home on the bus for a pasta bake dinner with a friend; the driver is a little trigger happy with the brakes and I start to feel slightly seasick with all the lurching… We are sitting side-on in the bus and the people in our row rattle together at each set of lights, like peas in a jar. I feel a bit like the weasels in the car in ‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit’!
I chuckle to myself too; there is a lady opposite us who makes no eye contact with anyone. She also looks as if she is sucking a lemon, or possibly sitting on one…

;)