Am I jaded?

Damn, I'm TIRED. I got to my hotel room at 7, read for a bit and then figured I'd close my eyes for a few minutes before going out to dinner. Between 8 and 9, I had to repeatedly wrench myself out of increasingly deeper naps. I told myself all sorts of stuff like "the restaurants are going to close" and "you're messing with your sleep later tonight," but when I'm sleeping, my body pretty much does everything in its power to stay that way. I finally got myself up at 9 with the promise that I could just go downstairs to go online and then bring food back into the room. I've had enough people watching for a lifetime anyway, and what's vacation about if not relaxing with yet another trashy novel in bed?

So I started my day with the Harbour Bridge climb. Actually, my day started by trying to locate the meeting place, which went rather badly. I had the address and a map, but the streets got rather wonky around there and number 5 Cumberland Place was difficult to get to. I made the mistake of actually getting onto the bridge and walking along it until a security guard pointed me in the right direction, which turned out to be about 20 feet past the bridge entrance.

I have to say, the whole climb thing turned out to be rather lame. There was lots of preparation, including climbing into a stinky suit and clipping all sorts of gear and walking up a practice ladder. There was about 12 of us in the group, and our tour guide Doug who fancied himself a comedian until none of us laughed at his jokes. The guy also spent about half the introduction telling us all about himself, where he was from, all the other adventurous activities he does, offering discounted ski lesson rates and later on, a story that went on far too long about how he led the director Peter Weir on a bridge climb and what an honor that was. Oy.

The climb started off scary enough, as we were walking along catwalks several feet in the air. I discovered a new fear of heights, even though they assured us the strenght of the bridge that was built in 1928. I didn't like standing over the traffic and watching it zoom by below my feet. But the climbing part turned out to be basically one ladder, and the rest was rather easy steps and slopes. Nothing terribly strenuous, which was disappointing. And we Kept. On. Stopping. They let groups up 10 minutes apart, so I guess we were waiting for others to clear out, and maybe they feel that for $169 per person, they should stretch out the experience to make it worthwhile. But it was just so ridiculously boring. Take a few steps, stop, listen to Doug reel off incredibly dully commentary. I can't even remember any of it to prove my point. He was pretty knowledgeable about the view we were seeing, which was also pretty spectacular from that height. And he told a few good anecdotes about bridge builders, etc., but then he would try to get all bantery about "Aussie footie" and other such topics that made no sense to anyone but the three Australialians on the trip.

The height was impressive and I stopped being scared once we were up over the water, although that too is referred to as a "no survival zone." Falling from that distance is the equivalent of smacking onto concrete, but we were latched onto the railing and there were a few workers wandering around up there with no security at all so there seemed to be no cause for concern.

So three hours later with a rumbling tummy, I gratefully took off my stinky suit and headed out on a quest for a new book and a pub lunch. That too, took a very long time to find, but long story short, I picked up a trashy Candace Bushnell book and Annie Proulx's (sp?) collection of short stories that includes Brokeback Mountain. Guess which one I'm reading? The pub wound up being perfect- located on George Street (which I know intimately now since it's a main road and connects Darling Harbour, where I'm staying, with Circular Quay where most of the touristy stuff like the bridge and the Sydney Opera House are located. It's about a mile walk between the two and I haven't figured out the public transportation in this area). The pub only served sandwiches until 2:30 and it was 2:15, so I got a yummy grilled ham and cheese with all sorts of funny condiments like tomato relish. And a pint of beer which I think is called Tahooney, but I may be mixing up some letters there.

After much debate in my head (the beauty of traveling alone) I decided it was worth it to figure out how to get to Bondi (pronounced Bond-eye, which I still can't get used to) Beach. I'm not much of a beach person, and I'm definitely jaded from my family having a beach house since I was 8 and now living in Los Angeles. But I've always had this image of surfer dudes on a golden toned Australian beach that I haven't seen matched in Los Angeles, and I figured I'd never get this opportunity again. Good thing adventurous Sark beat out lazy Sark, because Bondi Beach is simply stunning. The Sydney information office was on trusty George Street, and they pointed me toward the public bus that would take me there in about 45 minutes. It was starting to get chilly, so once there, I didn't pressure myself to do anything but what I wanted. And that meant walking along the beach for a few minutes, taking in the dozens of surfer dudes that littered the waves (and boy, are those guys part of that stunning scenary I mentioned a minute ago) and then just read my book/people watched on a cafe patio while drinking a "skinny latte" (my other favorite is a "skinny flat white," which means no foam at all). I was back on the bus within the hour, feeling perfectly satisfied.

Once back on George Street and walking to the hotel, I did a little impulse shopping and picked up yet another- oh jeez, I just realized it's not a hoodie. Okay, I picked up a hoodless sweatshirt jacket. Oh well, it's cute because it's black with a pink color and cuffs and a little crest on the chest. Well, it's either totally cute or incredibly dorky. Plus a shirt and a cheapie necklace, cursing myself for all the money I've spent today but really enjoying the atmosphere. It was chilly out and getting dark, and I was navigating through bustling city crowds, and the whole feeling just reminded me of being in New York again. Cold weather and foot traffic and impulse shopping on the way home aren't part of normal LA life.

So all in all, Sydney seems like a lovely city that I could easily live in, but I'm also very happy to move on and explore other regions now. I look forward to Monday when I can wander around Melbourne's city center, and of course 5 weeks of getting to know Wellington. But for now, I think food and sleep are my primary goals of the night.