Finally, an account of my trip to Sydney, 4 months ago. I have been busy :)

Skyscrapers from the Botanical Gardens by barryprice, on Flickr

I had never been to Australia before. I had been meaning to, ever since my aunt & uncle emigrated there from the USA in 1995, but it was always so far away.

Of course, I had previously thought that about Thailand, where I now live, so given that I was already half-way there, it was only polite to complete the journey and explore the land down under…

I had a week, and the folks are in the Sydney suburbs, so my destination was a simple enough decision. Australia is utterly huge, and a side-trip to Melbourne, or Perth, or Alice Springs or Adelaide would just have taken far too much time. So a week in Sydney this trip, and a hope that the next trip will allow me a little more time.

And there will definitely have to be a next trip, because – well, wow.

I would split the week in half, spending four nights in the heart of the city alone, then four more nights out in Penrith with my aunt and uncle.

I had booked the flights a couple of months previously, without paying too much attention. So I was a bit surprised when I double-checked the schedule. I was sure that Sydney was only four or five hours flying time from Bangkok. Turns out it’s nine hours – almost as far as the UK. Oops. Better pack a book then.

Not long before take-off, I’d taken a look at the hotel options in central Sydney. Previously, and (again, obviously) without really thinking about it, I’d assumed a budget of ฿2,000 (US$60 / AUS$70 / £40 / €45) per night should cover a simple two-star hotel room – Sydney is the West, after all, so I shouldn’t expect any cheaper.

It seems I have perhaps been living in South-East Asia for too long. The cheapest hotels I could find online were double that rate, and miles outside the city. The hotels in the CBD, where I wanted to stay, were several times even that price.

Previously, or at least since an ill-fated not-as-romantic-as-I’d-hoped jaunt around the Lake District as a student some fourteen years ago, the words “youth hostel” would normally be preceded by the phrase “I would not be seen dead staying in a”. But sometimes, needs must. And this was one of those times.

I went for a worst-of-both-worlds approach and booked a private room in the WakeUp hostel – a snip at “only” A$98 per night…

Day One – Saturday

I landed at Kingsford Smith (who he?) Airport, cleared immigration, cleared quarantine, and wandered outside into a very pleasant 20˚C. For the first time since last summer’s trip to the UK, I actually put a jacket on.

I spent half an hour looking for the “KST Shuttle bus”, as instructed by the hostel website. There wasn’t one. There were no signs for one, either. And none of the airport staff had heard of it. Nice. I got a taxi instead. A$30. I have definitely been in Thailand for too long.

WakeUp! Sydney by robhinkel, on Flickr

I arrived at WakeUp and managed to check in a little after 10am, but the room wouldn’t be ready until noon. I had a couple of hours to kill.

A friend here in Bangkok who once lived in Sydney had assured me that this section of George Street was a mere 20 minute stroll from the waterfront. I walked up to The Rocks, which turned out to be the best part of 2 miles from the hostel. Average human walking speed is 3mph. The temperature, in the meantime, had risen to about 30˚C. I took my jacket off.

To my poor addled brain, now slowly sauteing as I shuffled, it was still Friday night. I hadn’t slept at all on the flight, so it was still Friday. It was just really late on Friday. So I didn’t feel too guilty about entering the Fortune of War pub, taking the weight off, and ordering a morning beer. The only thing I knew about Australian beer was that it should (I hoped) be better than Thai beer, and that the Fosters and Castlemaine they export to the UK is not considered “beer” by any sensible Australians. So I ordered a VB, because I’d heard of it. It came in one of those silly little glasses I remember from Neighbours, which I discovered is called a schooner. A little more than a half-pint, but nowhere near a full pint, thus serving neither purpose. It went down well though.

Fortune of War, Oldest Pub in Sydney by robertmodlin, on Flickr

I was pretty sure that if I ordered another though, I would fall asleep in the pub, so drank up and made my way back up to the hostel, where the room was by now ready – and slept all afternoon.

The room was about the size of my bathroom at home, with a bunk bed blocking the window and a tannoy speaker above the door so that the hostel staff could shout me awake every morning without the half-hour wait for the lift which they’d have to endure in order to do so in person. I guess that explains the name, at least.

Saturday night I met a few of the other guests, Stu from Stevenage and a couple of British girls. We had a few beers in Sidebar, underneath the hostel, then a club called Scu-Bar. Cocktails were 2-for-1. Cocktails are bad.

We ended up having beers in a bar called 3 Monkeys, which was precisely 25% as good as its sort-of namesake.

I went out for a cigarette, was sternly told off by the bouncers for doing so immediately outside, where the ashtray was (apparently smokers are not permitted to stand within a certain distance of the building), before they informed me that I would have to queue up again to go back inside. My pint gazed forlornly at me through the window. The queue stretched half way down the street.

I tearfully abandoned my beer, and went for a kebab instead. Kebabs are good.

Day Two – Sunday

A lazy day. Four hours time difference doesn’t seem much, but after a 9 hour overnight flight with no sleep, my body clock was thoroughly confused.

Briefly awoken by the hostel staff shouting from the in-room tannoy, which I could find no way to disable, I soon returned to sleep, and finally got up in the early afternoon.

I had missed breakfast at the hostel, but went exploring and found the splendid Betty’s Soup Kitchen way down Oxford Street, and gorged on tremendous bangers and mash with fresh crusty bread. Bangers are good.

I wandered back to the hostel, chilled for a bit, and ended up going for a pint alone at an Irish pub down the street called Paddy Maguires.

I sat outside, and was promptly set upon by a brace of drunken soccer fans. By which I mean that they insisted I join them at their table and talk about football. Which was fine, really.

Turned out that they were down from Melbourne and had been in town to watch their team play Sydney. And had then had several fights afterwards. It slowly dawned on me that my situation was the equivalent of sitting outside a Leeds hostelry with Man Utd fans in colours.

“See that pile of broken glass there? That’s where the guy tried to jump me”, said the bloke, who turned out to have been to Thailand several times – he had a Thai wife from Nonthaburi.

The woman, it turned out, used to live in the UK, and used to be a regular at Southport Weekender, a club night in my home town.

Small world.

I supped up, made my excuses, and went back to the hostel before any Sydney fans could turn up. Quite unable to sleep, I watched Avatar in bed on my iPod. It looked better in IMAX. I finally got to sleep at 5am.

Day Three – Monday

Woke up at 2pm, sleep unbroken save the early morning tannoy call from the hostel staff. Today they sang a song. Thanks guys.

I felt a little guilty for having seen so little of the city so far, and so went for a long walk, with camera. Through Hyde Park to the Opera House, where I sat out on the front with a sandwich and a Coke, watching the boats go by.

Sydney Harbour by barryprice, on Flickr

Walking back around the cove through the botanical gardens was beautiful, if far too hot, and afforded a real picture postcard view of the Queen Mary 2.

Queen Mary 2 from the Botanical Gardens by barryprice, on Flickr

Back to the hostel, via The Domain and Hyde Park, for evening beers with Stu and his pal. A few more beers at a pub whose name I will never remember, where we watched a live band, and then back to the hostel.

Day Four – Tuesday

I managed to wake up in time for the Special Breakfast at the hostel. My notes inform me that I was not impressed, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was.

I called my aunt and made plans to head out to Penrith the following day. I would need to take a train, it seemed, from Sydney Central station. I explained to my aunt that I had no idea where that was, but that I was sure I’d be able to find it.

After the phone call, I returned to my tiny room, and climbed up to the top bunk, where I was able to peer out of the small window. It offered a generous view onto the main concourse of Sydney Central station. That was one problem solved, then.

For my last night in Sydney, I’d arranged to meet a friend of a friend who works in the city – also, confusingly, called Stuart. We’d chatted by email before, but never met.

He turned out to be a thoroughly nice chap, and we had a great time chatting over a few beers followed by a spectacularly good pizza over at Darling Harbour.

Darling Harbour by cunaldo, on Flickr

A pint of Toohey’s in Paddy McGuire’s before bed, and I was ready to crumple – which I did.

Sydney is a fantastic (if expensive, by my standards!) city. I don’t think I can think of any other city that compares in terms of beauty. Cities, I thought, were not allowed to be attractive. Bangkok certainly isn’t, and London, New York, even Paris are little better. Sydney is simply beautiful.

But after four nights in the heart of the central business district, it was time to move on. In the morning I would take the train out to Penrith, towards the Blue Mountains, to see my aunt and uncle who I had not visited for 15 years…