Sydney, Australia

We arrived in Sydney in the late morning after a very comfortable overnight flight. Australia! The train took us speedily to Circular Quay (a quay, but not circular, not even slightly!), where our hotel was located. And, as it turned out, some bridge or other…

We dumped our bags at the hotel and headed out for a look around and some lunch. It was a beautiful sunny day, “the crushed diamond water under a sky the texture of powdered sapphires”, to quote Sydney’s famous son, Clive James.

There was a certain brittle brightness to everything, after a night on the plane and losing three hours, but all in all we were both feeling pretty un-jet-lagged, which had been one of the aims of travelling slowly Down Under. It was still rather surreal, though, on one side the Harbour Bridge, on the other the Opera House, both sights you’ve seen countless times in photographs, films, New Year celebrations and so on, but there they actually were.

The bridge was browner than I’d remembered, very sturdy and industrial looking, huge twin stone towers at either side. Two enormous flags flew on the top, one the Australia flag, the other the flag of New South Wales. It was just possible to make out small groups of brave souls doing the ‘bridge climb’ *shudders*

On the opposite side of the harbour, the Opera House. It looks very white in pictures, but it’s not, it’s sort of pearlescent, with tiles on the ‘shells’. It’s extraordinary, the sails, the silhouette, the essential symbolic Australian-ness of it, despite having been designed by a Dane.

The harbour was busy with ferries zipping about, and one enormous cruise ship dominating everyone’s view. The really big ones are too tall to get under the bridge to Darling Harbour, but there’s only room for one in Sydney Harbour. Quite a spectacle when they leave, backing out infinitely slowly and then turning in place (bow thrusters!) before chugging off towards Manly and the sea.

We had dinner down by the harbour on our first night, watching the sun go down and the lights twinkle on.

And avoiding the seagulls, who will nick your dinner given half a chance. They’re surprisingly tiny, but quite tenacious. There was also a very colourful parrot.

So, Day One, and armed with our list of recommendations (thanks, Pete!), we got on the ferry to Manly. The main point of this was to see Sydney from the water, and it was great, new views of the harbour, the bridge, the Opera house, with the business district behind. Manly was lovely too, relaxed and quiet, and we enjoyed a stroll to the beach to dip our toes in the Tasman Sea. (Probably. It just might have been the Coral Sea!)

The sea looked a little rough for swimming, there were lots of signs warning about the undertow and currents, and a lady was knocked off her feet by a big wave right in front of us. There were surfers, of course, and lifeguards in little sand-buggies. We had a relaxed lunch looking out over the beach, and then headed back on the ferry to write the postcards we had bought. Later on we walked around to Darling Harbour further inland for dinner, some excellent steaks, and then it was up to the 36th floor of our hotel for a digestivo, looking back out over Darling Harbour on one side and the Harbour Bridge on the other.

Day Two was to be the Day of the Opera. First, though, a quick trip up to Observatory Hill. There were great views from up there, and a real feeling of ‘old’ Sydney.

The “Rocks” area, where it all began, was made up of little pedestrian streets, and the restored warehouses and low-rise waterfront were quite a contrast to the steel and glass skyscrapers of the business district. We had an early lunch at a little café, which served the second nicest bread anywhere in the world**. Officially. It was rye, dark and rich, gorgeous with a bit of smashed avocado on the top. Over this side of the harbour, your lunch was more likely to be the subject of Ibis-assault than snatched by a seagull. And an Ibis is an enormous thing to suddenly appear on your table with its six inch beak perilously close to your sandwich!

So, to the opera. Neither of us are fans of the form, actually, but the Opera House has a very strong pull, and we’d surprised ourselves by deciding it was something we shouldn’t miss. We’d booked tickets to see Turandot in the Joan Sutherland hall, the smaller of the two concert halls. The larger hall is used for orchestral and other concerts, as we discovered on an afternoon tour of the whole venue. It was really interesting, a lot of surprising history, including the fact that the Danish architect, Jörn Utzon, won a competition to design the Opera House with a simple sketch of the sails and no real idea of how to build it. It ran way over time and hugely over budget, and Utzon never saw the finished building in person, having parted company with the project after the completion of the exterior. Inside it’s a weirdly beautiful combination of concrete and wood, with sprays of concrete ribs radiating up through the shells, reminiscent of the hidden parts of piano keys.

It’s everything that the National Theatre in London is not, a real lesson in how to use concrete for good. We were both surprised by how much we liked it. Utzon returned to the project to design a series of modern alterations before his death, and his two architect sons are continuing his practice’s association with the building as it is brought sensitively into the 21st century, so there was a rapprochement of sorts. It still seems a shame, though, that he never saw the shells gleaming in the sunlight in person.

The two concert halls sit side by side, and are set up completely differently. The opera theatre is as black as night inside, quite narrow, and with a feeling of intimacy – the stage seems quite close even from back in the circle. The large concert hall is all blond wood, a huge organ at the back, and plastic flying saucers up in the ceiling, which are lowered during concerts to allow the orchestra to hear what they are playing. Inside it could be the twin of Manchester’s Bridgewater Hall.

After our tour, we were really excited to be coming back for the evening performance. We had dinner in the Overture restaurant first, on the balcony just outside the Joan Sutherland hall, looking out over the Harbour Bridge.

At least until the enormo-ship departed, at which point it filled the window with cabins and people, flashes going off all over as the passengers took what must have been spectacular pictures of the Opera House (and of us having our dinner). In truth it went past pretty fast, but it was like the Vogon constructor fleet for about five minutes, if you know your Douglas Adams!

Into the theatre then, and to our seats in the circle. Puccini’s Turandot is a Chinese princess who sets her suitors riddles, and then beheads them with some glee when they inevitably fail to answer correctly. Calaf determines that he will do better, seemingly mainly besotted with the alluring perfume of the princess, and despite being the object of the love of his father’s slave girl, Liu. [Spoiler alerts now…] He answers the riddles correctly, much to Turandot’s horror. She begins an extraordinary back-sliding, with a string of excuses as to why she won’t go through with the marriage after all. It was all very well when she was happily beheading idiot suitors, but now she’s been won, she’s not sure any of it was a good idea. Calaf offers to leave her alone if she can find out his name before sunrise. Cue “Nessun Dorma”, none shall sleep til Turandot finds out his name. Liu, who knows his name, kills herself rather than reveal it, at which point Turandot decides love is the answer and everyone lives happily ever after. Except Liu, of course. Phew! Quite a tale.

It was a great experience, we both really enjoyed the evening, the spectacle, the costumes and the staging. I’ll never be a fan of all that coloratura wobbly voice stuff, especially from the sopranos, although Liu had a very pleasant voice, and Calaf’s rendition of Nessun Dorma was enjoyable. Vincerò, and all that. It must be like embarking on one of the more familiar Shakespearean soliloquies. Deep breath! It was very different to a theatrical performance, much more akin to ballet, I’d say, and even as a reasonably competent Italian speaker, it was practically impossible to hear the words, even when you could guess what they might be from the English surtitles projected above the stage. All in all it had been a grand night, and we retired to the hotel with our first (and probably last!) night at the opera successfully completed.

Our last day in Sydney was a relaxed affair, a quick trip around the Botanic Gardens by ‘petit train’, and a visit to a little museum to learn about the origins of the city, the arrival of the First Fleet, and the difficulties of settlement.

Dinner on the other side of the harbour bridge was a fish-fest, with barramundi at last – like sea bass, but larger, a lovely earthy flavour. We were served by the Australian spitting image of Steven Berkoff, which was disconcerting!

It had been a lovely few days, we’d both enjoyed Sydney very much, so much to see, warm and friendly people (“no worries!”), a new experience at the opera, that extraordinary ever-present view of world-famous landmarks and some wonderful food. We rose early, and whizzed efficiently to the airport on the train for the flight to New Zealand. New Zealand! Our furthest destination, and the main purpose of this trip. Really looking forward to unpacking properly for a few weeks!

** The nicest bread anywhere in the world comes from Amalfi, of course.

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