12 long hours on the night bus took me from Byron Bay to Sydney. I knew I would be too early to check in to my hostel, but thankfully I was able to leave my bags in the reception whilst I popped across the road for breakfast in a roadside cafe. Tiny, with only a handful of tables inside, I ordered through the window in the wall and took a seat outside to soak in my new surroundings. With alfresco dining and such petite interiors it felt quite European, like I had suddenly appeared on a street in Paris. Once I’d eaten, and made use of the best internet connection I’d had in weeks to contact home, I went to check in to my room. The lady at reception seemed quite flustered, and she informed me that they had accidentally overbooked. She said luckily there was a bed available for me, and led me upstairs to the long-term residents room. It turned out that the ‘free’ bed actually belonged to a guest who had just gone away for the weekend, and some of his belongings still lay scattered across it - including a few pairs of pants that I refused to look too closely at. This really annoyed me, as not only is it unprofessional (and pretty gross), but they were now being paid twice for this bed. When I brought this up with the woman she said he would be refunded for that night, but I remain sceptical that he ever knew I was there. It was only for one night, though, so I shrugged it off and made plans that would keep me out for as long as possible.
Because of the extra day spent in Byron I only had three days to explore the city, so I knew I had a lot to cram in. Day 1 was for all the typical tourist attractions. I wandered down back roads and quiet residential streets in Kings Cross and Woolloomooloo, where I found Finger Wharf, an old cargo dock with an attractive blue exterior that has been converted into a hub for fine dining, right on the water’s edge. From there it was a short walk to the gorgeous Botanic Gardens, sprinkled with sunbathers and home to The Art Gallery of New South Wales. I spent a few hours there, engrossed in an exhibition that had opened that day called ‘Japan Supernatural’, an exciting curation of imaginative pieces based on ancient Japanese folklore and ghost stories. Featuring work by artists past and present, it was fascinating to learn of the characters that have been passed down through generations. I even got to see artist Kentaro Yoshida at work, creating epic wall murals in the main entrance. Once I’d had my fill of Japanese culture, I went to find something a little more synonymous with Sydney: the Opera House. A serene stroll through the gardens and beside the harbour took me straight to the iconic building, its unique curves dominating the skyline and gripping the attention of passersby. It was so surreal to see it in person. I had, of course, seen countless images of it throughout my life, being Australia’s most recognisable landmark. But being up close, observing the strange architecture from all angles, becoming one of the indistinguishable figures that look like mere specks hovering around it in photographs - it felt like I was seeing it for the very first time. I realised then that, as powerful as photos can be, they can never do justice to the feeling of experiencing something, anything, first hand. This is the feeling we’re searching for when we travel.
Evening was setting in and so was my hunger. I passed the busy, and pricey, restaurants in Circular Quay in search of something a little more within my budget. With no internet to guide me, I began roaming the myriad of streets, but I struggled to find anywhere that was open. It was so weird; Saturday evening in the largest city in the country, and the streets felt deserted. I checked my calendar - it wasn’t a holiday of any kind, nor was there a major event taking place that would draw people away from the restaurants and bars, only the rugby world cup final later that night which would, if anything, make the city more lively. I eventually found a Nando’s, which wasn’t exactly thriving either, but I decided it would have to do. I couldn’t keep wandering around aimlessly, not with my increasingly hangry mood. After a fairly unsatisfying dinner I headed back to the hostel. I joined a group in the TV room to watch the match, then crashed into bed with sore muscles and aching feet, ready for another early start the next day.
The following morning felt like de ja vu, as I boarded the train, headed to my new hostel, and was once again too early to access my room. Squeezing my bags into the overcrowded luggage room, I left to do some window shopping and familiarise myself with my new, slightly more central, location. Browsing the stores was nice for an hour or so, and generally I have no issue with exploring without purpose, but I wasn’t particularly interested in anything around me. Nothing was jumping out as unique to Sydney, or even Australia; similarly to my time in Brisbane, I felt like I could have been back in the UK, as so many of the shops and restaurants, and the general atmosphere, around me were the same as those in the likes of London and Manchester. That’s not a bad thing per se, it’s just underwhelming after having travelled half way round the world to see it. Having said this, one thing that made the morning memorable was seeing the first Christmas decorations of the year. Coming across a glistening tree in a shopping mall, with festive songs lingering in the air singing of snow and reindeer, whilst I was dressed in summer clothes and stinking of suncream, was such a juxtaposing moment it was impossible not to crack a smile.
By the time I was able to move my belongings to my room, and bag myself a bottom bunk, it was mid afternoon and the day felt like it was rapidly slipping away from me. It was my only chance to get to Bondi, so I bolted to the station. A fairly lengthy train and bus ride later, I had my toes in the sand of one of the most iconic beaches in the world. It was actually smaller than I imagined, and more ‘man-made’, but it felt so good to be out of the concrete jungle and by the sea again. I wanted to walk from there to Coogee, as I’d been told the path along the coast is incredibly scenic, but the weather had other ideas. It had been overcast all day, and it wasn’t long before the gloomy grey clouds that had been lingering over the ocean when I arrived moved overhead and gave way to thunderous downpours. I got pretty soaked just running the short distance from the beach to the picnic shelters behind, so I decided it wasn’t worth the risk getting myself or my camera drenched halfway down the coast path, or having to return in darkness. So, feeling a little deflated, I got back on the bus and returned to the city earlier than expected. My mood picked up that evening, however, when I met a friend for a couple of drinks whom I’d travelled on-and-off with for the last few weeks. I had felt quite lonely since arriving in Sydney, the first time I’d truly felt that way since my trip started. I suppose I hadn’t really been travelling on my own since The Whitsundays, but the group that had formed along the way dispersed after Byron Bay, so I was left to start from scratch. Sydney was also by far the biggest and most daunting place I’d been, which was only going to emphasise this sense of isolation.
I was up early (again) for a day trip to the Blue Mountains, a national park about an hour and a half inland from the city. It boasts dramatic scenery, consisting of dense eucalyptus forests, towering waterfalls and steep cliff faces. Our guide was Billy, a Brit who had settled in Australia several years ago, but his knowledge of the area’s geography, history and wildlife was seriously impressive. He recounted the fascinating stories told of the mountains, including how the distinct rock formation ‘The Three Sisters’ came to be, according to Indigenous folklore. It’s a shame to admit that he was the first tour guide I’d had that not only acknowledged the significance of the park to native communities, but openly embraced the deep-rooted, varied history of the area, and emphasised the importance of showing respect whilst there. After taking in the full expanse of the mountain range, ever-so-slightly tinged with blue (hence the name, although we didn’t get to see them at their most vivid) from Echo Point, Billy led us down into the forest. He spent time showing us exposed walls of the mountains that looked like faces, and educating us on how caves and overhangs were once used for shelter and communication by Indigenous people. He pointed out the nests of funnel web spiders, and explained in meticulous detail the fate of anyone who goes near one, which meant I, of course, saw them everywhere we went. Finally, we ended up at the foot of a waterfall, soaring hundreds of feet above us. We spent a while taking photos and admiring the raw beauty of the nature surrounding us, then began to head back up. I could’ve taken the train - the steepest in the world for any railway fans out there - but saved the dollars and put my legs to good use instead. Despite some lethal steps right at the beginning, it was a scenic and surprisingly short hike back to the van. Once we arrived back in the city, I had just enough time to hop on the ferry to Manly for a quick wander by the beach and a well-earned ice cream break. Then I was on the water once again, just in time to catch the sun setting behind Sydney’s skyline, illuminating the Opera House and Harbour Bridge as the boat headed into the quay. A beautifully calm ending to my whistle-stop weekend.
I’d like to revisit Sydney, as three days just wasn’t enough to fully experience it at its best. There were so many things I didn’t get to try: the walk to Coogee, or just seeing Bondi on a good day; a show at the Opera House; or a proper meal in what’s swiftly becoming known as a favourite destination for foodies. Due to early mornings every day of my stay, I wasn’t able to sample the nightlife that the city is renowned for, and I barely touched the sides when it comes to exploring the diverse neighbourhoods that give any city its unique sense of character. I ticked off all the major highlights, and managed to cram A LOT into the few days I had, but I left wanting more, and feeling like my time there was incomplete. But I suppose this is the sign of a special place, that people can leave knowing they’ll return, one day.
Stay tuned, next stop: Melbourne.