TheJessicaness

The good thing about being up before the sun is the ability to watch it light up the sky and transform the landscape. I’m not sure there was a temperature difference between walking to Mrs Macquarie’s Chair and leaving the view of the Opera House behind, but we came prepared for winter weather (54°F) in the southern hemisphere.  I’ve got a long-sleeved wool shirt on under my blood donor top (more on that later).

We’re up at 230am, yay for jet lag, and ready to take on the day, even though nothing (that we can find besides the gas station) opens before 7am. Caleb brings me coffee, and we stop by the mini-market, since it’s on the way, and I’m saddened by the donut display. Perhaps I should have tried one for journalistic purposes, but I forwent that to be on the water’s edge along with a plethora of runners and three photographers.

The birds are loud, especially when closer to brighter street lights. There are a few homeless people who seem dressed for warmth, and even more women running alone (something that makes me feel safer), though I wouldn’t have gone out alone in the dark in a new neighborhood or country. There are some steps carved into rocks that lead to a place to sit. It feels magical, but Caleb points out that it doesn’t face the sun.

I might be hungry, but I’m also on vacation, so I’m more tolerant of discomfort. Caleb knows this and leads us on a different route through the Royal Botanic Garden, so we can watch the sulphur-crested cockatoos start their day and then cross the highway via a pedestrian bridge to get breakfast that is now being served. Of course, I grab the Vegemite, even if I don’t toast the bread hard enough, and try it alone before adding butter.

The combination is delicious, but I won’t be ordering any back home (as there’s still plenty of peanut butter). Full, but wanting to eat more toast, I tell Caleb it’s time to go. We pass a very accessible toilet stall (if you can find it), and I’m impressed with all the buttons (to open the door, dispense toilet paper, and the two flush options), and it’s free. St Mary’s Cathedral opens the earliest, so we walk that way, passing many running groups.

I’m not sure if I’m more excited because I’m somewhere new or because I don’t see those groups living in a retirement community in a humid environment, “with air you can wear!” The church doesn’t have a service for a while, but I feel like we’re encroaching on people sitting on benches. We have a look around, at the longest church in Australia (351 feet), but more like searching for something quickly before getting caught. We can come back, as the outside is stunning too, and doesn’t have constraints.

We wander into Hyde Park looking for a place to rest our butts, as we have already covered five miles of exploration. Caleb forgot he was on vacation as well, and there are too many things vying for our attention: the little girl splashing in the fountain, the man playing saxophone, and the dog with his blue coat unleashed (common here). There is a statue at the edge of the park, and instead of tearing down the ol’ governor, there is a sign informing passersby of his crimes.

The cafe at the library opens a half hour before the rest of the building. This allows us to use the loo and learn that almost 26% of Sydney is covered by trees. That’s impressive. We wait in the queue outside to visit the Australian Museum, where the permanent exhibits are free, so they have a person at a kiosk for that exhibit who can provide ticketed entry without blocking the main entrance. There is so much to see and learn here.

Mostly what catches my eye are shells (collected for food, jewelry, toys, and science), ceremonial masks, commemorative figures, and the celebration of 100 people (architect, doctor, professor, farmer, minister, etc.) contributing to their present issues against the barriers of -isms, laws, and current beliefs, and improving the future for humanity, or at least the locals in the outback.

Even the gem exhibit takes the opportunity to teach about recycling, because we need these materials to engage with the environment on a friendlier level (within our society’s wants), but we don’t need to totally destroy the planet to do so. There are also the skeletons and taxidermied animals from around the world. We don’t stay long with the dinosaurs, as that’s where the children were concentrated.

After a few hours, we go to the top floor to peek at the outside view, among the diners, before setting off to learn more at the Hyde Park Barracks about the cruelties that humans inflict on each other, whether for conquering land, enforcing religion, or literally shipping convicts to another continent, where they can suffer a multitude of new pains (floggings, heavy chains, rats) as someone else’s problem.

The St James Church across the street was meant to be a courthouse but was converted and constructed with convict labor between 1820 and 1824. After a hard day’s work, these crews slept cramped in hammocks, with some on the floor, but all with the hungry vermin that visited nightly. In the gift shop, the woman notices my shirt, and though she’s grateful for the socks and blankets that she gets for donating blood, she wouldn’t mind sporting a cool top.

We get lost in the Westfield Sydney Mall (that consists of six floors and could fit nearly 13 soccer fields inside), finding Morris and Sons, a yarn store with wool from Australia, Ireland, Uruguay, and Japan. We’re not back in the room long before it’s time to look for food, past the two dead rats in the street, to try Tiger Pie (minced beef topped with mashed potatoes, mushy peas, and gravy) from Harry’s Café de Wheels (because city council regulations required food vans to move at least 12 inches every day).

This late-night food option cart started serving pies in 1936 to sailors and dockworkers, and reopened in 1945, on the wharf, after Harry was wounded and discharged from the AIF (a volunteer force). The original cart is preserved in the Powerhouse Museum, and though no famous singers join us for a pre-dinner snack, a guy is singing along with his boombox while other diners keep an eye on the hungry crew of birds. The Finger Wharf is the longest timber-piled wharf in the world, completed in 1915.

This being our first time on this side of the equator together, we celebrate by dining at the same place twice (not something done while traveling), but we’re too exhausted and don’t ever preplan meals, so back at the Woolly Bay Hotel we get the fried wings again, and try the grilled miso eggplant (that Caleb thinks is okra), and the tomato gnocchi. We lasted a few more hours than yesterday. That’s progress.