Sydney. Part II.

Upon arriving in the city of Sydney at 7:20 am, I was overwhelmed with excitement. I was like a kid in a candy store. The cashed up type of kid. Spoilt, usually fat, rich, rather horrible excuses for children, they are too. Well that's what I was like! I had the greatest city in Australia at my disposal for 30 hours. So off I went, Crumpler flailing madly behind me, in search of a coffee.

I walked up George Street hoping to find something more suitable than Starbucks, and after twenty minutes, came across a little place called The Workshop. Not only was it adequately pretentious, but there was a queue of no less than fifteen business men and women waiting for their morning caffeine fix. This was confirmation enough that the coffee at this joint was of an adequate quality. And sure enough, it was. I also caught the eye of attractive barista on the left as he made my large strong soy latte which only affirmed my belief that Sydney was the city of Gods.

Equipped with a delicious coffee in hand thirteen minutes later, I was ready to take on the world! Or rather, Sydney. I ventured into the beautiful Queen Victoria Building. Now let me just say, the Melbourne GPO is a poor attempt to replicate Sydney's QVB. I couldn't help but admire how much better Sydney was to Melbourne in every single way. I even decided it smelt nicer than Melbourne. I was convinced that Sydney smelt sexy. It literally smelt attractive. Like CK One or Intimitely Beckham, but rather than wafting from any particular mandouche, it had been sprayed over the entire city. At this stage, I was blinded by love for this place.

I decided that first on the agenda was a trip to the lovely suburb of Double Bay to find the Finnish Consulate, or as we like to say in Helsinki, the Suomen Konsulaatti. This required boarding a train at Town Hall to Edgecliff. Not only are Sydney's stations ridiculously hot, they are impossible to navigate. I felt like I had a massive sign over my head that flashed STUPID MELBOURNE TOURIST, because I definitely became one that first day. On my first attempt at using the station, I bought a one-way ticket from the airport to the city, only to have it get stuck inside the ticket barrier on my way out of the station. "Great," I thought, "on my first day in a foreign city, at peak hour, something manages to go wrong." A nice gentleman kindly pointed out to me that I had in fact, bought a one-way ticket and thus, the machine will take it at the end of your trip. "Right, thanks! I'm from Melbourne!" I pathetically spluttered in reply. He nodded as if he understood and sympathised, and was on his way.

Second attempt at the station was just as difficult, as I was running up stairs and falling down escalators all over the place. Platforms were stacked upon platforms and there were trains with all sorts of levels going in all sorts of directions and I missed at least three of the bastards. Eventually, with the assistance of several old-fashioned station guards, I ended up on a train on my way to Edgecliff. Now I would just like to speak about these station guards, if that is what they are called. They stand on the station with a flag to signal the train conductor, while another will hang out of the train door. It is all very old-fashioned and lovely. Melbourne's public transport system is not so personal. There are only grumpy ticket inspectors at the gates. Once we had tram conductors, and I can remember how endearing they were with their ticket bags and socks and smiles. Nothing good ever lasts.

Anyway, what was required was boarding a train to Edgecliff to go to the Finnish Consulate to submit my Finnish Passport application. After a long, humid, winding walk through pretty Double Bay, I made it to the consulate where I was greeted with an excited hyvää huomenta! Very soon after this initial greeting, I started to fret, for I had not brought with me my certificate of Finnish Citizenship; a document I hadn't even heard of, let alone owned. So after a few moments of unnecessary panic, she decided she did not need it, and I handed over my $156, and was on my way again.

After lunch in the seedy Kings Cross which was regrettably not very seedy at midday, I decided to fill in some more time by catching the Monorail to the Chinese Garden of Friendship. This was certainly a $3 well spent. It was the most charming place I went to whilst in Sydney. It is a clean, peaceful, haven in the midst of a panicking, polluted city. It was the one time I was disappointed I was on my own, for I did not have anybody to dress up with in the traditional Imperial costumes based on designs from the Ming and Ching dynasties and take my photo in the circle that people like to do to make themselves seem more spiritual and cultural. I am sure one of the little Chinese ladies who were supplying the traditional Imperial costumes based on designs from the Ming and Ching dynasties would have been more than willing to take my picture as I stupidly stood there on the circle, but you know, come on. No.

After checking into my Heritage Listed and appropriately crap hotel, I had a well earned thirty-minute nap - my first snooze since waking at 8:30 the previous morning. I then changed into the most Sydney/stylish clothing I could find, and decided to wander around Circular Quay, because Sydney Harbour is Amazing with a capital Am. I walked all the way around through to Wooloomooloo, and then back through the Botanical Gardens. These Gardens had a delightful little herb garden! It wasn't as nice as the C G of F, but it had countless pretty smells emanating from everywhere. It made me want to go straight home and plant seeds in my own little herb garden! Instead, I went back to my Heritage Listed but still very crappy hotel for some pay-tv goodness, which involved the 50 top songs of the nineties. My night was officially complete.