Yesterday we finished the Waterfall Way drive and found ourselves in Coffs Harbour; a beautiful port city with gorgeous beaches. Conveniently there was a man renting surfboards right beside the beach so I took Dane out and taught him the little I’ve learned about surfing. He caught on straight away (as they say in Oz) and we spent several hours in the ocean, taking turns on the big board.
Last night there were wallabies in the field where we’d parked the car. About 30 of them hopped around eating grass and staring at us. We thought they were roos at first but learned they were their smaller relatives. Equally as cute and strange looking, they must have very supple spines to be constantly hunched over or hopping. I took some pictures of them and a woman came over and angrily informed me that “they’re wild animals, not pets.” Ok, thanks tips.
I woke up several times in the night and caught glimpses of them in the moonlight and a few were still around when we got up in the morning.
It was time to inject some adrenalin into our road trip, especially for Dane. He thrives on high-action activities and has never tried white water rafting. We’d heard good things about a company in Coffs Harbour called Liquid Assets Adventure Tours so we booked a tour on Saturday and set out early Sunday for a two-hour drive up into the mountainous rainforests surrounding the coast. The Nymboida is not easily accessed by road and when it rains, no one can get a raft down to the river. The road we took was bumpy and wound up and down through the trees until the river came into sight.
The tour turned out to be the best I’ve ever taken. I first rafted in Austria and later again in Thailand and while both were incredible, they could not compare to the scenery, companionship between the people on our boat and the rapids on the Nymboida River.
The rapids were a level three, quite high on the scale for how rapids are classified. Our guide, David, gave us an initial safety and paddling lesson and told us the river is very technical. That means we have to approach each rapid section just right or we’ll get stuck or worse in the rocks. Dane and I jumped in the key rowing positions, right at the front of the raft and were told we’d have to work as a team to set the rowing pace for the rest of the boat.
David was right about the river. He had a complex series of forwards and backwards paddling set up for each rapid section and often had one side of the boat jumping against the other. He obviously knows what he’s doing because our boat didn’t get stuck once in the rocks and although we ran into some very high cliffs at fast speeds, we laughed the whole time while we watched the other boats on the tour work their way out of awkward spots where they were hung up on rocks.
And along with all the great rafting, we got to jump off a ten foot cliff, float down the river on our backs, drink from fresh spring water streams and fall down waterfalls. The trip ended with a wonderful BBQ lunch where three huge goanna lizards prowled, looking for food and licking the coals of the fire with their long tongues.
David definitely made the tour. As well as being smart and calm (he has 23 years experience on three different continents) he knows a lot about the Nymboida and pointed out interesting erosion areas and wildlife along the way. He’s the operations manager for Liquid Assets and while older than the rest of the guides, he easily told stories from his youth and we discussed various topics pertaining to Australia’s culture during the downtimes on the river. Dane thought the rapids could have been bigger but thoroughly enjoyed himself.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Waterfall Way- Tuesday, January 12 to 14
The Waterfall Way is rumoured to be one of the most scenic drives in New South Wales, if not Australia. It begins in Armidale, New England, about two hours inland and winds its’ way through four national parks and several towns, ending at Coffs Harbour on the coast.
We began our trip early in the morning on Tuesday, while the air was still cool and a mist hung over the rainforest as the road climbed higher and higher. The curves of the road hug the landscape so well that we are constantly slowing and negotiating another turn. Dane says he wishes we were in a sports car and not a station wagon.
First town along the way is called Walcha and we went into a shop called Brady’s Saddlery, where we met 84-year-old Tom Brady who still hand sews kangaroo leather stock whips. He shows us pictures of himself in his youth, racing dirt bikes and riding bulls. Laughing at himself, he says he was too stupid to know any better but we reassure him that’s what being young is all about. He even takes us out back for a whip cracking session and it’s pretty humorous to watch him continuously loop the long whip over his back and crack it in the air. We both try to imitate him but fail miserably.
Our first waterfall is called Apsley Falls, within Oxley Wild Rivers National Park. It spills over the tallest gorge I’ve ever seen, creating a rainbow at the bottom. The park houses several other beautiful falls, including Wollombi Falls, which is apparently Australia’s second highest sheer drop. The gorges in the park are incredible and reveal thousands of rock layers. Now I wish I’d paid more attention in geology class so I could remember how this process happened.
The travel brochures were right; the drive is definitely scenic. Opportunities abound for taking detours, one of which leads us through farms comparable to English country squires. Even a moss-covered chapel completes the storybook vision. The only way we can tell we’re in Australia is the red dirt road.
Exploring Armidale could take days. The town is home to numerous cathedrals, museums, restaurants and cafés. Even a Harvard-reminiscent private school looms behind a gated fence and perfectly manicured lawns.
Lots of great hiking trails and lookout spots for the various falls in all of the parks means we got some exercise and a reward at the end of the climbs. The views from the tops of the gorges are amazing. Not only can you look straight down from a terrifying height, you can also look out across the landscape for miles.
The wildlife in this area is pretty amazing too. A bright red parrot landed in a tree beside our campsite this morning and we saw a rock wallaby, which looks like a small kangaroo, jumping along in the grass on our hike to the Wollombi Falls. And last but not least, a very large black snake was on the hiking trail. I nearly stepped on it but it never moved. We met a couple later who thought it was deadly and called it a red-bellied black. They also said there was a chance it was a harmless python (I didn’t think pythons were harmless); regardless they were seasoned “bushwalkers”- that’s what they called hiking here- and said they’d never seen such a large snake on the path before. We had to return on the same trail and it was still there, though moved off to the side. And it definitely had a red belly. It wasn’t interested in biting us, because it slithered off the path when we got close. The episode was still enough to prompt Dane to bring out the snakebite kit and we both read the directions.
We continued our drive back towards the coast on Thursday through a fairy-tale land of pretty cows and lush, green pasture on the way to a small town called Dorrigo. Thanks to a high amount of rainfall each year, Dorrigo is known as the “prime breeding and fattening land for cattle.” West of Dorrigo is perhaps the prettiest waterfall I’ve ever seen. Not extraordinarily tall, but it’s triple tiered and framed by rainforest. A clear swimming hole has been formed at the bottom and high rock walls curve around the sides before the water is taken down a narrow river carved in the trees.
Bohemian-chic Bellingen is the next town on the drive before we reach the coast. I really love the small town way of life that I’ve seen thus far. Each town has a main street filled with different shops selling everything one could need for the day. A bakery, butcher, fruit and veg, pharmacist and hardware store are always found and often several different restaurants and coffee shops serving far from basic fare for the foodies. I imagine this must have been (in some respects) what small-town Saskatchewan would’ve been like when my parents and grandparents were growing up. People here congregate and chat with their neighbours in one central meeting spot, the main street.
In Central America, I watched how villages came to life at dusk. As the day cools off, people begin coming out of their houses and sit outside to talk to one another and play cards. In Saskatchewan we don’t have this luxury for most of the year, but even in the summer we keep to our own space and our own families most of the time. You’d never see everyone on a street sitting on their front porch or walking around talking to all of his or her neighbours. And for those who live on farms, a trip to town is rarely the social occasion it once was. Going to town was a big deal for my grandma. Before she left, she would put on lipstick and give herself a foot bath. She loved going for the mail or groceries, and to have a chat and coffee with her friends.
Is our current lack of communication a bad thing? Or just different? Are we losing a function necessary to the success of humanity? Or are we fostering new forms of communication through technology? Whatever the answer is, I don’t know it. You will always learn something by observing how the people in countries different from your own communicate with each other and how that compares to your own ideals.
We began our trip early in the morning on Tuesday, while the air was still cool and a mist hung over the rainforest as the road climbed higher and higher. The curves of the road hug the landscape so well that we are constantly slowing and negotiating another turn. Dane says he wishes we were in a sports car and not a station wagon.
First town along the way is called Walcha and we went into a shop called Brady’s Saddlery, where we met 84-year-old Tom Brady who still hand sews kangaroo leather stock whips. He shows us pictures of himself in his youth, racing dirt bikes and riding bulls. Laughing at himself, he says he was too stupid to know any better but we reassure him that’s what being young is all about. He even takes us out back for a whip cracking session and it’s pretty humorous to watch him continuously loop the long whip over his back and crack it in the air. We both try to imitate him but fail miserably.
Our first waterfall is called Apsley Falls, within Oxley Wild Rivers National Park. It spills over the tallest gorge I’ve ever seen, creating a rainbow at the bottom. The park houses several other beautiful falls, including Wollombi Falls, which is apparently Australia’s second highest sheer drop. The gorges in the park are incredible and reveal thousands of rock layers. Now I wish I’d paid more attention in geology class so I could remember how this process happened.
The travel brochures were right; the drive is definitely scenic. Opportunities abound for taking detours, one of which leads us through farms comparable to English country squires. Even a moss-covered chapel completes the storybook vision. The only way we can tell we’re in Australia is the red dirt road.
Exploring Armidale could take days. The town is home to numerous cathedrals, museums, restaurants and cafés. Even a Harvard-reminiscent private school looms behind a gated fence and perfectly manicured lawns.
Lots of great hiking trails and lookout spots for the various falls in all of the parks means we got some exercise and a reward at the end of the climbs. The views from the tops of the gorges are amazing. Not only can you look straight down from a terrifying height, you can also look out across the landscape for miles.
The wildlife in this area is pretty amazing too. A bright red parrot landed in a tree beside our campsite this morning and we saw a rock wallaby, which looks like a small kangaroo, jumping along in the grass on our hike to the Wollombi Falls. And last but not least, a very large black snake was on the hiking trail. I nearly stepped on it but it never moved. We met a couple later who thought it was deadly and called it a red-bellied black. They also said there was a chance it was a harmless python (I didn’t think pythons were harmless); regardless they were seasoned “bushwalkers”- that’s what they called hiking here- and said they’d never seen such a large snake on the path before. We had to return on the same trail and it was still there, though moved off to the side. And it definitely had a red belly. It wasn’t interested in biting us, because it slithered off the path when we got close. The episode was still enough to prompt Dane to bring out the snakebite kit and we both read the directions.
We continued our drive back towards the coast on Thursday through a fairy-tale land of pretty cows and lush, green pasture on the way to a small town called Dorrigo. Thanks to a high amount of rainfall each year, Dorrigo is known as the “prime breeding and fattening land for cattle.” West of Dorrigo is perhaps the prettiest waterfall I’ve ever seen. Not extraordinarily tall, but it’s triple tiered and framed by rainforest. A clear swimming hole has been formed at the bottom and high rock walls curve around the sides before the water is taken down a narrow river carved in the trees.
Bohemian-chic Bellingen is the next town on the drive before we reach the coast. I really love the small town way of life that I’ve seen thus far. Each town has a main street filled with different shops selling everything one could need for the day. A bakery, butcher, fruit and veg, pharmacist and hardware store are always found and often several different restaurants and coffee shops serving far from basic fare for the foodies. I imagine this must have been (in some respects) what small-town Saskatchewan would’ve been like when my parents and grandparents were growing up. People here congregate and chat with their neighbours in one central meeting spot, the main street.
In Central America, I watched how villages came to life at dusk. As the day cools off, people begin coming out of their houses and sit outside to talk to one another and play cards. In Saskatchewan we don’t have this luxury for most of the year, but even in the summer we keep to our own space and our own families most of the time. You’d never see everyone on a street sitting on their front porch or walking around talking to all of his or her neighbours. And for those who live on farms, a trip to town is rarely the social occasion it once was. Going to town was a big deal for my grandma. Before she left, she would put on lipstick and give herself a foot bath. She loved going for the mail or groceries, and to have a chat and coffee with her friends.
Is our current lack of communication a bad thing? Or just different? Are we losing a function necessary to the success of humanity? Or are we fostering new forms of communication through technology? Whatever the answer is, I don’t know it. You will always learn something by observing how the people in countries different from your own communicate with each other and how that compares to your own ideals.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Wines and Dunes- January 10 and 11
I met Dane yesterday at the Gosford train station, about two hours north of Sydney. Excited, we traded travel stories and updates from home. The heat is unbearable, as I’m not yet adjusted, so we found a beautiful beach as soon as possible. I ran into the water, both for my love of the ocean and for the welcome chance to cool off. My first taste of Aussie camping followed. Since campsites don’t usually come with picnic tables or any of those luxuries we cooked dinner on the hood of our Holden Commodore station wagon and set up a bed in the fold-down backseat. Two girls sat in their car all night drinking beer and eventually fell asleep under the huge yard light they’d parked under. Is this normal here?
On Sunday we drove into the Hunter Valley Wine Region which is inland and north-west of Sydney. On our way to the first vineyard, we stopped for an ice-cream; it’s only 10:30 a.m. and already scorching. I saw a sign for a free horse whispering demonstration at a horse farm and vineyard up the road so we investigated. What followed was far from a demonstration and more like a lecture on the ways of people and horses from a lovely old cowboy named Diamond Porter. While he rambled a lot, he did make some good points. He said because humans are predators and horses are prey, our instincts are different which can make it difficult for the dim-witted humans to understand the horse. Humans use punishment as a means of getting what they want and while this will incite a reaction in a horse, it’s not the reaction that you want. Horses don’t understand punishment, according to Diamond. Horses have been doing their thing for many thousands of years before humans started messing with them and it’s our job to try and understand their herd mentality and communicate with them, rather than work against them. He also told me claustrophobic horses hate to be stabled and also hate to be alone. He said the happiest horse is one with a large pasture, plenty of water, shade and a caring owner who challenges his or her horse everyday with new lessons. I couldn’t agree more.
The vineyards were absolutely amazing. Rolling, green hills are spotted with cows and vines. Plenty of tropical trees line the driveways to the often ostentatious wineries. First stop was at one of my favourites, Rosemount, which makes the best Riesling. Lindeman’s also shares the cellar with Rosemount; I didn’t realize the two were connected but was happy for the coincidence. Moving along, we made a stop at Tyrell, which sits atop a tall hill overlooking large parts of the valley. Walking through the cellar, complete with the vats and huge oak barrels, I eventually tasted my new favourite Riesling. A touch sweeter but more delicate and fruitier than Rosemount, I wish I had bought a bottle to savour further.
The Hunter Valley is an intoxicating place. Roads wind through the regions’ more than 150 wineries and a person could spend weeks here and not get to them all. To top it off, tastings are free in the Hunter; all you need is a designated driver and a car and you’re all set! Luckily for me, Dane doesn’t like wine- it was a perfect day. We topped it off with a stop at a large dairy and bought some delicious soft cheese. On the way out of the Hunter, Wyndham Estates, the founder of Australian Shiraz, can be found at the end of a winding road which stops at the famed vineyard, complete with its own heli-pad. By that time of day, it was much too hot to even think about sampling their beautiful reds but I was equally content with a tour through their trophy room, which houses wine awards piled ceiling high from around the world.
Time to head back to the coast and we hit a gorgeous, sheltered inlet beach at Hawks Nest. A large, conical headland graced the south end and I later learned that Aboriginals were taken there and slaughtered in the 1830s. Many parts of this country house tales of a brutal history and I couldn’t help but think how this same tale is true in so many other countries: civilized Europeans come to a new land and meet savage natives and savagely dispose of them.
We camped in Myall Lakes National Park, a sacred place and home to many tribes. Monday morning we explored the huge sand dunes bordering the ocean. They’re steep enough to slide down and I imagine this must be what the desert feels like. This place is called Dark Point and it was a meeting ground for ancient tribes. A fenced-off area contains a “midden” where evidence of feasting areas and burial grounds were found.
The problems afflicting Australia’s Aboriginal population are severe and can be compared to those of Canada’s First Nations people. Both groups had their own distinct cultures and ways of life prior to Europeans landing and both were and are controlled, discriminated and murdered in varying degrees.
Here, many live in the outback in less than desirable conditions and the racism is undeniable, just as it is in Canada. Dane tells me that petrol in the outback is dyed and does not smell. It’s hard on vehicles but there’s a big problem with Aboriginals drinking the noxious substance.
The way I see it, we should never forget history or its’ lessons, we must also remember we cannot live in the past. In order to succeed, we must all look to the future and live in the present. We cannot blame our failures on those who came before. We have to communicate and try to understand the others’ different way of looking at the world. I think that’s where the major problems lie in both Canada and Australia.
On Sunday we drove into the Hunter Valley Wine Region which is inland and north-west of Sydney. On our way to the first vineyard, we stopped for an ice-cream; it’s only 10:30 a.m. and already scorching. I saw a sign for a free horse whispering demonstration at a horse farm and vineyard up the road so we investigated. What followed was far from a demonstration and more like a lecture on the ways of people and horses from a lovely old cowboy named Diamond Porter. While he rambled a lot, he did make some good points. He said because humans are predators and horses are prey, our instincts are different which can make it difficult for the dim-witted humans to understand the horse. Humans use punishment as a means of getting what they want and while this will incite a reaction in a horse, it’s not the reaction that you want. Horses don’t understand punishment, according to Diamond. Horses have been doing their thing for many thousands of years before humans started messing with them and it’s our job to try and understand their herd mentality and communicate with them, rather than work against them. He also told me claustrophobic horses hate to be stabled and also hate to be alone. He said the happiest horse is one with a large pasture, plenty of water, shade and a caring owner who challenges his or her horse everyday with new lessons. I couldn’t agree more.
The vineyards were absolutely amazing. Rolling, green hills are spotted with cows and vines. Plenty of tropical trees line the driveways to the often ostentatious wineries. First stop was at one of my favourites, Rosemount, which makes the best Riesling. Lindeman’s also shares the cellar with Rosemount; I didn’t realize the two were connected but was happy for the coincidence. Moving along, we made a stop at Tyrell, which sits atop a tall hill overlooking large parts of the valley. Walking through the cellar, complete with the vats and huge oak barrels, I eventually tasted my new favourite Riesling. A touch sweeter but more delicate and fruitier than Rosemount, I wish I had bought a bottle to savour further.
The Hunter Valley is an intoxicating place. Roads wind through the regions’ more than 150 wineries and a person could spend weeks here and not get to them all. To top it off, tastings are free in the Hunter; all you need is a designated driver and a car and you’re all set! Luckily for me, Dane doesn’t like wine- it was a perfect day. We topped it off with a stop at a large dairy and bought some delicious soft cheese. On the way out of the Hunter, Wyndham Estates, the founder of Australian Shiraz, can be found at the end of a winding road which stops at the famed vineyard, complete with its own heli-pad. By that time of day, it was much too hot to even think about sampling their beautiful reds but I was equally content with a tour through their trophy room, which houses wine awards piled ceiling high from around the world.
Time to head back to the coast and we hit a gorgeous, sheltered inlet beach at Hawks Nest. A large, conical headland graced the south end and I later learned that Aboriginals were taken there and slaughtered in the 1830s. Many parts of this country house tales of a brutal history and I couldn’t help but think how this same tale is true in so many other countries: civilized Europeans come to a new land and meet savage natives and savagely dispose of them.
We camped in Myall Lakes National Park, a sacred place and home to many tribes. Monday morning we explored the huge sand dunes bordering the ocean. They’re steep enough to slide down and I imagine this must be what the desert feels like. This place is called Dark Point and it was a meeting ground for ancient tribes. A fenced-off area contains a “midden” where evidence of feasting areas and burial grounds were found.
The problems afflicting Australia’s Aboriginal population are severe and can be compared to those of Canada’s First Nations people. Both groups had their own distinct cultures and ways of life prior to Europeans landing and both were and are controlled, discriminated and murdered in varying degrees.
Here, many live in the outback in less than desirable conditions and the racism is undeniable, just as it is in Canada. Dane tells me that petrol in the outback is dyed and does not smell. It’s hard on vehicles but there’s a big problem with Aboriginals drinking the noxious substance.
The way I see it, we should never forget history or its’ lessons, we must also remember we cannot live in the past. In order to succeed, we must all look to the future and live in the present. We cannot blame our failures on those who came before. We have to communicate and try to understand the others’ different way of looking at the world. I think that’s where the major problems lie in both Canada and Australia.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Sydney In A Day- January 8, 2010
In order to feel like you’ve really gotten a handle on all Sydney has to offer, you most certainly need more than a day. And until you’ve had the chance to sample a few wines and different ethnic cuisine offerings, you can’t really say you’ve “seen” Sydney. On that note, I definitely need to return to that gorgeous, sun-kissed place before I leave Australia.
I had one full day in Sydney; not counting my first jet-lagged stupor of a walk-about day which basically consisted of getting totally lost. My usually keen sense of direction is confused and reversed down under. I was off to meet Dane, my brother, who had already been in the country for several weeks, on Saturday. He had dropped off his girlfriend, Tanya, in Adelaide for her nursing practicum and was quickly getting bored and lonely.
I could have wandered Sydney’s central business district (CBD or city centre) for days. Any kind of food from any country you could want is all available along with delicious, fresh seafood. Shops selling unique books, clothes, gifts and organic items invite further exploration at each turn. Open air markets sell Ugg boots at a price that is making me contemplate taking home a pair (and I don’t even really like them.) And the wine! The wines are incredible. Whole shops are devoted to strictly independent Australian vineyards. Restaurant menus boast delectable pairings and offerings. If I had the time (and the money) I’d just sit and sample the day away.
But I had a mission. If I did one thing in this city it was to see the opera house. As touristy as it may sound, I’ve always wanted to see the famed, soaring structure. I’ve heard of Sydney’s gorgeous parks and beaches and I did make it to one museum, but the opera house was my main goal.
I came first to Sydney’s stunning harbour and Harbour Bridge. The harbour is filled with high-end hotels and restaurants. It’s hard to miss the bridge, known affectionately as ‘the coat hanger.’ It is a massive steel structure, looking more sturdy than graceful, but beautiful in a rugged sort of way. Two Aborigine men were selling CDs and playing the digeridoo. The haunting music filled the harbour and I sat with the older of the pair. He asked me where I’m from and upon hearing Canada, asked if I “ride them bulls at that Calgary Stampede.”
I rounded the corner of the harbour and caught my first glance of the opera house. I couldn’t help but laugh and smile uncontrollably as the building held me in a trance. It’s hard to imagine being put into a stupor by Swedish tiles (1,056,000 to be exact) concrete and glass, but trust me, it’s possible. The outer walls soar and curve and look perfectly at home against the blue sea and sky. The front entrance boasts a long, wide staircase and you feel like you’re walking into the sky. Even the bathrooms are architectural in this building, as the stalls follow the curves of the ceiling.
The Sydney Festival, a summer holiday mix of theatre, dance and musical performances begins tomorrow but there is a preview for one of the shows tonight at the opera house. I ended up getting the last ticket for the show.
Bale de Rua turned out to be fantastic. Complete with live percussion and a passionate singer, the show incorporated the samba and the colours of Carnival with Brazilian street-inspired hip-hop, capoeira and African dance. 14 well-muscled men and 1 woman flew through the air in mock attack mode, always smiling and often shouting out choruses for the audience to repeat.
I left smiling and was surprised to see the wharf beside the opera house absolutely packed with people. The opera bar boasts a jazz band and views of Sydney’s best on either side. The city, like so many others, just seems to come alive at night. But there’s something different about Sydney’s heart and soul. Many say it’s the perfect location or the iconic architecture. The wonderful food, wine and shopping can’t hurt either. The woman I sat beside during Bale de Rua says the people living in Sydney are very different from those in the rest of the country and I believe it. I just wonder if they know how lucky they are to have all of this at their doorstep.
I had one full day in Sydney; not counting my first jet-lagged stupor of a walk-about day which basically consisted of getting totally lost. My usually keen sense of direction is confused and reversed down under. I was off to meet Dane, my brother, who had already been in the country for several weeks, on Saturday. He had dropped off his girlfriend, Tanya, in Adelaide for her nursing practicum and was quickly getting bored and lonely.
I could have wandered Sydney’s central business district (CBD or city centre) for days. Any kind of food from any country you could want is all available along with delicious, fresh seafood. Shops selling unique books, clothes, gifts and organic items invite further exploration at each turn. Open air markets sell Ugg boots at a price that is making me contemplate taking home a pair (and I don’t even really like them.) And the wine! The wines are incredible. Whole shops are devoted to strictly independent Australian vineyards. Restaurant menus boast delectable pairings and offerings. If I had the time (and the money) I’d just sit and sample the day away.
But I had a mission. If I did one thing in this city it was to see the opera house. As touristy as it may sound, I’ve always wanted to see the famed, soaring structure. I’ve heard of Sydney’s gorgeous parks and beaches and I did make it to one museum, but the opera house was my main goal.
I came first to Sydney’s stunning harbour and Harbour Bridge. The harbour is filled with high-end hotels and restaurants. It’s hard to miss the bridge, known affectionately as ‘the coat hanger.’ It is a massive steel structure, looking more sturdy than graceful, but beautiful in a rugged sort of way. Two Aborigine men were selling CDs and playing the digeridoo. The haunting music filled the harbour and I sat with the older of the pair. He asked me where I’m from and upon hearing Canada, asked if I “ride them bulls at that Calgary Stampede.”
I rounded the corner of the harbour and caught my first glance of the opera house. I couldn’t help but laugh and smile uncontrollably as the building held me in a trance. It’s hard to imagine being put into a stupor by Swedish tiles (1,056,000 to be exact) concrete and glass, but trust me, it’s possible. The outer walls soar and curve and look perfectly at home against the blue sea and sky. The front entrance boasts a long, wide staircase and you feel like you’re walking into the sky. Even the bathrooms are architectural in this building, as the stalls follow the curves of the ceiling.
The Sydney Festival, a summer holiday mix of theatre, dance and musical performances begins tomorrow but there is a preview for one of the shows tonight at the opera house. I ended up getting the last ticket for the show.
Bale de Rua turned out to be fantastic. Complete with live percussion and a passionate singer, the show incorporated the samba and the colours of Carnival with Brazilian street-inspired hip-hop, capoeira and African dance. 14 well-muscled men and 1 woman flew through the air in mock attack mode, always smiling and often shouting out choruses for the audience to repeat.
I left smiling and was surprised to see the wharf beside the opera house absolutely packed with people. The opera bar boasts a jazz band and views of Sydney’s best on either side. The city, like so many others, just seems to come alive at night. But there’s something different about Sydney’s heart and soul. Many say it’s the perfect location or the iconic architecture. The wonderful food, wine and shopping can’t hurt either. The woman I sat beside during Bale de Rua says the people living in Sydney are very different from those in the rest of the country and I believe it. I just wonder if they know how lucky they are to have all of this at their doorstep.
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