Inside SOH
Sydney Opera House on Australia Day
The Utzon Hall, SOH
Firstly, thank you to fellow blogger, Rare Lesser Spotted for nominating me for the somewhat tongue in cheek Creative Writer Blogger Award. I look forward to the gala evening.
I have been enjoying the sense of being a writer this week, getting up reasonably early and working on Adventures of a Middle Aged Gapper, in between bouts of staring out of the window, random web surfing and damn fine cups of coffee. I have alternated between writing the opening to the book, which describes how I come to be having a gap year, and turning my notes on Australia into something I consider publishable.
At the risk of repeating some of what I wrote from Australia, here is what I have written about my journey to the land down under:
I opted to fly to Sydney without a lay-over. As anyone who has undertaken this journey will tell you, it is very disorientating. The flight left at 10pm and we flew through the night to Singapore for a one and half hour stop in the morning. Except it wasn’t morning, it was late afternoon and as we climbed back aboard the plane the sun was already setting. So, as we completed the journey to Australia I saw the sun rise twice in less than 24 hours. A new experience for me, but sadly not one on my list of challenges.
Arriving at the airport I break out in a sweat of nervousness that would become a drugs mule. Australia has very strict laws on the importation of virtually anything organic – vegetables, meat, dairy products, prescription drugs and even the soil on your shoes. A short film about the restrictions is shown on the plane. It ends with the ominous words:
‘Declare! You will be caught and you will be shot.’
I am carrying bags of pills for headaches, diahorrea, travel sickness, male menopause, sore joints, upset stomachs, snake bites and shark attacks. Not to mention my canisters of every shape and form of ginger that I bought to ward off sea sickness. There’s just no way I can stuff that lot up my bum.
I have flashback to when I visited New England 18 months earlier. Kate, my girlfriend of the time, made the grievous mistake of saving for later an apple she was given on the plane. The fruit and veg dog at Logan Airport went wild. Kate was thrown to the floor and forced to assume the position while her luggage was ransacked. I can picture Kate now, lying on the floor, waving her arms and legs about like an upturned beetle while the dog tried to take the Juicy Fruity gum out of her mouth. It was so funny. Tears of laughter rolled down my face. In retrospect I think my reaction that day may have been a contributory factor to our acrimonious break-up by the end of the holiday.
I decide to declare and resign myself to an hour of delay at the airport. But, despite the dire warnings, no one is bothered that I am a ginger smuggler and I am waved through. Luckily only I hear the small sigh of relief that emanates from my backpack. Wainwright! An intimate search would have been painful but bearable for me. I fear it would have proved fatal for my miniature companion.
Taking the train from the airport to the city centre a couple of friendly cops direct me towards the youth hostel that was to be my home for 3 nights. The bright, modern hostel had been a railway station itself in the past. I paid a little extra to stay in a 4 bed dorm that had been converted from an old railway carriage. It is situated on the old platform, separated by a glass platform from the real railway station. I can lie in bed and listen to the 22.27 to Cairns easing itself out of the station. If ever a bunk was designed to encourage wet dreams among rail enthusiasts, then this is surely it.
The excitement of my greatest adventure to date beat the jet lag and I was soon out of the door and wandering around Sydney. Inevitably, I was drawn to the two iconic landmarks that would be the focus of my stay in the city.
More coming soon.
Live long and prosper.
I have been enjoying the sense of being a writer this week, getting up reasonably early and working on Adventures of a Middle Aged Gapper, in between bouts of staring out of the window, random web surfing and damn fine cups of coffee. I have alternated between writing the opening to the book, which describes how I come to be having a gap year, and turning my notes on Australia into something I consider publishable.
At the risk of repeating some of what I wrote from Australia, here is what I have written about my journey to the land down under:
I opted to fly to Sydney without a lay-over. As anyone who has undertaken this journey will tell you, it is very disorientating. The flight left at 10pm and we flew through the night to Singapore for a one and half hour stop in the morning. Except it wasn’t morning, it was late afternoon and as we climbed back aboard the plane the sun was already setting. So, as we completed the journey to Australia I saw the sun rise twice in less than 24 hours. A new experience for me, but sadly not one on my list of challenges.
Arriving at the airport I break out in a sweat of nervousness that would become a drugs mule. Australia has very strict laws on the importation of virtually anything organic – vegetables, meat, dairy products, prescription drugs and even the soil on your shoes. A short film about the restrictions is shown on the plane. It ends with the ominous words:
‘Declare! You will be caught and you will be shot.’
I am carrying bags of pills for headaches, diahorrea, travel sickness, male menopause, sore joints, upset stomachs, snake bites and shark attacks. Not to mention my canisters of every shape and form of ginger that I bought to ward off sea sickness. There’s just no way I can stuff that lot up my bum.
I have flashback to when I visited New England 18 months earlier. Kate, my girlfriend of the time, made the grievous mistake of saving for later an apple she was given on the plane. The fruit and veg dog at Logan Airport went wild. Kate was thrown to the floor and forced to assume the position while her luggage was ransacked. I can picture Kate now, lying on the floor, waving her arms and legs about like an upturned beetle while the dog tried to take the Juicy Fruity gum out of her mouth. It was so funny. Tears of laughter rolled down my face. In retrospect I think my reaction that day may have been a contributory factor to our acrimonious break-up by the end of the holiday.
I decide to declare and resign myself to an hour of delay at the airport. But, despite the dire warnings, no one is bothered that I am a ginger smuggler and I am waved through. Luckily only I hear the small sigh of relief that emanates from my backpack. Wainwright! An intimate search would have been painful but bearable for me. I fear it would have proved fatal for my miniature companion.
Taking the train from the airport to the city centre a couple of friendly cops direct me towards the youth hostel that was to be my home for 3 nights. The bright, modern hostel had been a railway station itself in the past. I paid a little extra to stay in a 4 bed dorm that had been converted from an old railway carriage. It is situated on the old platform, separated by a glass platform from the real railway station. I can lie in bed and listen to the 22.27 to Cairns easing itself out of the station. If ever a bunk was designed to encourage wet dreams among rail enthusiasts, then this is surely it.
The excitement of my greatest adventure to date beat the jet lag and I was soon out of the door and wandering around Sydney. Inevitably, I was drawn to the two iconic landmarks that would be the focus of my stay in the city.
More coming soon.
Live long and prosper.
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