Beautifully Blind-sided

This is not my Sydney post in its entirety. Nah, I simply cannot hope to cram everything into the space that can still be deemed readable, without it becoming tedious. Also, I have heaps of photos and simply cannot upload them on this abacus I call a home PC.

And whoopsies on the double post before. Hotel internet usage ran out before I could correct it…

So, without further ado:

------

Depart Adelaide. Feel Drained. Dunno if it was my training, or the thoughts of the big trip in front me. Drive around. Mental notes come into my head. Don’t tell people you’re “hitting the road” as you get that annoying song, “Hit the Road, Jack” stuck in your head for 50 kilometres.

I want to get beyond Mildura on the first day. That’ll leave 9 hours drive on the following day. Half an hour later, I think the most head-slapping of ideas. What if I drove to Sydney with this parcel, dropped the car off and then flew back?

Confirmation. I’m a moron.

I still feel flat. The music blazing away on the stereo begins to buzz away to static as I head out of the populated regions. Just me and the road.

Inane thoughts pop in and out of my head. The lyrics of the songs playing on the CD player begins to twist into white noise as my own poetry enters my head, words dancing with each other, emotions being plucked, each one different from the last.

The hills fall away to the flats. My flat mood seemingly a distant memory, perhaps stuck behind a hill it cannot surmount. Excitement. Angst. Hope. Turmoil. My head nods to the melancholic strains of Big Heavy Stuff as if agreeing with the sentiments.

The words in my head become more complex, descriptive… less… flat.

I pass through Victoria, keenly eyeing the differences between South Australia and this new one. I notice the heavy campaigning for Drivers to not drive whilst tired, as “microsleeps” can kill within seconds.

One sign innocently queries before blatantly ordering, “Feeling Drowsy? Power Nap Now!”. The only thought in my head is, “… But stop your car first.”

It was an arduous trek across the Hay Plains. But the weather patterns drew my attention constantly. The low level clouds curled up and around in front of me, like the finger of an excited tourguide beckoning to me, just itching to show me what was around the next corner.

It didn’t stop raining for the entire trip. I was beginning to lament ever taking this damn sojourn in the first place. My brother’s birthday present lay across the back seat, in a position reminiscent of some sloth Roman emperor. I shook my head in disdain, as I believed the thing was mocking me.

Voices in the mind… whilst in the car. I shake my head again.

I arrive in Sydney at around 3.30pm, a day later. My brother’s phone is off, so I am stuck alone in a city I have never been in (the first time doesn't count). I marvel at how crazy the drivers are in the crazy place. I had one theory for their craziness: whilst driving in NSW you are constantly being bombarded with different numbers; phone this for traffic problems... phone that for injured wildlife… phone this, phone that.

I think drivers simply block numbers out of their head when on the road. Unfortunately this translates to speed limits, too.

I survey Sydney from my hotel room. So far, so hum drum.

Then one day I decide to catch a train into the CBD. Just ‘cos I want.

I simply was not prepared for this city. Any initial thoughts that Sydney was just another berg with the typical “awe” feeling were slapped aside violently as my senses attempted to grasp all that was around me.

The vibe, the buzz… the sheer scale of everything just blew my mind. Architecture, people, attitude… it all assaulted me, threatening to overwhelm me.

People stared you in the face as they walked past. Each were immaculately dressed, as though daggy was akin to profanity. Women with sharp suits, confident strides and musky scents marched past me. I followed one unintentionally, enraptured with the way strands of her hair danced lightly around her head to the rhythmic beat of her footsteps.

Men with designer haircuts, pink shirts (ugh) and boisterous laughs convened on street corners in an intimidating display of power in numbers.

Things that you hear about on the news, things that seem ethereal, without essence suddenly became tangible… something you can touch, see… survey.

The Martin Place fountain does seem a lot cooler when you call it The Matrix fountain (from that scene where the woman in the red dress walks past Neo in the training program).

Sydney was a city that seemed so distant, so far away. The skyline was a mere silhouette in my mind, and nothing prepared me for what I would see. Silhouettes became real, and they were most charming.

I caught the train back to “home” after much talking with some friends I met. I found myself intrigued by the cute girl slowly drifting to sleep on the opposite side of the cabin. She leant on the gentleman next to her, and his head rested on hers… both snoozing.

The steady beat of the railway sleepers outside rocked and lullabied collars of white and blue; sleepers inside. They awoke after time, both somewhat embarrassed. They both left at the same station. I wanted to follow them to see if anything more would happen, but I was eager to get back to my room.

… to be continued.

Photos are coming…