Sydney & Brisbane -Australia

The view from the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge is quite spectacular and so it should be after having to go through all the faff to get there. Breathalysers, the removal of everything except your pants, hankies and caps clipped to your overalls like a toddler, metal detectors, pat downs, training in how to go up and down steep steps, it feels like you are never going to get out onto the bridge. However, as soon as you do, even on the lower sections, it really is quite an exhilarating experience made even more enjoyable with an excellent guide full of fun and interesting stories, my favourite of which involved a flagpole. Australia is in the thick of trying to come to terms with the fact that there were people in the country long before the concept of Australia. One way of doing this has been to raise the Australian Aboriginal flag on the Sydney Harbour Bridge in place of the state flag and alongside the flag of Australia. The original plan was to have all three flags flying so that one didn’t have to be relegated but to erect a third flagpole on the top of the bridge was going to cost 25 million Australian dollars. The state flag was sacrificed.

We’ll come back to Sydney, but our time here was punctuated by a day trip up to Brisbane a good 900 kilometres further up the coast. For the very reason why I don’t think flying can be easily avoided or banned, I wasn’t prepared to miss an opportunity to see a great friend I had not seen for almost a decade. We could have taken the train but that would mean a 12-hour one-way trip. We therefore opted for the 90-minute flight (strike me down) but first we had to get to the airport at 6am on a Sunday morning. I simply do not understand Uber, possibly because I don’t need it at home because I can drive, I quite like using public transport, and I can walk quite a distance without complaining. The one place Uber would be great is where I live, out in the country where getting a taxi from the local train station to my home is often a challenge, but no, Uber is only available in areas that don’t need it, cities full of transport options and many taxis. But as we were in Sydney, I felt it was a moment to prove to Rut that I wasn’t falling behind with the times. I whipped out the Uber app, did the necessary and waited patiently, staring at the little cars on the map that captivated me sufficiently enough to forget I needed to get somewhere, none accepted. Luckily my temper won out, I closed the app, marched us down onto the street which was full of conventional taxis including one parked across the road. We piled in, we arrived at the airport, and we paid the same as an Uber that didn’t turn up.

Being a travel blog, airport chat is hard to avoid but I’ll try to keep this brief. Jetstar planes look like tin cans from the 70s. There was then the airport staff member shouting at people for looking at their phone while walking to the plane because the plane was being refuelled. Fair enough, rules are rules, but as soon as we walked into the plane the flight attendant was demanding to see our mobile boarding passes. The tin can was obviously far safer than I had first assumed, blocking all explosive signals from escaping the fuselage. The problem with tin cans and all enclosed places in general is that when someone let’s rip, no matter the safety rating of the plane, the experience is far from pleasant. For the entire trip up to Brisbane someone continually farted with such vehemence that I imagine it’s how one would feel if they were water boarded with sulphuric acid for 90 minutes. Never have I been so happy to exit a plane. Within minutes we were in the far more delightful company of Pete, a longstanding friend I had the pleasure to travel around South America with back in the day. We were whisked off to his beautiful house sat up in the hills on the outskirts of Brisbane to meet his family and experience the incredible views on offer sat out in the garden and serenaded with warm sunshine. The perfect day transpired, al fresco breakfast followed by a walk around the surrounding forest, a BBQ featuring kangaroo steak, a trip into Samford village for live music, drinks and a pub dinner, and all the while plenty of good banter. The whole day felt homely and comforting, the very opposite of travelling, and I boarded the flight back to Sydney a little jealous of what Pete and his family had achieved and were working towards but thankful for a day both Rut and I needed.

Our 12-hour trip to Brisbane had been a great success but it was business as usual the very next day getting up in good time and catching the train from Sydney to Katoomba two hours away up in the Blue Mountains. I wish we hadn’t bothered and had stayed in bed. Despite having to be back in the city for a social engagement at 7pm I was determined we could smash out two hikes amounting to around 10 kilometres that involved descending the Giant Stairway twice. We got off the train and walked at pace through the town which looked a shadow of the experience I can remember when I visited in 2008. The weather didn’t help but the town looked tired, rundown and exhausted, and felt more like a street in the China Town of a major city than a country tourist town in Australia. We arrived at the famed viewing point for the Three Sisters, but the rock formation and the epic views of a forested valley were nowhere to be seen thanks to fog so thick it was virtually impossible to see the safety barriers. Disappointed but undeterred we began hiking and made our first descent down the almost 1,000 steps of the Giant Stairway, a steep set of steps carved into the mountainside assisted by sections of metal platforms clinging to the side of the cliff that would usually offer vertigo inducing views before stepping foot onto the valley floor. At the bottom we turned left, through damp and moody forest before climbing a similar number of steps out of the valley, completing a loop, headed back down the Giant Stairway, turned right, got drenched, and then ripped off. The path leading out of the valley on this side was closed and so we either had to turn back or take the world’s steepest train which disappointingly said one-way tickets weren’t available. No bother, the weather was horrendous, and we hopped on the train expecting to pay a round-trip ticket at the top. Nope, we had to spend over $100 on tickets that included all the ‘rides’ the train operator had in the vicinity including several cable cars. We didn’t want cable cars as we had neither the time nor the inclination to be pushed around by hordes of excitable Asian tourists, plus there was nothing to see but thick fog. What bollocks. Despite a spectacular attempt at ruining our day we still managed to enjoy a damp picnic, walk 10 kilometres, and make it back to Sydney in time for a warm shower and attempt to look respectable for an evening with our new friends. This was a local Sydney couple we had met on the wine tour in Perth a few weeks before and they went out of their way to make sure we could get together in Sydney for a few drinks. No wasn’t an answer, thankfully. We were collected and taken to a morish rotating cocktail bar offering insane views of the city and scrumptious gin and tonics. For a second day in a row we were treated to exceptional hospitality that any Australian will unleash on anyone deemed slightly worthy.

The trifecta was completed the very next day when we met with another great travelling friend, Caz, a Sydney local who again went out of her way to spend the day with us, walking along the coastal path and enjoying a couple of bottles of wine overlooking Bondi Beach. It never fails to amaze me the generosity of people whether it’s after only spending one day with them, a couple of weeks, or a couple of months; time doesn’t matter with great friends, you can usually pick up right were you left things. Caz had recommended we walk the Spit Bridge to Manly section of the coastal path which we duly managed to squeeze in a few days before. The weather was at its best and the coastal views were something special, especially as we started to follow the deceptive path around to Manly. For the whole six-to-ten-kilometre hike (the distance appeared to vary depending on the signs) little beaches appeared through the trees to reveal tiny postcard perfect places to swim in the clearest of waters only we hadn’t brought any swimwear and it was a touch chilly. After several well-earned beers at the local brewery in Manly we jumped on the ferry back to the Sydney where I insisted Rut sat outside in the cold much to her chagrin. The gamble paid off, we rounded a headland and the opera house and bridge came into full view spectacularly lit up in the cool night sky. Sydney does this to people. I’ve visited at least four times in my lifetime and it still makes me go wow. But then so does Australia in general, and their people. Despite never feeling fully comfortable accepting other people’s hospitality, some of my best moments travelling are visiting mates in their home country that I may not have seen for ages. I leave Sydney mentally and physically drained and craving some time with my book, a testament to great friends, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. Cheers.