One glance at the Opera House, a sanguine sunrise reclining along the waterfront horizon behind it, I instantly felt that Sydney hadn’t been given a fair shake. All I could think of were the myriad of different opinions we had heard everywhere from Vancouver to Kathmandu, fellow travellers and native Australians.
“See Sydney for sure,” they would concede, “But don’t spend any time there. Go to Melbourne. Melbourne’s awwwwweesome.”
Why had we been told not to come here? The coast of New South Wales was intoxicating. The blue water paired with the delicate bleached sand and the prickly bush was, as we worked out, what we were visually expecting when we came to Australia.
Sydney is the prettier city. Absolutely. Melbourne easily makes up for any ‘rough around the edges’ aesthetic with character but the toxic Yarra River doesn’t hold a candle to the 240 km of shoreline within the harbor of Sydney. There are the Art Nouveau facades that line the warf down the The Rocks. There’s the ubiquitous “Victorian Lace” railings that pretty up the townhouse fronts in Surry Hills. The powder fine sand and world-renowned surf of Bondi Beach! It was almost as if Sydney were the star attraction that everyone had grown tired of talking about. We had been to De Bortoli and Innocent Bystander. We had stayed at a farm in Eastern Gippsland called Peppermint Ridge Farm where we learned all about Indigenous Australian bush foods. All had lead up to this city.
We rolled into Sydney late evening after staying the previous night in Bateman’s Bay and taking our time up the coast. Our accommodations were with some distant relatives –an aunt and uncle of an aunt of mine- who were living in the gorgeously sleepy neighborhood of Turramurra. Our first drive across the Sydney Harbor Bridge –which would become the first of many intentional and unintentional trips across the bridge- was jaw dropping. Something about it was so much more than I expected. We had a mere thirty-six hours to see the whole city, which we could already tell was not going to be enough. But what remained at the top of my list of things to see in Sydney was not the Harbor Bridge or even the Opera House, though those were close behind. What I wanted to see most of all was Bourke Street Bakery.
A couple Christmases ago, my father-in-law gave me a book that changed my attitude towards baking and likely functioned largely in my decision to go to pastry school. The Bourke Street Bakery in Sydney put out a baking book in 2009, compiling the recipes of some of their most popular products. Their manifesto towards bread intoxicated me and, in some ways, sent me on a trajectory of curiosity that culminated in pastry school. Bourke Street Bakery started off on the corner of Bourke Street in Surry Hills. They then expanded and have four bakeries in Sydney now, the location in Potts Point actually having an after hours wine bar. Just as it was getting dusky, we rolled into the Surry Hills location and ate more tarts than I can admit to. The ginger brulee tart will be quickly replicated. Close to closing time as we were, the bread stash was depleted as it is at all good bakeries. Vowing to stop by again the next day, we hopped back in the car and headed to the burbs. Our hosts were the perfect antidote to what had been a long, and at times frustrating, few days of driving. Over a beautiful meal and beautiful wine they shared their own stories of travelling.
Within a few hours, we were showered and back in the car to meet the sunrise. The Opera House at sunrise was another moment of which we’ve had many. Sunrise on the bogs in Islay, dusk at Red Square, sunset outside the Colloseum, on the shore of a thunderstorm in Koh Lanta. A moment where you’ve stopped and become swept up in it almost without realizing. Small ferries putter across the harbor in various directions, shuttling zombies of the rush hour from one side to the other.The Opera House is like a still shot of an insect in partial flight, arched and domed wings poised for takeoff. The large mosaic-tiled sails glitter in the sunrise, refracted and recolored in its reflection on the surface of the water. Sheltered beneath the Harbour Bridge, time passed without being noticed as we ceaselessly snapped pictures of the ever changing sunrise. Sydneysiders, as they're known, pass by on their daily run or take part in kick boxing training not far from where they are standing. With these beautiful sights right in their city, they no longer think anything of them. And we are all guilty of that exact same familiarity. But I just wanted to point out to someone what we were seeing. Really!
The sun high enough, it was off to Bourke Street Bakery again, this time in Potts Point, for breakfast. Fresh ricotta and jam on fresh sourdough for me and a gruyere quiche for Moozh with beautiful long blacks to top it off. Their bread of the day was potato and rosemary so we packed one up to snack on the road. We would collect our thoughts and plan our trajectory. I would charge my camera battery because the previous night…wine + me = no forethought. I don’t really have any forethought anyway. We did the shutter bug thing around Surry Hills and the Naval Museum. I made an Aussie squirm by suggesting pavlova came from New Zealand. We got as up close and personal as we wanted to with Sydney traffic. Our host at Peppermint Ridge Farm said that the city planning in Sydney would be akin to if you dropped an egg on the floor, which I would now have to agree with. Just as we were swinging into Watson’s Point, it began to pour. In three months in Melbourne, we had seen three days of rain. Three. So this was where we had a nap.
Driving into Bondi, we found a side street with two hour free parking and had a nap. It was still raining when we woke up but it sure took the edge off the 430am wake up call.We couldn’t very well come all the way to Australia and not try Kangaroo. So we meandered down the street to Moo Burgers and Moozh had a kangaroo burger. It’s hard to find places in Australia that will serve kangaroo. Maybe some of the gimmicky tourist places might but it’s rare to find it. Mainly because…it’s not very good. In Moozh’s words. It’s kind of a weird tasting meat in my opinion. If it were really tasty, people would use it more. In Canada, it’s easy to find bison on a menu because bison has flavor. But it was something to check off the list.
As we were finished eating, it was still raining so we decided to head to the Royal Botanic Gardens to see what kind of sunset pictures we could get. Which would turn out to be none. Hidden behind a veil of mist, the sun set with no fanfare. It was also our night to sleep in an airport. Our flight left the next morning before God would be awake. To save on accommodations, we figured we could watch movies and hang out until the flight left. That was before we realized that the Sydney airport shuts everything but the benches in front of the train station down from 11pm to 3am. My opinion of backpackers is forever changed due to unfortunate encounters with morning breath.
When T.S Eliot writes that the world ends not with a bang, but with a whimper, that was how Sydney ended. But the world was not ending. We were going to Fiji.
Things I learned in Sydney:
Bourke Street is exactly as great as I thought they would be.
Sydney is just as beautiful in the rain.
Getting up for sunrise is ALWAYS worth it.
Quote for Sydney:
Moozh: What are people talking about? Sydney’s beautiful! What a rip off!
“See Sydney for sure,” they would concede, “But don’t spend any time there. Go to Melbourne. Melbourne’s awwwwweesome.”
Why had we been told not to come here? The coast of New South Wales was intoxicating. The blue water paired with the delicate bleached sand and the prickly bush was, as we worked out, what we were visually expecting when we came to Australia.
Sydney is the prettier city. Absolutely. Melbourne easily makes up for any ‘rough around the edges’ aesthetic with character but the toxic Yarra River doesn’t hold a candle to the 240 km of shoreline within the harbor of Sydney. There are the Art Nouveau facades that line the warf down the The Rocks. There’s the ubiquitous “Victorian Lace” railings that pretty up the townhouse fronts in Surry Hills. The powder fine sand and world-renowned surf of Bondi Beach! It was almost as if Sydney were the star attraction that everyone had grown tired of talking about. We had been to De Bortoli and Innocent Bystander. We had stayed at a farm in Eastern Gippsland called Peppermint Ridge Farm where we learned all about Indigenous Australian bush foods. All had lead up to this city.
We rolled into Sydney late evening after staying the previous night in Bateman’s Bay and taking our time up the coast. Our accommodations were with some distant relatives –an aunt and uncle of an aunt of mine- who were living in the gorgeously sleepy neighborhood of Turramurra. Our first drive across the Sydney Harbor Bridge –which would become the first of many intentional and unintentional trips across the bridge- was jaw dropping. Something about it was so much more than I expected. We had a mere thirty-six hours to see the whole city, which we could already tell was not going to be enough. But what remained at the top of my list of things to see in Sydney was not the Harbor Bridge or even the Opera House, though those were close behind. What I wanted to see most of all was Bourke Street Bakery.
A couple Christmases ago, my father-in-law gave me a book that changed my attitude towards baking and likely functioned largely in my decision to go to pastry school. The Bourke Street Bakery in Sydney put out a baking book in 2009, compiling the recipes of some of their most popular products. Their manifesto towards bread intoxicated me and, in some ways, sent me on a trajectory of curiosity that culminated in pastry school. Bourke Street Bakery started off on the corner of Bourke Street in Surry Hills. They then expanded and have four bakeries in Sydney now, the location in Potts Point actually having an after hours wine bar. Just as it was getting dusky, we rolled into the Surry Hills location and ate more tarts than I can admit to. The ginger brulee tart will be quickly replicated. Close to closing time as we were, the bread stash was depleted as it is at all good bakeries. Vowing to stop by again the next day, we hopped back in the car and headed to the burbs. Our hosts were the perfect antidote to what had been a long, and at times frustrating, few days of driving. Over a beautiful meal and beautiful wine they shared their own stories of travelling.
Within a few hours, we were showered and back in the car to meet the sunrise. The Opera House at sunrise was another moment of which we’ve had many. Sunrise on the bogs in Islay, dusk at Red Square, sunset outside the Colloseum, on the shore of a thunderstorm in Koh Lanta. A moment where you’ve stopped and become swept up in it almost without realizing. Small ferries putter across the harbor in various directions, shuttling zombies of the rush hour from one side to the other.The Opera House is like a still shot of an insect in partial flight, arched and domed wings poised for takeoff. The large mosaic-tiled sails glitter in the sunrise, refracted and recolored in its reflection on the surface of the water. Sheltered beneath the Harbour Bridge, time passed without being noticed as we ceaselessly snapped pictures of the ever changing sunrise. Sydneysiders, as they're known, pass by on their daily run or take part in kick boxing training not far from where they are standing. With these beautiful sights right in their city, they no longer think anything of them. And we are all guilty of that exact same familiarity. But I just wanted to point out to someone what we were seeing. Really!
The sun high enough, it was off to Bourke Street Bakery again, this time in Potts Point, for breakfast. Fresh ricotta and jam on fresh sourdough for me and a gruyere quiche for Moozh with beautiful long blacks to top it off. Their bread of the day was potato and rosemary so we packed one up to snack on the road. We would collect our thoughts and plan our trajectory. I would charge my camera battery because the previous night…wine + me = no forethought. I don’t really have any forethought anyway. We did the shutter bug thing around Surry Hills and the Naval Museum. I made an Aussie squirm by suggesting pavlova came from New Zealand. We got as up close and personal as we wanted to with Sydney traffic. Our host at Peppermint Ridge Farm said that the city planning in Sydney would be akin to if you dropped an egg on the floor, which I would now have to agree with. Just as we were swinging into Watson’s Point, it began to pour. In three months in Melbourne, we had seen three days of rain. Three. So this was where we had a nap.
Driving into Bondi, we found a side street with two hour free parking and had a nap. It was still raining when we woke up but it sure took the edge off the 430am wake up call.We couldn’t very well come all the way to Australia and not try Kangaroo. So we meandered down the street to Moo Burgers and Moozh had a kangaroo burger. It’s hard to find places in Australia that will serve kangaroo. Maybe some of the gimmicky tourist places might but it’s rare to find it. Mainly because…it’s not very good. In Moozh’s words. It’s kind of a weird tasting meat in my opinion. If it were really tasty, people would use it more. In Canada, it’s easy to find bison on a menu because bison has flavor. But it was something to check off the list.
As we were finished eating, it was still raining so we decided to head to the Royal Botanic Gardens to see what kind of sunset pictures we could get. Which would turn out to be none. Hidden behind a veil of mist, the sun set with no fanfare. It was also our night to sleep in an airport. Our flight left the next morning before God would be awake. To save on accommodations, we figured we could watch movies and hang out until the flight left. That was before we realized that the Sydney airport shuts everything but the benches in front of the train station down from 11pm to 3am. My opinion of backpackers is forever changed due to unfortunate encounters with morning breath.
When T.S Eliot writes that the world ends not with a bang, but with a whimper, that was how Sydney ended. But the world was not ending. We were going to Fiji.
Things I learned in Sydney:
Bourke Street is exactly as great as I thought they would be.
Sydney is just as beautiful in the rain.
Getting up for sunrise is ALWAYS worth it.
Quote for Sydney:
Moozh: What are people talking about? Sydney’s beautiful! What a rip off!