Sydney continued...

Sydney continued…

After buying a map, riding the bus around the city center and chatting with a few locals (One local gave me a free map minutes after I’d purchased one…It’s still in the plastic.) I felt more confident to hit the pavement on foot and set about exploring the city.

Starving because I hadn’t eaten all day I stopped to buy a bag of banana chips and two peaches from a roadside fruit vendor with a heavy Turkish accent. He showed me the green line bus, a free bus line that runs 9:30 to 3:30 daily up and down the main downtown streets. Monetary, time and convenience ironies like this occur all the time on the road. I think that if I were a bit more patient then I would discover these freebies before spending as much money. Who knows?

Munching along, a bit frustrated about being $30 poorer for no good reason, I made my way toward the Sydney harbour. I was walking through the Rocks, an old section on the waterfront full of cobble streets, original stone building built by the convicts/settlers of Sydney, cafes, shops, galleries and restaurants, when I paused in front of a nude photography gallery and was approached by the photographer.

“Come in. You timing is perfect. We were looking for someone to give a makeover,” the Israeli photographer said. (No nudity was required)

The gallery was full of fleshy photos, tastefully done. The photographer had shot for the likes of Vogue and other flashy publications.

A young German girl sat me down in a chair and started painting my face. The three of us chatted throughout the makeover and before too long she’d completed my transformation. I haven’t had makeup on in about five months so the change was shocking, and rather impressive. I was stunned by how good her work was, and my hair looked awesome. She straightened and fluffed giving me a voluminous head of slick locks (The tragic haircut I suffered a month ago is not so bad anymore. The layers have grown and softened in severity.)

Leaving the gallery I felt mismatched. From the neck and up I looked great, but I was wearing shorts, a tank-top and a backpack that didn’t even whisper the word glamorous. But I worked it…turning heads along the way (real or imagined).

I stopped in more aboriginal art galleries, walked along the water and took photos of the infamous Harbour Bridge and Opera house and was pleasantly surprised to see Prince William arrive in a stream of security vehicles, greet the crowd and board a boat (He is thinner, older and balder in person).

Walking still, but now armoured with a cup of coffee, I found a nice park across from Central Station to sit and read while I waited for instructions from my couchsurfing host (he was to be off work by 5:30 and it was nearly 4:30). Worried because I hadn’t heard any news, I decided to phone him and discovered that my phone wasn’t working. Crap!

Another girl in the park loaned me her phone and I was able to get in touch with Brett.

As instructed, I retrieved my backpack from the internet café, caught a bus to Newmarket (a cool area of the city with lots of cafes and thrify shops, mostly a university area) and met him infront of a red Marlborough Hotel.

He was a nice, in his early 20s, blond and blue eyed. I classic Aussie guy. And soon we were off, driving the 30 minutes to his house in the suburbs.

During the drive I reflected on my day. Sydney didn’t knock my socks off, but it did subtly impress me. It’s a city of beaches, a relaxed and tanned population and beautiful weather. I enjoyed my romp through the streets, but it was a relief to be driving with Brett into the suburbs where he and his family dwelled.