Overture: South by Southeast

Some time before Chinese New Year 2015, I toyed with the idea of visiting Tahiti and Bora Bora.  I have long been drawn to these exotic, isolated islands.  I looked at the cost of flights out of Taipei.  The figures were expectedly prohibitive, and I simply let the dream fade.  Soon however, a trip to Australia became alluring as it had been nine years since I'd last seen my dear Tante Erna.  In the meantime, she'd had a stroke - from which she thankfully recovered - and her brother Gerhard in Hamburg had passed away.  (I had tormented myself as I traveled in the Baltics about making a stop in Germany, but had elected not to, as I was to visit so many places.  I thought, "I'll see him next time."  That did not come to pass.  Not willing to repeat a sorrowful mistake, I bought a ticket.) 

On a previous antipodean visit, I had called on Melbourne only, with a short excursion to the town of Tumut in New South Wales.  Then, I'd stayed with family and friends.  I decided this time that independent travel would prove expedient as it had in South Africa, and that some days in Sydney were most certainly called for.

After booking the flight, I contacted Kathy in the UK.  I've known her since my early restaurant days in Cape Town.  We'd also spent time together in London, met in Japan one Christmas, and hung out as expats on holidays in South Africa.  I remembered that she had connections in Australia and hoped that she'd consider meeting me there.  What bliss when she answered in the affirmative!  I additionally made arrangements with George, the reason for my visit to Tumut in 2007, and he thankfully agreed to make a trip to Sydney.  Then I contacted Matt, whom I'd met in London.  (I'd first met his brother Richard, and much later met their parents and remaining siblings in South Africa.)  Matt and his sister Sarah moved to Sydney some years ago, which I learned from Richard last year in the motherland.  All in all, the anticipation of new destinations and old reunions bubbled and excited in the months leading up to the journey.

A colleague, Lourens, expressed an interest in joining me and I said come along.  He booked on the same outbound and return flights with Scoot.  Scoot (if you didn't know) is a no-frills airline out of Singapore, a subsidiary of the much costlier Singapore Airlines.  Later, a friend of his, James, asked to join us also.  He would accompany us to Sydney, but then remain behind on a one-year working visa.

My ticket in hand, I took a chance and looked at prices from Sydney to Papeete, capital of French Polynesia and transport hub for the expansive array of islands.  To my joy and elation, traveling this route was cheaper by almost half.  I hurriedly secured a seat on Air New Zealand via Auckland.  Lourens was initially going to do the whole trip with me, but subsequently opted out of the Pacific leg and arranged to stay in Australia instead.  No worries - I am well accustomed to traveling alone.  

Scoot has its own diction.  The pilot said, "Before we scoot off, be aware that you may buy anything from the Scootalogue.  If you're hungry, Scoot Cafe will serve you a selection of snacks and drinks.  Just ask one of our friendly Scooties for help."  I found this novel and cute, if a tad too informal for such an important event - bussing a couple hundred people across ocean and the impenetrable Outback.  The Scooties were polite and efficient, in keeping with Asian service industry ethic.  (I find Western service ethic less and less attractive.)

I was thrilled to once again be "scooting" away from work and woes, to be off anew on a promising adventure.  After waiting for four hours in Singapore, we lined up at the boarding gate.  Another 30 minutes later, it was announced on the gate in writing only that the flight was delayed for another three hours.  It was disappointing, but I am fully in favour of safety first, and as such I was not even a little upset.  I set out once more around Changi Airport, which, by the way, has won a torrent of Best Airport Awards in its lifetime.  (In various categories, it figures among the top three over and over.  I was surprised to also find Taiwan Taoyuan Airport often near the top.)  I made some fresh discoveries.  At the far end was a sunflower garden and a small cinema.  

 Much more comforting, the airport hotel had showers that were open to travelers at a cost.  It was decided!  I hopped in and sponged my bark.  While doing that, Lourens and James put themselves to sleep just outside the hotel's door.  Dressed and feeling much better, I exited and saw the tramps taking their naps, but I didn't realise they were my tramps.  I looked for them in the cinema, in the sunflower garden, and in the restaurant area.  Then I went to the boarding gate.  Fortunately, one of them woke up, and they boarded the flight with me.  We were informed that departure had been delayed because the craft had been struck by lightning on its earlier flight from Sydney.  It had needed repairs and then certification by Boeing.  All's well that ends safely.

Scoot's entire fleet consists of the latest on offer - Boeing Dreamliners.  Lourens - who is obsessed with clean air - declared that the air quality was markedly better than any flight he'd taken.  We further agreed that the environment was not too cold.  The lights in the uppermost panels above the hand luggage bins were pastel and multicolored, adding to the beauty.  In general, the interior was much slicker than I'd ever seen, and the seats were quite comfortable.  I imagined the craft felt lighter, though that's probably just because I'd read that they are.  There were, however, no individual monitors.  One was required to purchase in-flight entertainment and then view it on one's own device.  We didn't accept that offer.  The windows, instead of having pull-down blinds, were electronically adjusted from transparent, through darkening shades of blue, to completely black.  Our cabin was for hours lightless and subdued, notwithstanding the diurnal schedule (05:00 to about 16:15).  This I cherished, as it helped me enjoy some uncharacteristically lengthy slumber.

(In the end, once we'd added luggage, "Scoot-Through", meals, etc, we didn't really save that much money.  Scoot-Through is this - passengers with connecting flights have to pay to have their check-in luggage booked through to their final destination.  Failing to make this arrangement in advance means that you have to go through Immigration in Singapore, pick up your luggage and then check in again for the onward flight, in both directions.  Goodness!  Despite Scoot-Through, we nevertheless had to stand in a sluggish queue in Singapore to get boarding passes for the flight to Sydney, and again for the flight to Taipei upon our return.  Most airlines issue all boarding passes at first check-in!  What a bother, though we did have a long layover and it gave us something to do.  Onboard, nothing was complimentary, not even water and certainly not beer or other such pleasant beverages.  Nothing from Scoot Cafe was reasonably priced.  Moreover, it was forbidden to consume food or drinks brought onto the craft.  I doubt I will fly on a budget airline again for these reasons.)

Act I: Harbour City

Pt1: Touchdown

We arrived in the Sunburnt Country slightly later than planned on Saturday January 23rd.  I'd texted Matt from Singapore and asked him to inform our accommodation of our delay.  We caught the airport train into the city, and then hopped in a cab to our rooms.  I tried to strike up a conversation with the cabbie, but he was clearly the least pleasant person in town, and I gave up after one question.  Dropped at the front door, we registered and shed our bags.  I had another luxurious shower.  We were not altogether beaten by the flight and we had no food in the fridge, so we stepped out and followed Google Maps to King Street in Newtown.  We were met with a choice of supermarkets and an eclectic deluge of eateries offering cuisine from, it seemed, every conceivable corner of the planet.  We did not sit to eat; our task was simply to stock our kitchen.  Soon we were back in the room and sound asleep.

Earlier in Taiwan, I spent rather a lengthy afternoon locating this "hotel".  I looked on Booking.com, Agoda and AirB&B.  Every option hovered in the crippling range.  Anything affordable lay way out of the city.  After about three hours, I stumbled upon a website called University Stays.  This offered student accommodation to travelers at extraordinary prices.  We were at the edge of the University of Sydney, an itsy-bitsy single train stop south of Central Station, and we paid less than half the typical nightly fee.   The room was not flashy, but it was clean, neat and equipped.  There were two bedrooms and a living room.  In the kitchen were a fridge, microwave, kettle and toaster, and there was crockery and cutlery for four.  Fans were provided for our comfort.  At the price, this was a spectacular find, and I'd recommend it to anyone.

Awaking on Sunday morning, James opted to split from us for the day and go to church.  He was eager to immediately make connections in his new hometown, and as a Mormon, he was not allowed to spend money on the Sabbath, anyway.  Lourens and I readied and stepped out to attack the city.  The homes in this area reminded us both so much of South Africa, and I might have been walking down a road in Observatory, Cape Town.  We stopped nearby for breakfast at Bobby's.  It was such a treat to eat a sandwich made with unsweetened bread.   

 Bellies satisfied, we headed to Redfern Station to return to Central.  En route, we purchased Opal cards, passport to the city's integrated transportation network.  On the train, we saw that it continued directly into catacombs beneath the CBD, and we traveled another few stops.  We wandered around the city and marveled at all the glittering skyscrapers, the blue sky and clean air.  (Well the sky wasn't as blue as it was grey - it was overcast most of the day, much to my relief.  Lourens, too, preferred the cooler air.  We had been told to expect 38°C.  The high 20s that greeted us were entirely more welcome.)

We reached the water at Circular Quay, but being tourists, I did not realise where we were.  We continued past international cruise disembarkation and made our way to where the iconic Harbour Bridge rocketed beyond dry land.  Naturally, I took abundant pictures of the renowned Opera House.

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 I'd arranged to meet Matt and Sarah today, and to do that, we had to make our way to Manly, which lies a ferry ride across the harbour.  We now looked for Circular Quay to board the boat.  I asked at one place and was directed back up the hill.  As we ascended the gentle slope, a somewhat bedraggled-looking woman came over to see if she could help.  We must have looked lost.  As she offered her assistance, empty booze bottles jingled in her arms, and one fell to the ground with a crisp crack, though it did not shatter.  She excused herself, blaming a heavy night.  Lourens said afterwards that she had been getting rid of Moët bottles - she must have been a lady of some means.  Moët & Chandon!!  And so much of it!

Pt2: Enter Matt & Sarah

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We hopped on a ferry at around noon.  The trip to Manly took about 45 minutes.  En route, I snapped away with a congregation of other tourists, elbowing and pushing (I exaggerate) to get the best angle of the sights.  The CBD and North Sydney were gorgeous from the water.  Between the numerous click-click-clicks, I slipped sliver upon sliver of delicious biltong into my mouth.  We'd found this South African delight at a market between Moët guzzler and quay.

 

 Alighting at the other end, Matt was waiting for us and guided us to Manly Beach.  We stopped to oooh and aaah for a while, then continued walking to Shelly Beach, where we'd lunch at The Boathouse.  Along pedestrian Marine Parade, I spotted this mask in the rock face.  (It was in the end only my imagination - as we got closer the mask morphed into something other.)

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 It was a joyous reunion.  Matt had settled well, both in his new abode and also in his life.  When I'd lived in London, we'd both been party animals, and I had wondered if I'd find the same beast, but he'd calmed and was living a full, healthy life.  He looked as good as ever, though (as with all of us) silver strands were triumphantly colonising his polar north.  Within the hour, Sarah joined us.  She too had blossomed and bloomed.  She was as trim and ravishing as I remembered her, teeming with joie de vivre.  Our exchange was animated, full of anecdotes and more serious fill-me-ins.  We reminisced, laughed, ate and drank.  My meal of kale and salmon salad seemed to keep sprouting the more I ate, and I eventually surrendered before my plate was empty.  At one point I let slip that we'd brought a young Taiwanese man with us.  Matt, who knows I'm gay and might have realised that Lourens is too, nearly choked on his lime & soda.  Images of torture chambers and leather flooded his overextended imagination (he intimated), and I couldn't contain my own amusement at how wrongly he'd read my words. The misunderstanding was, of course, intentional and designed to spawn horrified disbelief.

After lunch, we ambled back along Marine Parade in the direction of the ferry terminal.  We popped into a different restaurant where we continued to enjoy the reunion.  Here, we joined a group of Sarah's friends.  They regaled us with stories about the city in general and about Manly in particular.  Here I learned for the first time how it works if one buys tickets to the Australian Open.  A ticket holder is granted access only to the game they've booked, of course.  However, earlier games on the same court might go on way longer than anticipated.  Therefore, ticket holders have to show up when their game is scheduled to start and wait until it actually starts.  I am SO glad that my interest lies in the theatre, where performances are always punctual. 

One member of the group this afternoon pointed out how unpleasant certain parts of Sydney had become due to the influx of undesirables - i.e. people who are not white.  Lourens and I discussed this later on our return ferry, and it is exactly this racism that had turned me off Australia as a possible abode when I'd visited in 2007.  (Part of the reason for that visit had in fact been to get a sense of the place, as I'd been looking into emigrating.)  South Africans were forced to grapple hard with our conditioned opinions on the matter, and few of my compatriots entertain such sentiments, or if they do, they'd never dream of verbalising them.  In Australia, however, I've found that the penny has yet to drop.

Later, we boarded a ferry back across the river mouth.  I discovered that the ride had been free in both directions.  When we'd bought the Opal cards in the morning, the clerk had said something about that, but I'd not paid enough attention.  Anyway, other than the ride from the airport, this was the costliest trip during our five days here, and free was certainly welcome.  We got back to Mandelbaum House late.  The sky remained illuminated until after 8PM.  Dinner consisted of last night's supermarket purchases.  James returned from his day at church.  He'd also made calls and met with people about work and accommodation.  I was very impressed with how quickly he jumped up and got organised.  I was growing to like the youngster.  He was energetic and confident.  He was funny and cute.  Lourens kept correcting his English (because James had asked for that), and James kept inviting Lourens to church.

On Monday morning, James again elected to go off by himself.  Lourens and I returned to the city after another merry breakfast at Bobby's.  I was now struck by how narrow the pavements were.  Within shops, the aisles too were not designed for people with my waist.  I would not have expected this in a country where space is of no consequence.  There was even a cubicle in a public toilet that was half the width of all others!  Back on the street, at traffic lights, the time given for pedestrians to cross would put an Olympic medalist through his paces.

 Sydney is not at all cheap.  Everyday restaurants here list prices on a par with fine eateries in Taiwan.  Lourens asserted that the Hop-On-Hop-Off Sightseeing Bus here cost at least double what it did in Munich.  We went by other attractions, notably Madame Tussauds and the Sydney Aquarium; tickets cost four times as much as those to the National Gallery in Reykjavik, and five times as much as those to the Hermitage in St Petersburg.  (I found later, while writing this travelogue, that buying the tickets online in advance would have been cheaper by half - damn!)  It was no bother, though, as walking about was interesting, and there was already enough to see in the open-air museum that was the city itself.

Today we had cool weather again.  We wandered about the city, this time stopping in at the Sydney Tower Eye, up which I thought we should go.  (A small travel publication had been left on the bookshelf in my room.  Within it were discount vouchers to various restaurants and attractions, one of which was this viewing deck.)  As we queued to pay, I saw a picture of the skywalk.  The viewing deck was not glassed in.  Visitors were protected by a mere railing.  There was simply no way on God's green planet that I'd be able to stand that, and Lourens appeared relieved when I said forget it!

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 We drifted across Hyde Park to St Mary's Cathedral.  Then we moseyed back through the CBD to Darling Harbour, stopping on the way for a cup of coffee.  As we drank, the building shook, probably because of trains running beneath. At the harbour, we considered taking a Captain Cook cruise but discovered that the route mimicked the one we had taken to Manly yesterday.

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In the early afternoon, our bellies started to grumble.  Lourens suggested we return to King Street, but I was eager to find a place in town.  Shortly I realised that he was right - the variety and abundance of choices in Newtown was not replicated here.  We stopped in at a Coles Supermarket to replenish our supplies at home, dropped those in our student digs, and scurried off like cockroaches in a dark kitchen.  Once there, we agreed to try something Middle Eastern, and the first cafeteria we came across offered kebabs.  In Cape Town we call them schwarmas - beef, lamb or chicken cooked on a rotisserie, then ladled onto a tortilla with dollops of fresh salad, sour cream and sauce, and finally rolled into a succulent, mouth-watering celebration for the taste buds.  What a treat!  

(After reading my blog, George had this to add, which I've decided to include here: KEBAB IS TURKISH, SCHARMA IS ARABIC AND YIROS IS GREEK, ALL FOR THE SAME  PRODUCT...THERE CAN BE SLIGHT DIFFERENCES IN CONTENTS BUT ALL MUCH THE SAME...EACH OF THE 3 CULTURES CLAIM THE PRODUCT BUT I SUSPECT TURKEY MAY HAVE THE BEST CLAIM AS THE OTTOMANS RULED THE ARAB WORLD AND GREECE FOR SOME CENTURIES.)

As we ate, Lourens got news from Taiwan.  While we enjoyed acceptable temperatures (though I sweated anyway), Taichung's dropped below zero.  This has never happened in the 15 years I've lived there, and I was slightly sad to be missing the novelty in a city that routinely causes my sweat glands to flow like opened sluice gates of a great dam.  Snowflakes fell in some parts of the city, and poor Tonya later texted that she was turning to ice.  She has a key to my apartment and I told her to hurry off and get my heater, which she eventually did.

Returning to our room, I was drawn in by the allure of the suburbs.  The streets were neat, the houses minimally secured.  The mood was quiet and idyllic.  Oddly, this is something I have become so unaccustomed to, and I'm not sure I could live like that again.  In Taiwanese cities, everything is within easy reach, whereas here everything is more spread out.  In Taichung the bustle only dies down around midnight and starts up again before sunrise.  Here the evenings were sleepy.  Once home, we showered and dressed neatly.  Tonight we were going to the opera.  On the program was Puccini's La Boheme, and I could hardly wait.  Ready, we returned to the station and rode the train all the way to Circular Quay, the stop nearest the opera house.

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 A lover of theater, opera, dance and 'the symphony' (as novices refer to it), my presence here on the steps of arguably the most famous opera house on the planet was almost spiritual.  I might have gone down on my knees, burned incense, wrapped violin strings around my head and plucked at a kalimba as I chanted praises to the gods of melody, harmony, rhythm and timbre.  I might have performed an austere ritual, while throat singing, in honour of the deities of set-design, verse and motion.  I might have lit candles beneath the effigies of ART's great messiahs.  .....   Alright  ....   back to earth  ....   You get the picture....

The complex houses six indoor venues with a total of 5,738 seats.  Together they host over 1,500 performances each year, attended by 1,2 million patrons.  Performances are presented by many different outfits, including four resident companies: Opera Australia, The Australian Ballet, Sydney Theatre Company and Sydney Symphony Orchestra.  In addition to the theatres, there is a recording studio and an outdoor forecourt.  Today, as we waited for our opera to commence, a stage was being erected on this forecourt for Australia Day festivities tomorrow.  The expansive stairs ascending to the box office double as seating for outdoor events.

Occupying the whole of Bennelong Point in Sydney Harbour, the venue was designed by a Dane, Jørn Utzon, and construction began in 1958.  It was only completed in 1973, and became a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2007.  Work on the structure was beset with problems, delays and budget overruns.  Utzon initially oversaw construction, but after disagreements and design changes, he eventually resigned before completion.  When funding became an issue, the New South Wales government initiated a lottery in 1960 to gather additional backing.   This lottery was won by Bazil Thorne, who took home £100,000.  The winner's identity was published in the media.  Subsequently, Bazil's eight-year-old son, Graeme, was abducted in Australia's first kidnapping for ransom.  A month and a half later, his body was found wrapped in a blue tartan rug.

Gosh, the text in the previous paragraphs plummeted from the glitter of heaven into the doldrums of hell.  I am reeling from the shock as I type because I only just read about this myself.  I need a break.....

 .... Right .... I've dried my tears .... I almost feel guilty continuing my blissful account after that ... Back to 25 January 2016 ...

Entering the Joan Sutherland Theatre, I was disappointed with my seat selection.  When I'd booked, the website did mention that there was a partial view of the stage.  It didn't, however, clarify that a full half of the stage was out of sight.  From my seat, you could draw a line from the front right corner of the stage to its back left corner.  I could see in front of this line, but not behind.  Most of the important action took place front centre, and so the visual spectacle was not entirely lost.  My enjoyment was, nevertheless, diminished.  Another annoyance was that the LED with English translation was not visible from our seats.  I insisted Lourens sit in the better seat, since it was I who'd book them and also because it was his first ever opera.  Still, he too could not see the LED.  I tried during the interval to get different seats, but the clerk at the box office was unable or unwilling to assist. 

  Fortunately, Puccini is a composer whose operas I can enjoy for their musicality alone, and I often do in my home.  I received for my birthday last year a complete set of his operas on CD.  I can usually identify his style every time one of his tracks plays.  (I have my vast collection of classical music stored digitally on my computer - so that I never have to touch the CDs I've purchased - and I listen to it whenever I am home.  I have it set on random, and apart from Puccini, I can also always pick out Wagner.  I am less successful at distinguishing Beethoven from Schumann or Mozart from Haydn.)  Therefore, despite my semi-blindness, I thoroughly enjoyed the performance.

What I did see was indeed a spectacle.  The set was well designed, the costumes brightly colorful.  I was quite shocked though at the pedestrian character of the audience.  Surely everyone knows that applause during an opera is reserved for when the curtain falls at the end of an act, and not willy-nilly while the orchestra seamlessly leads the performance from Aria to Recitative to Chorus and back to Aria.  Philistines!

Notwithstanding these aggravations, I exited the theatre abuzz and fulfilled.  Lourens also utterly enjoyed the show.  We were surprised to find that the trains were still running and that the taxi ride we had anticipated was not necessary.  We returned to Redfern and Mandelbaum.  James arrived back shortly after with lots of news about his day of success getting offers of employment and accommodation.