This was written a week ago but access to the internet has been intermittent.
When last seen I was chilling out in Hong Kong airport, en route to Sydney. I’m in Sydney now, having spent all Sunday with my sister and now being safely ensconced in a decent hotel to write for a few days. I’ve found the jet lag hit me more on the way over than it did when I went to New Zealand, I’m not sure why – though we were running quite hard before the trip.
The flight over was alright; long haul flights are never much fun because I don’t thing human beings are designed to be in that close proximity for that amount of time and we’re definitely not designed to sit for that long. I fly Virgin because I’ve generally had good experiences with them. That said, I was a bit disappointed with some aspects of the flight including their reduced number of services; 3 meals and a snack on what is a 25 hour trip is a bit of an ask. Also: kicking a passenger to get them to move is not cool – even if you are in the right – and so I’d think twice before booking with them again.
That said, I managed to get some sleep on the way over and so when we arrived in Sydney I was able to present some semblance of coherent thought as long as I wasn’t asked to add up. Sunday morning seemed to be the time to arrive. It’s not the largest airport and the passenger pile up in arrivals gave us plenty of time to experience the joys of Australian border control. It was a strange paradox of seemingly fussy checks, coupled with a cheery smile and an other wise laid back attitude that seemed at odds with the actual rules. As a result it took as about an hour and a half to get through customs but we were still smiling when we got to the other side. Jet lag does funny things to you.
It was very cool to see my sister who, aside from a brief overnight visit, we hadn’t seen since October 2008, and my brother-in-law who I hadn’t seen at all for two years. A brief car journey took us through the Sydney surrounds to Manly, the wind was whipping up good but other than that the sky was blue, the sun was out and it was a pretty fresh Sunday morning. Ready to start nibbling on my elbow after the somewhat sparse food services on the flights we threw on a change of clothes and headed out into Manly.
I can see why my sister moved there.
A brief walk along a path that runs parallel to the crystal blue water led us round the bay to Manly Wharf and from there into the town centre of Manly. Breakfast was obtained in a pleasant café whose name I have promptly forgotten in a cloud of jetlag amnesia. The wind wasn’t enough to deter us from sitting outside but we nearly came a cropper when the gusts launched one of the canvas shades up into the air. Vigilant service staff led me to believe this wasn’t an uncommon event and they soon had the shade secured once more.
We continued the walk onto busy Manly beach – it was, I’m given to understand, the first good days weather in a few days. The surfers were out in force despite my concern that they bore an unfortunate resemblance to seals that prompted me to recount how and why most large shark attacks occur. Note to self: I must try to remember others do not always share my fascination with those toothy marvels of evolution. There were several enthusiastic volleyball games in progress on the beach and I found this spectacle led to me running out of steam on my lectures on the dangers of oceanic wildlife in the southern climbs. I can’t imagine why.
In a somewhat bizarre experience of pseudo-time travel I saw what looked to me like a full-blown square rigged sailing ship coming round the distant point. I pointed out my observation, lest jet lag had induced hallucinations, and was confirmed in my assessment. It was a square-rigged wooden sailing ship. Moreover I learned that you could book a trip on it and I can assure you I will be trying to squeeze that trip in before I go. It was a strange sight: the horizon was otherwise clear of ships and so the image wasn’t – one imagines – dissimilar to what the original inhabitants must have seen a few hundred years ago as the first European ships arrived – without the surfers, naturally.
By the time we had completed a circuit G and I were starting to flag. The rest of the afternoon was passed chatting, quaffing ginger beer, and enjoying the frankly spectacular view across the Manly section of the bay. I admitted defeat around early evening and passed out.