9.01pm - Under The Bridge

Trip Start Feb 09, 2009
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Trip End Mar 25, 2009


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Flag of Australia  , New South Wales,
Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Monday 16 February, 9.01pm, my room
 
Holy God, Sydney. Enough with the damn rain! Seriously!! When I got up this morning, it was gorgeous blue skies for the first time in a week, and I was obviously quite thrilled. In an effort to take advantage of the weather, I decided to do all the things that required good weather for maximum effect - all the high altitude fun I had been putting off for the last few days whilst waiting hopefully for better weather. Thinking my patience had been rewarded, I hastened first to Sydney Tower, the remaining part of the Discovery Trail that I had not yet taken in.
 
Sydney Tower, whilst not quite as impressive as the Sky Tower in Auckland, is still mightily high at 260m (the same  height as the Eiffel Tower, incidentally). I could see my hotel, which was pretty cool (go me for picking one not surrounded by skyscrapers, I guess), although some genius decided to build a skyscraper slap bang in the middle of the bridge and the opera house, so taking beautiful pics of them from the tower is a whimsical fantasy that will never be. That said, when I got a bit lost later on and was determined to find my way back without having to look at my map, the annoying building was very helpful - I glared at it long enough in the morning that I recognised it in the afternoon and immediately realised where I must be from the position of the tower in relation. Kind of like 16th century sailors with the stars, but with unsightly buildings instead.
 
Before I continue today's tales (and although this instalment is long, you will want to keep reading, because I've got a brilliant story about a woman I met this afternoon), I wish to put a question to my tiny but loyal audience. I have a fierce adoration for Lonely Planet, okay - they are well organised in almost every respect and helpfully inform you of things like which hostels have wireless and which pubs do the best beer (the only two things I need to survive are Facebook and alcohol, so these are important matters). They also have truly excellent maps in them. I really couldn't survive without their guides, and if I am a very good girl and keep up these humble scribblings, I may even get to work for them some day. Nevertheless, when I am abroad, while I am happy to tell anyone who asks that I'm English and on my jollies (and therefore not a resident of their fine land), I always feel slightly uneasy actually consulting my LP in public. In some respects, this is good - it means my nose isn't constantly stuck in a guidebook, and I am actually looking around and figuring things out for myself, rather than letting someone else do all the figuring out for me. (Of course, every decent restaurant or bar I find, I realise LP has always gotten there first when I look at my map later, but never mind.) But I'm not doing it to be fearless and adventurous. I'm doing it because I want to pretend to the strangers around me that I'm a local. I obviously look fairly confident and relaxed in my surroundings, because terrified-looking tourists (and once in Cathedral Square in Christchurch, an extremely commanding woman from Oxfordshire) are always asking me for directions, so it is working. (The illusion is of course utterly shattered when I am forced to shamefacedly mumble that I'm sorry, but I don't know the way to the bibliotheque, because I'm not from around here either.) But isn't that slightly awful? How ashamed I am of my touristy status? (I call shenanigans on that whole tourist/traveller thing, by the way; if you're hanging around at touristy spots, which I usually am, then suck it up, you hippie, you're a bloody tourist.) I don't even like taking photos of landmarks or monuments because it marks me out as a tourist. I do it, of course, because I want the photo more than I want to look cool in front of people I don't know, but I want to look cool enough that it's always with a bit of a grimace that I pull the camera out. Does all this make me a wanker? Because I sometimes think it does. And perhaps I'd be happier if I just threw back my head and read my guide with pride. I don't really look down on anyone that I do see with a map or a copy of LP or Rough Guide, because they're exactly like me. They just don't sneak off into corners and alleyways to consult theirs. Is this something everyone does, or am I an arrogant dickhead? Just wondering.
 
NB - the arrogant dickhead question only applies to this particular issue. If you think I'm an arrogant dickhead for some other reason, kindly keep your thoughts to yourself - I'm far too busy and important to read them, after all.
 
So after I left Sydney Tower, I decided to stick with the good weather and do the walk over the bridge. The views are ace, got some great pics of the opera house, and was very jealous of people staying at the Hyatt, because you could see into their open air pool, and from the Jacuzzi you would have been able to see the bridge, the harbour, and the opera house all whilst sitting back and relaxing amongst the bubbles. If I ever come back to Sydney, that is where I shall stay!
 
After arriving on the north shore, I made my way to Luna Park, the theme park located near the base of the bridge by the water's edge. I was quite excited to go here initially, because it looked very Coney Island-y and kitsch. It would seem that this is a fairly unpopular opinion though, because although there were one or two people on the rides, for the most part, as I wandered through the park, it was absolutely deserted.
 
Now, an empty theme park is a creepy thing at the best of times. The world of horror movies, creepy TV shows and ghost stories has made much of that particular setting. But if there's anything in this world creepier than a theme park with THIS FACE -->
...well, I don't want to meet it in a dark alley, that's all I'm saying.  And yes, that is the actual entrance. It looked sort of cool when I spotted it from by the opera house, ie. from a kilometre away across the harbour. Close up, it's completely terrifying. It has eyelashes, for God's sake, that alone would have done it, but it's also a clown (and nothing's scarier than a clown), and it's so huge, and it's got those weird teeth that are just waiting for you to walk underneath so they can mash you... it's all very bad.
 
So I was gonna do some rides and whatnot, but Luna Park don't do just an entry fee or tickets for the ride, they do levels of unlimited ride passes, and to get the pass that included the Ferris Wheel (the only thing I actually cared about, for the photo ops), it would have been $33, which seemed a bit ludicrous considering only a few rides were open and I wasn't that bothered about going on them anyway. Had there been a few more people, maybe, but as I said a moment ago, empty amusement parks are pretty creepy. Walking up to a ride and having the attendant start it immediately just for you because you're the only person riding it... it's just weird. So I got a few photos from the admittedly splendid angle outside the entrance, then began to make my way back to the bridge.
 
On the way, I got distracted by a cute park type area that I'd spotted from the bridge, so had a bit of a wander down to the water. As soon as I picked out the most picturesque of spots, under a lovely tree, right on the water, bridge above me, opera house opposite me, and a bench just waiting to be sat on to watch the boats go by... it began to bloody rain. And rain. And rain. After a few minutes of hoping it would clear, I admitted defeat and ducked into a little shelter nearby, where a very pleasant young Texan couple were already hiding. We chatted a little about Oz and Sydney and whatnot, and then I realised it had stopped raining somewhat (the mist had cleared from the skyline across the water and only the puddles under the trees were still rippling) and decided to make a break for it. The girl was delighted with my rain intuition skills, and I made a couple of jokes about it being very English weather, and how we can smell rain or tell you to within five minutes how long it'll be before the heavens open when you spot that first black cloud. I had more daft weather gags (I spent a long time honing them in NZ, I can make jokes about the English obsession with weather til the cows come home) but I wanted to make a dash for it while the rain was holding off and see if I could get back to the bridge before it started again. As it happened, I didn't even reach the edge of the park before it started pissing it down. If I'd thought it was bad before, it was nothing compared to this, I was soaked to the skin in about three minutes and was all too aware I was about three miles from a hot shower and a change of clothes. Made my way back to the bridge, only to discover a bloody waterfall where the stairs should have been. (Seriously, there were points today when I was on the verge of gathering two of every animal.)
 
After splashing unhappily up the steps and across the harbour bridge, I decided I'd definitely earned a pint, so dropped into the nearby Australian Hotel (recently recommended by Lisa from NZ on Facebook, for those of you playing along at home) and purchased some Victoria Bitter (recently recommended by Noj from Bacup, for those of you secretly tapping my phone). It was quite busy, so I went to sit outside - I know, that sounds bonkers, but their outdoor seating is under cover and despite all this whining to the contrary, I do actually quite like rain if I'm not stranded in it. (It's the smell, if you care. Storms are best for it.)
 
So I'm sitting outside, reading my book, drinking my beer, generally minding my own business, when a woman sits at the next table and asks suddenly if I've finished my book. Seemed a bit of a stupid question, since I was very obviously halfway through it, but I guessed (correctly) that she just wanted someone to talk to, so I said I hadn't (she was looking to swap if I had - she had The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas, anyone read it? I hear the film's cracking) but I did recommend mine, and briefly outlined the plot. Now, this book, Eat Pray Love, is kicked off by Liz, the author (it's a memoir), realising she's unhappy in her life and her marriage, and that she wants to leave her husband. Remember this, it will become relevant in a minute. I set the scene briefly by explaining that, and then went on to talk more about the meat of the book, which is about her journey to mentally heal herself, basically by spending time in Italy eating a lot of delicious food and learning Italian, and then spending time in an ashram in India, learning to be closer to God. I've only just started the third and final section of the book, where she goes to Indonesia to live with a Balinese medicine man, so I can't tell you how her journey ends, but the book is both funny and interesting, and a fascinating look at faith and how sometimes you need to cut yourself off from what you should be doing, and just do what you need to do.
 
So I'm talking about the book, describing it as thought-provoking but not preachy, and very, very funny (which is important, because it could seem a little dry and earnest otherwise), and then, presuming she wants to talk about books because she, you know, started talking about books, I start to talk about Elizabeth Gilbert's fiction books, one of which I read in NZ before I tracked this one down. When I pause, about to ask her how she liked her book, she breaks in with the news that she's married too, and she's thinking about leaving her husband. Right. That, as you might expect, puts paid to my polite book chat, and I just smile sympathetically and say, "Ahh," hoping to sound wiser than I'm feeling. Looking increasingly wild-eyed, she begins to gabble about how she doesn't love him anymore, and he's a twat, but it's not easy to leave him, because the way her visa works, she can't leave the country without him or something (she was English, sounded fairly southern - this will also be relevant in a minute). I don't know why she couldn't leave without him, if she's got a UK passport, surely they're not going to refuse entry to a citizen? I didn't really want to get into that, though, so I just gave her another sympathetic smile and said something along the lines of it being terrible the way that people have to deal with legal practicalities just at a time when they're feeling vulnerable.
 
At this point, an older couple walk up and ask if they can sit at my table (it was a long bench and the only dry spot). I say for sure. They sit, and ask if I'm alone, and I say I am. My new friend at the next table breaks in to say that I'm very nice, because I was just reading my book and she interrupted me. I say that I'm not bothered (and indeed, I can read my book any time, but material like this doesn't just come along every day) and invite her to sit with us as well, which she does.
 
There then begins the strangest conversation I have ever had. The older couple, who were Canadian, just seemed to want to chat about the usual holidaymaking small talk, chit-chat about the harbour and the weather and whatnot. Crazy English Lady was so not into that. She had initially asked me where I was from, and when I said Manchester, she actually gasped and said "Oh wow", as if it was inconceivable that humans could survive above the Watford Gap. When the Canadians began to speak, she immediately accused them of being northern too, which they happily agreed with, since they are about as northern as it gets, but Crazy English Lady started laughing hysterically and giving me looks of "Oh, these colonial fools". I smiled politely, whilst thinking 'They so obviously didn't sound northern, or English at all, you dizzy cow, so why are you laughing like they're the idiots because they don't know what you're talking about?' Canadian Man asked me if we were together, and I was quick to disavow the notion, saying it was just a coincidence that we were both English.
 
Crazy English Lady then began to become horrifyingly, unacceptably rude. She started imitating their accents. She started talking about Vancouver and when they piped up that they actually lived thousands of miles from Vancouver, she shushed them. She mentioned that she'd recently returned from Uluru, and when Canadian  Woman misheard her and said "You recently returned from the loo?", Crazy English Lady broke out with the hysterical laughter once more and then started enunciating Uluru very loudly and slowly, as though they were deaf or a tad special. I shook my head slightly in horror and tried to explain that she meant Ayers Rock, as was, to poor Canadian Woman, who was looking utterly mystified that this bitch kept shouting "OOH-LOO-ROO! OOH-LOO-ROO!" at her.
 
The unfortunate Canadian couple soon got the measure of madame, and turned away from us slightly to scoff the steak sandwiches they'd just ordered. She then turned the full beam of her crazy onto me. Lucky old me. Launching into a story about how beautiful her fifteen year old daughter was (honestly, if she said the words "flaxen hair" once, she said them twenty times), she began to tell me how she felt a bit jealous, because she hadn't been a pretty teenager, and her daughter was a total tramp, and had proven herself untrustworthy in the past (and how did she know this? Why, she'd read her emails, of course! Is it any surprise the daughter is keeping stuff from her?), and when her daughter got dressed up, she never told her she looked nice, because she got far too many compliments as it was, so she tried to drag her down a bit instead. I listened to the crazy for a while, tuning in and out, but tuning the hell in when she asked "For example, how old were you when you lost your virginity? Did you use something??" After I'd stopped spluttering in laughter at the randomness of it all, I said that in my opinion, promiscuity amongst teenagers isn't necessarily such a terrible thing (and certainly isn't a rare thing) as long as they use protection and come out the other side without diseases, babies, or broken hearts. She started going on about how she'd met her husband when she was fifteen (the twat she wanted to divorce, remember), and she didn't want her daughter to end up with a twat. I pointed out that her daughter's idea of a twat and her idea of a twat might not be the same, and surely it was more important for her daughter to be happy? Her response to this heartfelt sentiment and genuine attempt to advise her? Make fun of my accent. Repeatedly. I said something about being aghast at some of the things Paige used to wear, and she broke in to repeat "aghast" in a northern accent over and over, whilst laughing her ass off. The longer I spoke, the more she did it, and eventually she started putting on a "comedy" northern accent when she was talking too. She even adopted a fun set of actions to go with it, tucking her thumbs behind imaginary braces and sticking out her elbows, and then wiggling them up and down with each word. Hilarious, I'm sure you'll agree. Since she was imitating the Canadians a bit too though, I guess she's at least an equal opportunity accent mocker.
 
She then began quizzing me on what I was doing in Sydney (blithely insulting the joint at the same time, saying the Opera House was small and dirty-looking - way to ingratiate yourself with the locals, love). I explained that I had recently arrived but would be travelling up the coast for the next couple of months. She asked if I had somewhere to stay, or a plan. I said I didn't particularly have a plan yet, but I would make one before I left Sydney. She then invited me to stay with her. I raised my eyebrows and laughed politely, assuming she was kidding. She stared baldly at me. I stopped laughing and hurriedly assured her that I was fine for somewhere to stay in Sydney, and would be moving on shortly anyway. She grabbed my hands and said very earnestly that she was worried about me, all on my own. I laughed again, slightly more uneasily this time (no touching!), and said that I would be fine. She started going on about how dangerous Australia can be, and thinking of the usual things people mean when they say that, I said "Yeah, the spiders and stuff, right?"
 
She took my hands again very earnestly and said "No. There's a lot of crazy people around here."
 
I stared at her for a long minute, wondering how she did not see the irony of what she was saying, and then, with a big grin, said "I think I'll be fine."
 
Today's Highlight: Canadian Woman commented politely on how nice Crazy English Lady's necklace was, to which she immediately answered that it was freshwater pearls with chunks of silver, and Canadian Woman, without malice or agenda, immediately and brightly exclaimed, "Wow! You must be loaded!" I laughed til I cried.
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Comments

lowri
lowri on

That...
...was one of the funniest things I've ever read.

suzloua
suzloua on

Re: That...
Told you it was a good story. It was one of the funniest things I've ever lived.

lornahoops
lornahoops on

MENTAL
Oh. My. God.

As if that woman did that, it sounds like something out of a BAD chick lit book, where the heroine goes slightly mental and confides in a stranger, but shes just a lovable kook at the end of the day. How you can be so nice to someone so rude amazes me, I would have just turned my back and ignored her. BRAVO!!!!

Maybe you should go stay with her, you could encourage her to jump off harbour bridge.

By the way, would you like me to pick you up some of that stuff I sent a photo of for you? That website you posted on Danni's wall helped me get through my diet riddled day yesterday :)

ps There is no way on earth I would have gone through that Park entrance. NO WAY! xx

vids
vids on

Clowns are scary
I wanted to read just a few paragraphs before starting work, but had to read this all the way through. This is hilarious! How do you manage to meet people like the crazy lady? Hope you don't run into her again, although it is a good read on a snowy tuesday morning.
And honestly, an amusement park's that you enter through a clown's masticating teeth? What were they thinking?!

loubylou
loubylou on

Don't tell anyone but....
I am with Lorna on this one. I could have been rude enough to get rid of that woman within three minutes flat! (ask ant, I have a gift).
Did you walk over the actual semi circular structure of the bridge in the grey suit to blend into the background? I thought that was an organised event only, and probably not allowed in the rain. More fool me.

Ant and I are down loading a gift for you . BBT series 2. Oh, which reminds me. I paused I the other day and realised that Horrowitz was dressed exactly like our lovely Chris type fellow.

Enjoy your travels little lady. I have my fingers crossed for an truly excellent cute little car for you.

adatherton
adatherton on

Being a tourist
Why not? First of all, you ARE a tourist (or backpacker, or traveller), so why be false. Are you not proud of what you are?

Secondly, you are on the backpacker trail - the big cities etc. Sydneysiders are either oblivious at worst, or welcoming at best to visitors. It's a visitor town. The only towns that are unpleasant to visitors are places where they don't get many.

In fact, in places like Sydney .. spot the local. If you're visiting tourist spots, such as museums, aquaria (-ums?), then surely everyone else is going to be a visitor as well. You're not tramping round the residential 'burbs.

So wave that LP with pride, babe. Why don't you buy the RG for each place as well, and then do a running comparison of these two behemoth backpacker imprints?

Good writing. No profanity if you want to be published.

[One of your loyal but tiny audience]

suzloua
suzloua on

Re: Being a tourist
Lorna - Crazy people make for good stories later, I would never turn one away! And no, I would not like any chocolate bacon, it sounds fucking rancid.

Vidya - I'm just lucky. The mad ones are drawn to me! I've discovered that Luna Park is actually a chain - there's another one in Brisbane, I think it was, that also has a giant clown face for its entrance!!

Louise - I didn't do a bridge climb, if that's what you're asking - it's like $400 to essentially walk up a flight of stairs, so I didn't much fancy it. BBT2 sounds excellent - I never thought about it, but I'm pretty sure Wolowitz has some red jeans, doesn't he? Very Chrisesque.

Dad - don't call me babe. It's freaky. And I am proud of what I am - I just don't like looking clueless.

mel_gogz
mel_gogz on

Laughed out loud
Hi! Just read this now and thought it was hilarious, but simultaneously got really angry at her for her poor daughter! And why did she have to be English, giving us brits a bad name! Love you & Miss you x x x

suzloua
suzloua on

Re: Laughed out loud
Because sometimes, even the English are batshit crazy.

Glad you enjoyed, gorgeous, miss you too heaps and heaps xxx

rokrchik
rokrchik on

This was frightening and amusing at the same time.

I felt the same way my first trip abroad but then I realized - I'll never see these people again so who cares what they think! At least I don't have on white trainers! har, har. Seriously, this post is like a year old and I'm still replying. WTF is wrong with me?

I think there's a Luna Park in Melbourne too? That's the city I most want to visit in Oz.

suzloua
suzloua on

Hey, nothing wrong with that - it's a year on and I'm still reading!! And oh yes, there's a Luna Park in Melbourne. That's all yet to come :)

rokrchik
rokrchik on

Well, good on us then! Off to the next chapter now.

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