Chapter 37: MY NEW BESTEST FRIENDS
Apologies for the radio silence... I'm alive and well Down Unda, but not doing much writing yet. So far, all my energies seem to have been consumed with thrill of Mardi Gras (great fun, now over for another year), the practical challenges of setting up in Sydney (all conquered now except for the big one which is residency papers; i will have to marry, it seems), and fighting the last bits of my tax case in the UK (where I'm keyed up like a terrier with a rat). Basically, for those of you who care, or who've been forced by my incessant moaning to care over the last year and a half that this case has been dragging on, Inland Revenue recently conceded on the main principle of my case, and now they are trying to exhaust/intimidate me with an extensive audit. (However, they've picked the wrong terrier for that; I once sued my landlord for $400, on a point of principle. It took forever, and I spent so much time on it, but I won in the end, and victory, though unprofitable, was extremely sweet.)
In fact, things are falling into place extraordinarily easily and well, and I'm very happy with my decision to move here. I met my new lovely flatmate Philip on the 3rd or 4th evening I was here. I just happened to mention, in passing to a friend, that I was looking for somewhere to stay, and did he perhaps know of anyone. He said no, but he'd keep his ear to the ground. And not more than two minutes later Philip was dragged from the dancefloor and presented to me. DONE! Philip's flat is on the 26th floor of a new building in Kings Cross with a spectacular view. Every morning I wake up to the sun breaking gold and rose over the harbour, the opera house (like a white swan, folding her wings to settle on her nest), the grey bridge, the central business district, and the marina in Elizabeth Bay. I could describe it to you more, but this is one of those rare instances where I think I prefer to send pictures (see below). I have to send you 5 of them to capture the full panorama of the view. And even better than the view is Philip -a gentleman, in the old and best sense of the word. For example, he rides horses.
And my friend Duncan has been my Sydney-sider-who-to-go-to guru; sorting me out with party tickets, an excellent trainer, how to copy VCR to DVD, good places to eat breakfast, a bank account, where to buy a tennis racket, and even someone to wax my testicles, if I find myself so inclined. I have yet to ask him to find me a husband, but I have full confidence that he would produce a suitable one within a week, if asked.
Anyway, nonetheless, I'm making lots of nice friends, for Australians are an extremely easy, friendly, and welcoming people. My problem here will not be how to make friends, but how to reserve enough solitary time for my writing, especially given the distractions of the beach, funky little restaurants, and everything else. But seeing as I'm getting up most weekdays at 5:30 am to go run the Harbour Steps with Duncan, I should hopefully be able at least to have ample mornings for writing. After tortured years of getting up at 5:30 to get to Credit Suisse, who ever thought I'd be doing it voluntarily. To go running, of all things! But it is beautiful, and we don't run very hard (in fact, we really just walk to the steps) and there are white sulfur-crested cocktoos in the trees, as well as what I thought were charcoal-coloured parrots with rosy underwings. (Duncan sys they don't exist, but I saw 'em, though I could have been hallucinating in the early hour, such a shock it is to my system). And of course, it's warm, and you see the sun breaking over the harbour water.
Still, there are some adjustments I still need to make. I need to figure out how to get around. Contemplating purchase of scooter or bike, for the public transport is totally sclerotic here. And I need to find somewhere to buy good cheese. Also, my local supermarket (Coles) does some weird things, like hide the soya yoghurt in a different section from both yoghurts generally and from soya milk products (go figure). Also, despite offering a bewildering array of different kinds of dips, including several varieties of hummous, it seems not to sell pita bread, and though Duncan swears it is there, I have circled the bread section for half an hour looking unsuccessfully for it. And, most irritatingly, I keep forgetting to always bring a sweater to go grocery shopping. The chilled goods section is Arctic, and it's cold, cold, cold in the store in general, and I'm usually slapping myself to avert hypothermia by the time I reach checkout.
Also, I'm wondering what's coming. For people do keep talking about how Sydney is "different" in the winter. In fact, I have to admit that I do find it rather ominous. They lower their voices when they say "different", avert their eyes, and shake their heads slowly from side to side, like there is a dark shame somewhere. They refer to the Sydney winter like someone might refer to their ferociously dull and obtuse but well meaning aunt. They say one "needs" to be coupled off in the winter to stay sane. And yet when you ask, "well, just how cold does it get?" you are told "around 15-20 degrees in the day, and sunny". I mean, how bad does that sound?
I'm looking forward to exploring more around here. There are lots of wonderful places to go around Sydney. After Mardi Gras, Gustavo, Stephan and I went up to beautiful, hippy, Byron Bay, where we did yoga, ate ice cream, chilled, and giggled lots. We also went to the gorgeous Kings Beach in Broken Head nature reserve. We were lying on the beach and suddenly we saw fins in the water, very close to the beach. Dolphins. I jumped up. Gustavo said "Don't go in the water. Swimming with dolphins is dangerous." I scoffed as indignantly as I could, pushed him out of my way, and raced down to the water's edge to meet MY NEW BESTEST FRIENDS! On the way there, I passed another American, racing the other way, who said urgently, with real panic in his face, "Don't go in the water, there are sharks!". I rugby-shouldered him out of the way. I was in a hurry, and he was just a fool, blocking my path to MY NEW BESTEST FRIENDS! As our French friend Stephan later deliciously remarked to me, "Cheri, you must understand, to Americans there are only two judgements: things are either dangerous, or they're fabulous, there is no in-between." So I got out into the water, and had a pod of 7-9 dolphins (MY NEW BESTEST FRIENDS!) circling around me, not more than 2-3 meters away, and I sent them telepathic brain waves via my hands in the water to tell them I thought they were beautiful and that I was sorry for the tuna nets and for all the crap that humankind is dumping into their oceans. Then all the others on the beach saw what fun I was having with MY NEW BESTEST FRIENDS! and decided to come swimming too, at which point MY NEW BESTEST FRIENDS! moved off to play in the rocky surfy area of the beach, breaching and leaping through the waves. It was pretty freaking fabulous.
Anyway, that's all for now. Gotta run. I have a ferociously fantastic new T-shire to pick up and some groceries to buy for dinner tonight. At least you all know now that I'm alive, which is the main point of this email. Big love to all.
In fact, things are falling into place extraordinarily easily and well, and I'm very happy with my decision to move here. I met my new lovely flatmate Philip on the 3rd or 4th evening I was here. I just happened to mention, in passing to a friend, that I was looking for somewhere to stay, and did he perhaps know of anyone. He said no, but he'd keep his ear to the ground. And not more than two minutes later Philip was dragged from the dancefloor and presented to me. DONE! Philip's flat is on the 26th floor of a new building in Kings Cross with a spectacular view. Every morning I wake up to the sun breaking gold and rose over the harbour, the opera house (like a white swan, folding her wings to settle on her nest), the grey bridge, the central business district, and the marina in Elizabeth Bay. I could describe it to you more, but this is one of those rare instances where I think I prefer to send pictures (see below). I have to send you 5 of them to capture the full panorama of the view. And even better than the view is Philip -a gentleman, in the old and best sense of the word. For example, he rides horses.
And my friend Duncan has been my Sydney-sider-who-to-go-to guru; sorting me out with party tickets, an excellent trainer, how to copy VCR to DVD, good places to eat breakfast, a bank account, where to buy a tennis racket, and even someone to wax my testicles, if I find myself so inclined. I have yet to ask him to find me a husband, but I have full confidence that he would produce a suitable one within a week, if asked.
Anyway, nonetheless, I'm making lots of nice friends, for Australians are an extremely easy, friendly, and welcoming people. My problem here will not be how to make friends, but how to reserve enough solitary time for my writing, especially given the distractions of the beach, funky little restaurants, and everything else. But seeing as I'm getting up most weekdays at 5:30 am to go run the Harbour Steps with Duncan, I should hopefully be able at least to have ample mornings for writing. After tortured years of getting up at 5:30 to get to Credit Suisse, who ever thought I'd be doing it voluntarily. To go running, of all things! But it is beautiful, and we don't run very hard (in fact, we really just walk to the steps) and there are white sulfur-crested cocktoos in the trees, as well as what I thought were charcoal-coloured parrots with rosy underwings. (Duncan sys they don't exist, but I saw 'em, though I could have been hallucinating in the early hour, such a shock it is to my system). And of course, it's warm, and you see the sun breaking over the harbour water.
Still, there are some adjustments I still need to make. I need to figure out how to get around. Contemplating purchase of scooter or bike, for the public transport is totally sclerotic here. And I need to find somewhere to buy good cheese. Also, my local supermarket (Coles) does some weird things, like hide the soya yoghurt in a different section from both yoghurts generally and from soya milk products (go figure). Also, despite offering a bewildering array of different kinds of dips, including several varieties of hummous, it seems not to sell pita bread, and though Duncan swears it is there, I have circled the bread section for half an hour looking unsuccessfully for it. And, most irritatingly, I keep forgetting to always bring a sweater to go grocery shopping. The chilled goods section is Arctic, and it's cold, cold, cold in the store in general, and I'm usually slapping myself to avert hypothermia by the time I reach checkout.
Also, I'm wondering what's coming. For people do keep talking about how Sydney is "different" in the winter. In fact, I have to admit that I do find it rather ominous. They lower their voices when they say "different", avert their eyes, and shake their heads slowly from side to side, like there is a dark shame somewhere. They refer to the Sydney winter like someone might refer to their ferociously dull and obtuse but well meaning aunt. They say one "needs" to be coupled off in the winter to stay sane. And yet when you ask, "well, just how cold does it get?" you are told "around 15-20 degrees in the day, and sunny". I mean, how bad does that sound?
I'm looking forward to exploring more around here. There are lots of wonderful places to go around Sydney. After Mardi Gras, Gustavo, Stephan and I went up to beautiful, hippy, Byron Bay, where we did yoga, ate ice cream, chilled, and giggled lots. We also went to the gorgeous Kings Beach in Broken Head nature reserve. We were lying on the beach and suddenly we saw fins in the water, very close to the beach. Dolphins. I jumped up. Gustavo said "Don't go in the water. Swimming with dolphins is dangerous." I scoffed as indignantly as I could, pushed him out of my way, and raced down to the water's edge to meet MY NEW BESTEST FRIENDS! On the way there, I passed another American, racing the other way, who said urgently, with real panic in his face, "Don't go in the water, there are sharks!". I rugby-shouldered him out of the way. I was in a hurry, and he was just a fool, blocking my path to MY NEW BESTEST FRIENDS! As our French friend Stephan later deliciously remarked to me, "Cheri, you must understand, to Americans there are only two judgements: things are either dangerous, or they're fabulous, there is no in-between." So I got out into the water, and had a pod of 7-9 dolphins (MY NEW BESTEST FRIENDS!) circling around me, not more than 2-3 meters away, and I sent them telepathic brain waves via my hands in the water to tell them I thought they were beautiful and that I was sorry for the tuna nets and for all the crap that humankind is dumping into their oceans. Then all the others on the beach saw what fun I was having with MY NEW BESTEST FRIENDS! and decided to come swimming too, at which point MY NEW BESTEST FRIENDS! moved off to play in the rocky surfy area of the beach, breaching and leaping through the waves. It was pretty freaking fabulous.
Anyway, that's all for now. Gotta run. I have a ferociously fantastic new T-shire to pick up and some groceries to buy for dinner tonight. At least you all know now that I'm alive, which is the main point of this email. Big love to all.
posted by Peter at 6:16 PM
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