Adventures in Sydney
09th October 2009
Sydney’s a big city.
So big in fact, that you’d think you could escape the local drunks.
This was not the case yesterday.
I made my long-awaited and much anticipated trip into the city, excited by the prospect of sitting by the harbour, watching the world go by while lapping up the sun’s warming rays. In reality, and stark contrast to Surfers Paradise, it was cold, windy and I needed two jumpers on to keep warm. I’m sure many of you will find that amusing, I didn’t.
The fact that it was probably the same temperature during spring in Sydney as it was in Essex in autumn did not deter me. I carried on round to the opera house, keen to get some photos. I found a sheltered spot and sat down to watch the busload of tourists decked out in bright red hats as they climbed the steps to the opera house, taking photos all the way. That’s when it happened. He sprung out of nowhere. The drunk. “Why are you sitting there?” “Where are you from?” Time to move before he sat down next to me.
About half an hour later, I was taking some photos, absorbed by f stops and shutter speeds and waiting for clouds to blow out of my shot, when I heard: “Why are you standing so close to that?” He’d found me again and proceeded to tell me that other people take photos from over there. Well, I’m taking one from here, I said and moved away again.
I followed the red hats as they wandered through to have their photos taken with the bridge in the background and then left the opera house. I mooched about in the Quay, watching the boats come and go, then headed for home.
There are hundreds of bus stops in Sydney.
So many in fact, that you’d think there’s no way on earth the drunk you’ve been dodging all day would turn up at the same one as you.
Think again.
There I was waiting for the 433 to Balmain, when I saw him. Walking towards me.
Noooooooo!
He proceeded to talk to me about the Storm washing away the Eels. He wasn’t talking about the weather, but referring to the Grand Final in which Melbourne (Storm) had beaten Paramatta (Eels). Not wanting to engage with my new stalker I turned my back and studied the timetable.
Thankfully, he jumped on the next bus and left me standing there, checking over my shoulder in case he’d got back off at the next stop and sneaked up on me again.
So big in fact, that you’d think you could escape the local drunks.
This was not the case yesterday.
I made my long-awaited and much anticipated trip into the city, excited by the prospect of sitting by the harbour, watching the world go by while lapping up the sun’s warming rays. In reality, and stark contrast to Surfers Paradise, it was cold, windy and I needed two jumpers on to keep warm. I’m sure many of you will find that amusing, I didn’t.
The fact that it was probably the same temperature during spring in Sydney as it was in Essex in autumn did not deter me. I carried on round to the opera house, keen to get some photos. I found a sheltered spot and sat down to watch the busload of tourists decked out in bright red hats as they climbed the steps to the opera house, taking photos all the way. That’s when it happened. He sprung out of nowhere. The drunk. “Why are you sitting there?” “Where are you from?” Time to move before he sat down next to me.
About half an hour later, I was taking some photos, absorbed by f stops and shutter speeds and waiting for clouds to blow out of my shot, when I heard: “Why are you standing so close to that?” He’d found me again and proceeded to tell me that other people take photos from over there. Well, I’m taking one from here, I said and moved away again.
I followed the red hats as they wandered through to have their photos taken with the bridge in the background and then left the opera house. I mooched about in the Quay, watching the boats come and go, then headed for home.
There are hundreds of bus stops in Sydney.
So many in fact, that you’d think there’s no way on earth the drunk you’ve been dodging all day would turn up at the same one as you.
Think again.
There I was waiting for the 433 to Balmain, when I saw him. Walking towards me.
Noooooooo!
He proceeded to talk to me about the Storm washing away the Eels. He wasn’t talking about the weather, but referring to the Grand Final in which Melbourne (Storm) had beaten Paramatta (Eels). Not wanting to engage with my new stalker I turned my back and studied the timetable.
Thankfully, he jumped on the next bus and left me standing there, checking over my shoulder in case he’d got back off at the next stop and sneaked up on me again.