If you think about it, Voltron is missing a fucking lion.
This realisation came to my mind while I was waiting for my Chai Latte observing absolutely nothing.
I could keep visiting and going around this city.
Among the various events to be reported, one is that I have been in Sydney for a while and I haven’t yet received a push or a chewing-gum shot in the face by a sneeze of a stranger. These are things that you can’t forget.
I walk down the street looking around, enjoying every view that I can find, looking at the same landscape from multiple angles with my mouth wide open, not realizing that I’m probably leaving behind a stream of saliva which people could unwarily slip on.
This city makes you look at it like you’re watching porn for the first time.
Everything is exactly where it should be and where it was built seems to be the only possible location for that specific landmark.
For example, the Sydney Opera House.
I will never stop looking at it with admiration and photograph it as if I were a Japanese in front of a Prada store. Its unusual shapes and its location make it perfect to show off that stoned face that few people can have by nature and that arouses a mixture of tenderness and revulsion from onlookers. Looking at the Sydney Opera House is worth paying the price to end up being photographed by a tourist, only to be mocked while they show their pictures at home.
It glorifies the landscape.
But since they have a lot of space here, why not put next to it another giant odd shaped structure?
That said, if you turn your head the other way you will find yourself in front of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, a landmark connection to the two sides of Sydney and gives this part of the city a majestic appearance. All to be enjoyed during the hectolitre of coffee you’ve obtained by randomly alternating several Yes and No’s at the Starbucks you just left. Still learning English…
just one morning basking in the sun, sitting on a bench in front of this landscape would be a morning well spent.
Behind, you have what is known as the City’s Central Business District, an entire neighbourhood of skyscrapers that stands out to form the skyline of Sydney, entirely appreciable during a ride on a famous Ferry, and seeing an overview of the bay. Then getting to the area of Darling Harbour, sitting outside in front of the pier and enjoying the lights of the city while sipping a beer. Beautiful!
This city makes me feel there’s “potential”.
I use this word to express a feeling of being able to see or do what you want simply by taking the train or bus. The city also offers what is not normal in a city. In the eastern part is Bondi Beach, one of the most famous beaches in the world … which is in a city, but first of all it is maintained to stay the most beautiful. Compared with many Italian beaches it instantly snaps. In Italy what we call the beach, is nothing more than a strip of wet and hard sand, trampled by a river of people of widely varied intelligence, from which could emerge the most unexpected objects, such as used tampon, still sealed cigarettes packages, glass pieces for the delight of all anxious mothers, fishing nets thrown somewhere and recently some dead bodies, all for the delight of YouTube.
Beyond this, there still remains a small strip of sand where the bather can curl up in a foetal position trapped between the people walking and the line of the reserved areas for beach front dining (type “Italian Beachfront” in to Google…you’ll see what I mean).
Thankfully these types of places don’t exist on Sydney Beaches.
The entire beach is completely free, preceded by a grassy area and the road is far enough away from the sand.
I couldn’t wait to take off my shirt in the sun in October, hoping not to blind too many people with my complexion envied by the purest of ghosts.
During one of my moments of city gazing, inspiring aesthetic admiration (open mouthed and glassy eyed), I look around and, at first creeping in at an unconscious level, then more and more confirmed by repeated findings, I realize that so far, in the city I’ve never seen one of those old (really old, probably ancient…) bicycles that I was used to seeing in Italy. These specific type of bicycles in Italy are called “Graziella”.
Italians in any of the various stages of life that have never owned or at least used the famous Graziella bike should be exposed to public derision.
The status Symbol of the typical Italian, Graziella appears in the life of each of us, then is gradually replaced by what we call a proper bike, but in reality they are a varied type of rust and chains on two wheels. Carriers of tetanus, they go through the streets waking up entire neighbourhoods with their screeching.
In Sydney there is not one old bike, even if you buy it and leave it there to grow old.
I tried to find them here, but the only thing I saw were bikes that would be stolen during one single aperitif. These fancy bikes here are everywhere, including at any lamp, bound by an almost symbolic chain, in front of the station in the night. Helmet included.
Do the same in Italy and after half an hour someone will steal it while you are still looking it, finding in its place a post-it note saying “Thank you, Idiot.” At that point you can’t not steal one too.
What I’ve seen of Sydney so far, is clean and respectful.
If you cross over the pedestrian lines and the lights are green, nobody dares to put you at the centre of their Mercedes emblem and speeds up, or slows down at the last second just in front of your shins as a reminder that you have to move faster.
None of this. But cross where you shouldn’t and half of the city traffic will flash you.
I am probably still full of enthusiasm and I still see everything through the eyes of a nun who receives Chinese balls as a gift, but I am sure that this enthusiasm will become objective admiration.
In the meantime, I’m enjoying my coffee-cappuccino-caramel-milk-chocolate-takeaway-two sugar-and looking around with a fucking big grin on my face at this first part of Australia.
Fantastic, wonderful, Sydney.
This post is also available in: Italian