Tag: Australia travel

Sydney Harbour Bridge

Looking down through the enormous structure I saw the cars speeding by. Below these the harbour of Sydney glittered in the sunlight. If I thought about the bridge’s height I may have not walked its arch to its summit. But I did.

The Sydney Harbour bridge stands at 440 feet high from the waters level and stretches 160 feet across the harbour itself. The steel of the bridge weighs over 52,000 tonnes and has four gigantic concrete pillars to support its massive size. Just another walk in the park eh?

In February 2013, my mum and I undertook a mammoth trip to Australia and our last stop was Sydney. Wandering the city meant constantly being in the shadow of the skyscrapers but out on the harbours you really felt the fresh air return to your lungs. We spent a lot of time wandering the harbour and exploring the beaches by ferry and bus. It was so intricate with its coves and tree and rock dotted cliffs that it was hard to turn away from. The islands of the harbour itself were stunning and for a few hours we whiled away our time on Shark Island, just the two of us. As the only visitors we were the king of our own castle and it felt very strange to be on such a small piece of land in one of the most known harbours in the entire world. 

Sydney has many jewels in her crown and yet no one can deny the alluring pull of the Harbour bridge. Seeing in the New Year before many of us it is the emblem of future celebrations. Climbing the bridge began in 1988 and now it was our turn. 

Nervous about a new and potentially physically tiring experience, we approached the offices for our time slot. The guys leading the walk were so friendly and enthusiastic it was hard to find time to be scared. These guys literally put you through the paces by bringing out a replica staircase for you to practise your moves on. You need to practise in order to get used to the belt and harness you wear that is attached to the static line on the bridge that keeps you safe. Connecting points of the static line require the climber to tug slightly on the ball mechanism that otherwise glides on its way. With a few staircases to navigate, and all at different heights within the bridge, they want everyone to feel as comfortable as possible and therein the rehearsal makes sense. Practise makes perfect and all that.

Next came the styling. Standing around with our group, the ‘dude’ in charge gathered our climbing outfits and said it would be wise to keep just our underwear on underneath. Intrigued, we took the offerings of clothing and stepped into the makeshift dressing rooms. The material of the climbing attire reminded me of the shell suits I have seen in 80’s movies and I wondered how my body would fare in the midday heat. The ankle and wrist cuffs were elasticated and gathered in. I wondered if my shell suit would become a sweat suit. Thinking that climbing the bridge was hardly a fashion parade made wearing the blue and grey suits a tad easier. A tad. To keep items from dropping to the road below, our hats, sunglasses, sweat cloth and earphones were all attached to the clothing. It all felt very technical. 

The lead was taken by a member of staff who was able to talk us through the walk with his mouthpiece that transmitted to our walkie talkie style set ups. We emerged from the training area onto the steels of the inner bridge. Attached to it securely gave reason to relax. Focus at first was on the left right left right march of our feet until we were told a duck and step over was needed. A steel girder blocked the way ahead for both feet and head. And you therefore have to take a large step over while ducking your head under. The man in front of me turned to say something to his companion and hit his head clear into the steel beam. The ‘dong’ sound rang out dull and loud under the roadway. 

The climb itself passes without much trouble. Even the steps up and over the bridge are not enough trouble to be called taxing. They are very shallow steps which makes the whole process that much easier. It is a shame you cannot take a camera with you as every step warrants a snap of the lens. 

As you reach the top of the bridge you are graced with the wind sent by the gods to cool down your slick body. Assumptions were right, in those suits, there is no place for sweat to escape. At the top you are given enough time to pause. And what a reason to pause in life. High above the cars, boats and water of this powerhouse of a city you are an ant. An ant with the most incredible sweeping views. The harbour stretches to the Tasmanian sea and beyond. Ferries moor up beside cruise ships. People look up at you from the shadows of the Opera House and Mrs Macquaries chair. 

It is a strange feeling to behold the world from such an icon. You feel both insignificant and important all at the same time. Insignificant due to its dominance against your own in this world and important enough to be allowed to straddle its history and power. You quite literally feel on top of the world. 

At first you don’t accept that you have done it, but when you cross the middle of the bridge and start your descent, you realise it is over. That thing you were most nervous about was amazing and you’d, quite frankly, do it again in a heartbeat. On the descent, you find you have to go down a staircase backwards, watching the others go first shows you just what pace to take and your nerves are beaten. As you reach the top, a bottle of water is poured behind a whirring fan and its drenching, coolness brings your face back to life. It was not 15 minutes ago when the wind froze the smile on your face as you posed for the photographer at the bridge’s highest point. The smile has been there since. 

The climb was everything you hadn’t expected. It was so much more in every single way. 

Taking flight

Spontaneity is a dream of mine that never really has a chance to happen. Whether it be money, anxiety or time it always falls by the wayside. 

When visiting Australia in 2013 I picked up a guide to Melbourne at the airport and found several vouchers offering 10% off here and a free gift there. I’ve never really seen the point in free vouchers because they often have a read between the lines agreement. However one stood out to me and we had kept at least half a day free in each place so we could explore. The 2 for 1 voucher was for a Yarra river cruise and I was excited to see the city from the water. I do love boats!

I had already looked into the cruises from home but they didn’t really appeal. Maybe it was the fact it took us off our feet and yet we would still see the city. At $29 for both of us it wasn’t something to sniff at. The boat ride wouldn’t take long and it looked like a great way to while away a few hours. After a pleasant tour down river we docked at Gem Pier in Williamstown; a quaint little village which used to be Melbourne’s main port before its size couldn’t cope with the intake. With a short time to kill we headed into the main street until an enticing sign caught our eye.

Next thing I know we are onboard a four seater seaplane flying over the beaches of St Kilda and Port Phillip. There seemed to be a devil may care attitude on our second day in Australia and the short trip cost us $145 each. Brighton beach had amazingly colourful beach huts which took me back to the seaside boltholes we had back in the UK. Similarly to home, these cost a huge amount of money, some at $400,000!  The views were stunning and the pilot was a hoot. His name was Rodney and I was reminded of the nickname my dad had given Mr W the first time he had met him.  We saw our hotel from the air and the Melbourne Gran Prix track was pointed out. The budget was tight and I knew I’d be on rations for a while but wearing a headset to talk to each other while in flight was brilliant and when the plane turned on its side I felt my cares melt away. The short 10 minute flight was over so fast and soon enough the plane was bumping over the rolling waves. All smiles we walked back into Williamstown and grabbed a quick fish and chip lunch. We sat in a pavilion to avoid the sea birds and took in the scene. 

It is a moment that wasn’t marred by anxiety or questioning. I think of it fondly when I see a plane in the sky and when I see waves lapping against a shore. A moment long ago that gives me promise for spontaneous times ahead. Over and out.  

Penguins and Cockatoos

With the celebratory weekend behind us, I’ve been reminded that the last Jubilee was in 2012. I have been scratching my head in befuddled bemusement as I simply do not remember how or where I was during the event. I’ll let it go as it was a big year for the UK and I’m sure it got caught up in the melee. We hosted the Olympics and the summer was spent fawning over the many medals Great Britain accumulated. It was also the year I booked my huge 2013 trip to Australia and therefore spent the majority of the year crossing off days on every available calendar, bent over a computer researching and planning and squirrelling money away like Scrooge himself.

It’s as I remember Australia that I am drawn back to two particular memorable high points…

I spent the majority of Day 3 in Melbourne soaked with salt water and smelling of sweat and sun cream. Nice image, I know. The sun beat down unforgivingly and if I paused to notice I’m unaware of it now. With 7 stops on our tour around the Melbourne coast we were witness to our first Australian delights. Most of the ‘delights’ were made more so by my forgetting that they were included in the pre-booked tour; the wildlife centre with a $10 cuddle from a huge 9yr old Koala being one of these. As we scoured the scorched bush for Wallabies we were greeted with a chilled out Kangaroo and it slowly dawned on me what we have got ourselves into. Australia had arrived rather under our feet than we had arrived in it! After all, once a wallaby simply hops out of the bush and grabs your extended hand to have his breakfast, of pellets not human flesh, you rapidly forget yourself and drown in all that is Australia. Additional unexpected experiences came in the form of Woolamai Beach and the typical ‘Ozzie surfer’. I didn’t know whether to run into the surf or help them with their surfboards. OKAY OKAY, I ran into the surf, rather a typical Ozzie than an Essex girl any day. Although this Essex girl did stare… only slightly, but overcome by the ‘small’ waves and I was back on track.

The beauty of this place is how dedicated they are to protect their country and all its inhabitants. Witness to this first and foremost during the penguin parade on Phillip Island; we were told to sit, not stand, and to see but not capture (on camera) the unique little penguins that raced up the beach to their nests. This was all to prevent ‘spooking’ the little waddlers and allowing them to live a semi-normal life. Who else can say that on their rat race home there are hundreds of people watching you? Unfortunately, a lot of our fellow tourists didn’t find the same respect for our lil black and white waddlers and stood up, blocking our view and preventing their homecoming, whenever they could. I’m proud to admit that out of anger for lack of viewing space, but more out of respect for the penguins, I told one ‘serial stander’ to SIT DOWN. I realise now it’s my own compulsive need to be a rule follower that gives me the proverbial balls to approach people in this way. ‘Look mate, the penguins are just trying to get home, so sit down, yeah? There’s a good chap.’ Otherwise, I really don’t say boo to even a goose. After a vast majority of the crowds had seen their first glimpse of the lil guys they upped and left, so we were able to move down to the front and witness the amazing spectacle within about a 5 metre distance. It makes me smile even now to remember the extra time we took to drink it all in. Above us the jewels of the Southern hemisphere sparkled and trailed across the sky and in front of us the waters gave birth to these funky little creatures. And I couldn’t stop smiling.

The smiling continued on the next day, so easily you would think it had been pinned to my cheek bones. Set off by the morning sunlight pouring through the surrounding mountain ash trees in the Dandenong Ranges the cockatoos on my arms were a stark white colour that shone as bright as sunlight on snow.  And we were due to feed them their breakfast.  Our coach driver John was kind enough to mention that holding the large, metal feed tray out, up high and level would prevent their sharp beaks from clipping at their favourite part of the human hand. Seeds, food. Hands, not. But what he neglected to say was just how heavy six or SEVEN of these birds could be! With a thick hooded jumper around my shoulders and my backpack straps also acting as a barrier, their claws clung to me as they squawked and shrieked to get at the seeds. It was hard to focus on anything but them once you saw their plumage and sunlight yellow crests up close. Their eyes were constantly on the lookout for more ‘victims’ entering the feeding area with a silver tray held high and glancing around us, I 

remember my mind taking a snapshot. The sun streaming through the giant trees reaching upwards of 75 metres, the birds, the fresh air and the happiness all flooding the space. 

Australia had welcomed me with sunlight, surf, style and a few small scars from my new white and yellow friends. 

Still sitting still

When I was in University I was a mess, I was scared to enter the lecture room, and knowing now what I didn’t then, I know anxiety has ruled my life a lot longer than I ever realised. For a worrying moment, when I noticed how far back the anxiety stretched, I wondered if it had stopped me doing much in my adult life. 

Today, I had the most bizarre flashback, whilst sipping tea on a bench in my garden. I wasn’t covered in compost anymore nor was I chilly in the April breeze, I was in Paris. I was sitting outside a Parisien cafe, drinking coffee and watching the world go by. It was a Sunday morning, the early morning sun was making the cobbles blush and there was calm in the air. It seems it is one of my fondest memories, because it made me smile, really smile. 

It got me thinking, about other seemingly insignificant moments, that have created a collage of beautiful memories I unlock from time to time. 

New York, 2007, the Empire Diner, Sunday brunch. I’m wearing a lace tunic top and the waiter is parading up and down with peoples eggs and coffee as if he had just come from the Catwalks of Gucci. He had swagger. He had confidence. He had attention. And he loved it. He had a wonder woman tattoo on his upper arm, and paused by our table to say ‘Honey, I love your top’ in his American drawl. I have a photo of the two of us vogue-ing, it was fabulous and so was he. I picture him now, on Broadway in some garish and absolutely fantastic musical number, living his dream. 

Santa Susanna, Barcelona, 2014. The first sunny afternoon in 6 days, we dash to the beach to thaw our bodies and grasp back some of our holiday before the rain returns. The beach is busy. The sand is hot. Glorious! Women and men selling their wares stomp up and down; sunglasses, hats, scarves, coconuts. The cacophony of their voices, mingled with the muffled chatter and the gentle waves, just screams beach holiday to me. A sunbathing man calls over a small asian woman, selling her skilled masseur hands, I remember glancing over, and seeing her kneeling on the sand. She starts to dig a hole with her hands. Dumbstruck I continue to watch, the man waits, as if nothing is out of the ordinary. She continues to dig a deep round hole. In time, she stops and the man lays a towel over the hole, and it is only then that I realise the void is for his belly. I force my staring eyes away from the scene and tell myself to act normal. But for the rest of the day, I laugh internally, to the scene I witnessed. Lets, assume the man had seen this particular lady before and knew this was common practice, that’s one theory. Alternatively, I often think about someone being unprepared for the practice of the void/belly scenario and looking at the woman in complete disbelief. Much like I had. That memory generally floods back to me when I go to or see a beach. 

The Great Barrier Reef, Australia, 2013. I’m drinking a cocktail out of an enormous glass, my legs are over the side of a huge catamaran and all that stops me from plunging into the ocean is a thin rope that acts like a fence at the side of the top deck. I’m sunkissed, curly haired and tired. I have spent the day swimming the coral reefs and am in awe of where I am. I am nine and a half thousand miles from home, I have quit my job and am living out my dream. I am the luckiest girl in the world. No time to think of going back to England. No time to think if a brush will go through my hair later. No time to waste on anything but this moment. 

I often feel the best memories of my life, so far, are the ones that happen when I’m not moving. While I’m static, the world carries on around me, and I can appreciate the moment. What’s funny is in those moments, I never realise how much impact they can have, how much you’ll flit back to them in the future. How warming they’ll be when you are doing one of life’s mundane tasks. Maybe it was wishful thinking today to think of Paris whilst potting up some planters in the garden. Maybe I’m just grateful to have lived a life so rich in travel and culture. Maybe I’m starting to realise the small moments are the important ones. 

This is why when I had the truly horrifying thought that anxiety had stolen so much of my adult life it took me a while to come back to these memories. I have pushed and pushed myself to do and see everything when I travel because there’s an irksome voice in my head saying ‘make the most of it, do it all, miss nothing’. As lovely as it would be to see the world and run from experience to experience it would seem you aren’t in fact seeing all there is to see.  It is now that I truly believe when we stop, sit and look, we’ll find the world will continue turning, it doesn’t mean we are missing out, it means we are able to relish in it. Drink a cuppa, take a breath and appreciate it all.