Anyway, by the following day, my health had improved significantly. I had made arrangements to surf the couch of a London expat for a few days, starting that evening. I spent the meantime at the Museum of Sydney.
They had a great temporary exhibit on offer, all about the history of surfing, particularly in Australia.
Afterward, I met up with Ian, my CS host, in front of the the Queen Victoria Building in downtown Sydney. Then I proceeded to walk his far-too-polite self all the way back to my hostel, where we picked up my bags, headed back to the QVB, and hopped a bus to his house. I felt awful at how inconsiderate I'd been, but he told me that if I apologized again, he would kick me out.
Back at his house in the suburb of Drummoyne, I met his amazing Aussie roomie, Tim, and the three of us got on like gangbusters. I found out that my CS request had been selected amongst a large number because of my musical taste, which endeared them to me straight away. We immediately moved to conversational topics I wouldn't broach with most people for weeks and had a good laugh at our easy familiarity. Tim drove me to the supermarket, where I picked up supplies for the dinner I intended to cook them that night. I made my fish curry, but this time it turned out far better than it had with James. The boys positively gushed over it, saying it was the best they'd ever had. I found that hard to believe, but it did go quite well with the wine I had bought in NZ for my birthday, but had been unable to drink because of my food poisoning.
The next day, I decided to check out Paradise Point and Ku Ring Gai National Park, one hour north of Sydney, which James and I had meant to see together before running out of time. I had plans of setting out terribly early, but of course I overslept. Then Tim and I ate breakfast together, and by the time I left, I had barely left time to see everything in one day.
Or I would have, had I not encountered travel snafu after snafu. First, the bus I needed ran late. Which meant that I missed the connecting bus and had to wait for it. Then once I got to the peninsula, the stops were poorly marked and I got off two stops after the one I needed. Little worry, since they were so close together, and I had wanted to check out the beach at which I had disembarked anyway. But of course, I spent too much time on the beach and missed the bus headed back to the pier where I needed to catch the ferry across to the Park. So I ate the snacks I'd packed and waited for the next one. Two ferries pulled in at once. I got on the wrong one. An hour later, back at the pier, I found out that the late ferries didn't run that day, so I would only be left with one hour to explore the island once I'd arrived there before the last return ferry departed. The incredibly sweet ferryboat captain convinced me that I shouldn't have come all that way for nothing, so I sighed, climbed aboard, and headed across.
Once there, I only had time to race up the small mountainside, take a quick look at the aboriginal carvings at the top, and literally run the 2 kilometers back to the pier. Never having been much of a runner, I thought I might have a heart attack. When I got to the bottom, I learned from other waiting passengers that the boat hadn't arrived yet, and I plopped down to watch the wallabies hop around the nearby campsite. I hadn't seen any kangaroos in Oz yet, so I delighted in watching their smaller, furrier cousins bound about, completely indifferent to me and the gaggle of school children playing in the yard.
Back on the mainland, I chatted with Eden, a local tattoo artist, while we waited for the bus, watching the start of the sunset.
Once on the bus, we chatted for almost 45 minutes before he reached his stop. Hell of a nice guy and couldn't talk enough about his kids. He had several tattoos dedicated to them, one of which snaked around his neck and up on to his skull, which was entirely shorn except for a long braided ponytail at the crown. (I also learned from him that you should never guess whether or not someone is Kiwi or Aussie, lest you say the wrong one, at which both sides are generally offended. "It's like if I asked if you were Canadian or American," he said. I didn't realize that that was a "thing" either, but apparently it is.)
That night I shared some of Tim's stir fry, took some mocking from the boys at having thought that Ku Ring Gai was Chinese rather than aboriginal, and finally passed out early, exhausted from my earlier bout of hauling ass down across the Park.
Tim had invited me as his date to his work's 1920's Speakeasy-themed party the following night, so I spent most of that day running all over Sydney looking for a costume and for a new bluetooth keyboard for my Ipad. (Mine had broken, and I felt completely at sea without it.) I found one costume store, but didn't like the selection. But after trolling what seemed like the whole of Sydney for better options, I ended up right back where I started. Unable to find an actual flapper dress that wasn't completely sleazy or intended to be worn as underwear, I resigned myself to purchasing a hodge-podge of accessories to put over the one fancy dress in my backpack.
I met Ian at a bar near his office where most of his coworkers were getting the party started, fully decked out in mobster gear, much to the amusement of our fellow patrons. Ian loved the fedora I'd found for him, which luckily matched perfectly with his pinstripe suit. After one drink, we headed back to their office, where the party was being hosted.
I was stunned by the lengths to which his employers had gone to for the party. Cocktail waiters greeted us at the door and circled around the fete with top-shelf drinks and mouth-watering hors d'oevers ; the film "Cotton Club" ran on one wall, and a truly excellent '20's-style band serenaded us with tunes from the era.
The party seriously swung. Ian's boss and coworkers knew how to have a good time and make fun of it all at once. Everyone danced and competed in the limbo and costume contests, the latter of which was deservedly won by a guy in a straw hat and seersucker suit.
Halfway through the night, Ian drew on a Salvador Dali mustache and then I really knew it was on.
We closed the place down before making for the bar around the corner with the other late-nighters.
The bouncer wouldn't let Ian at first, taking one look at the mustache and the pink feather boa he'd bogarted from another girl at the party and judging him to be inebriated. On his instructions, we walked down to the gas station, bought some water, and returned 15 minutes later to join our friends. We stayed at the bar for an hour before catching a cab back to Ian's place, where we stayed up, enjoying the pyrotechnic spectacle of a sudden late-night lightning storm.
I'd intended to go into the city the next day for the St. Paddy's festivities, but Ian and I both felt a bit worse for the wear, so we slept in and spent most of the next day watching episodes of a crazy British show called "The Mighty Boosh" and resting up before the night's revels. The only time we left the house was to refill Ian's bike tires, an outing during which he showed me some of his professional-level BMX skills.
That night we went with Tim's cousin Kareeem to check out a friend's DJ set.
We stayed there for a while before meeting up with some of Ian's expat London friends-- including a Noel Gallagher look-a-like Scotsman-- elsewhere. Only one problem, Tim had a few more than the rest of us that evening and it was showing on his face. We walked up to three different bars only to be turned away. Finally, in a last ditch effort, I sent everyone else in ahead, held Tim's hand, and told the bouncer that my boyfriend had bad allergies and looked drunk even though he wasn't and that I would take responsibility if there were any problems. Shockingly, it worked; we got in, and had a damn good time. And Ian arm-wrestled a chick, so there was that.
We moved on to one more bar, but our time there was short-lived. We were all standing around a table when one of Tim's friends suddenly looked down then swung around and shoved another patron standing beside him. A fight broke out. We had no idea what had set things in motion until Tim's friend shouted, "He peed on my leg!" None of us could argue with that. The fight eventually broke up, and we left. With that bit of excitement passed, we walked back to Craig's place, which had a pretty fantastic view over the city.
Craig and I drank wine and saki in the kitchen and talked about life in Oz until I'd had enough and fell asleep on the couch. I woke up to the sound of the boys chuckling at me and jokingly debating what to do with me, "Should we leave her here?" In my inebriated state, I got disgruntled in response, and they laughed even harder. We caught a cab home as the sun was coming up.
I woke up Sunday to the smell of Tim cooking the best brekkie sandwiches I've ever tasted. We ate and watched "Romeo+Juliet" while I reorganized my stuff. "Wow," Tim said, "You are the slowest packer I've ever seen." This comment was later followed by, "Man, you really are a geek," as we got to talking movies and TV. "Yup," I replied proudly.
Later, I tested out my new Ipad keyboard only to find I'd been sold a faulty product, so I spent a good deal of the day sorting that out. On the way back, I hit up the grocery store for some kangaroo steaks for Tim to barbecue for us.
Turns out I quite like kangaroo. It's delicious! It's tender like steak, but much leaner and healthier. And Tim grilled it to perfection. Paired with sweet potato fries and beer, it made for a perfect last meal in Sydney, after which I said my goodbyes to the boys and hopped an overnight bus to Byron Bay.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Location:Sydney, Australia
No comments:
Post a Comment