Sydney is underrated.
Yes, I did say that. – a city that is technically the epicentre of the western world in the southern hemisphere. But at least it was the city I had been looking to find for the last few years of confused adulthood. Like the picking of a scab, I felt immense frustation that I haven’t arrived earlier, for Sydney is in many ways self-contained, it sprawls of course because of the shard-like geography of the city, but it also unveiled in me a fresh sense of opportunity and potential for growth – a Carrie Bradshaw-esq philosophy, as twee as it sounds.
Perhaps I’m grateful for Sydney for giving me a little bit of moral support… basically holding me by the lapels whilst I forced myself to start pushing myself towards maturity. Grabbing the confidence I was storing like nuts for winter and chasing my goals in the dwindling dust of my Australian journey. In many ways my start in Sydney was typically transisent. I changed places 3 times within about three weeks. I was less desperate to continually overhaul myself on any unfortunate individual. However, I was desperate to instill the notion that I existed within Australia, that people knew I was there (and quite liked the idea of it as well)
I wasn’t either so motivated by being a hedonist. Happiness entered my existence in its cerebal domesticity. My perscapicity followed by my slow awaking.
To give you an idea, I stayed at Surry Hills, the Central and Kings Cross. I thereafter worked at the painfully drab Macquarie Park sector of North Sydney and the fashionable, but ultimately sterile Glebe. Existing in the city there lies the circular quay, the museums followed by large and commercial parrell streets, there’s even a monorail, which is guarded within the overwhelming CBD.
Thee are a plethora of parks, bars and cafes. But Sydney actually felt my education. Love of the personal kind enveloped me with a ever-so subtle suffocating warmth and undualting security. I was bough up at odds with the changing generation. Confidence was replaced with sensibility and prudence- not neccessarily a terrible thing but often conflicting with my sense of relativity, happiness, beauty and desirability to other humans. I write this carrot in hand, feet dangling over my lived in sofa at Petersham and the cat carresssing my stomach. One of my favourite discussion points about travelling is how dimetrically opposed I am to it. As arrogant a position as others undertake – I revert to my safety blanket. My failures, diet, appearance, naturally. The way I would denigate myself before I even gave my name, my inability to maintain eye control, my inability to control my emotions to relative strangers. But returning from Queensland, I returned to the cross and instantly rejected the lifestyle of the backpacker and invited myself into the home.
The sights are fundamentally Australian to a tee. The beach walk somewhat tained by my beach lifestyle. As for Paddington, this is the suburb that represents pure perfection. Shops, cafes, bars and bookshops that seem to invite you like those tempting birds with the crumbs.
Due to limited time I choose Petersham and begun to get shopping – get organising the room with my. I had a bike again. I even dallied with a whole new concept, a group called The Gaymers, delightfully disarming but in many ways lacking the clear crunch I seemed to deviate towards. I’m no writer, so I’ll attempt to give a one line synopsis of the most eventful suburbs of Sydney.
Oxford St- homosexuals and hipsters in equal measure. Plenty of tacky, nice obscured avenues of class. My dream would be to work at trendy, urbane Ching-a-Lings, and would return there in a hearbeat
Glebe- I kind of hated Glebe towards the end of my stay in Sydney. It’s the kind of place I would love at first site – based on its well structured order, obsession with cafe culture and creativity. I did a round-face when I realised I liked grimy places that didn’t have yummy mummys ordering organic brownies with chamomile on the side. The Friend In Hand was heavenly however.
Newtown – Not Prahran by any stretch. But with shades of hotness emanating. It was basically the student area where I attempted to masquerade. Of course had I lived in Sydney longer I would have rebelled against the area and moved to the outer-west.
Kings Cross. It was full of English wankers and like some immigrants, a place to avoid my fellow compartriats. I never returned when i LEFT.
The Blue Mountains – here’s the thing – nature doesn’t overwhelm. Too many times I have accidently involved myself in a conversation where I instantly regretted mentioning a site of natural beauty, such as the blue mountains. Within the last day of my stay in Australia, when the house party from hell had knocked me for six and I was determined to tick off a site that was known in Australia I stumbled to the blue mountains, a journey taking several hours and making me lose my mind along the way. The surrounding area is surrounded by op shops, cafes and generally rural welcome. That said I preferred cafes over countryside immensely and accepted this along the way. Perhaps if I returned in 10 years, the beauty would have been beyond compare.
Paddington – hated by many but the only place I had a lot of time for in the East (it was near Bondi: boring and overrated). The markets were the antihesis of what I hated, middle class domesticity, but the shops sang out to me. Admittedly they probably also catered for a sort of middle class happiness but at least they catered for my tasts. The bars were superb and the place I felt embraced fully by delightful Sydney.