Sunday in Sydney
Nov. 24th, 2008 11:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skyringNot used to sleeping in a king size bed. We've got a queen-size at home, which accommodates my frame well, but a king is, as Kerri says, just a bit too socially isolating.
And it was just a bit too soft for my liking.
Nevertheless, it was a great room. The advantage of having a suite is that I can close off the bedroom door and use the computer in the main room.
Had a cuppa in the wee hours, but I didn't touch the minibar. A half-bottle of Moet for $75 or a bottle of water for ten? No thanks!
Returned to bed and woke in the grey dawn. When hanging out the "Do Not Disturb" sign in the evening, I'd forgotten to hang out the "Please leave a Sunday paper" tag as well.
So I had to go out the two blocks to Circular Quay, find a copy of the Sydney Morning Herald - the nice thick weekend edition, a couple of takeaway capuccinos from the branch of Harry's Cafe De Wheels, and a block of dark Toblerone for morning delights.
Lazed around in splendour, reading the paper, watching the Sunday TV, gazing out on the view. A new cruise ship had just arrived - P&O's "Dawn Princess", which looked a very close cousin to the Aurora of our March cruise.
I'd love to be cruising again, but then again, our room and view was far more splendid than anything aboard Dawn Princess, so we enjoyed the moment.
Later on we put on our outerwear against the cold and wind and rain of wintry November Sydney, and found our way up to the Queen Victoria Building, a delightful old pile, a whole city block to itself, beautifully restored chock full of boutiques and cafes and a huge Christmas tree strait up the middle.
Wandered around windowshopping, and then sat down for a decadent breakfast. Eggs Benedictine for me with sides of salmon, ham and mushroom. Mmmmm!
Back down to the hotel to pack and check out. Had a little trouble getting to the car, but eventually we were back on the road, all the way around to the Art Gallery of New South Wales.
"It's such an awful day," Kerri observed through the drizzle on the windscreen, "we should have no difficulty finding a park."
I wasn't too sure, and the road past the gallery, down to Mrs Macquarie's Chair on the harbour, and all the way back, every space was taken, with more cruising around and the parking rangers prowling.
Went to the Domain carpark instead, walked up the hill through a fortunate break in the weather, and inside. There was a queue for exhibition tickets at the desk, and we followed it around the corner of the desk, into the gallery, along a hall, around a corner, through another hall, around another corner...
Kerri was about to give up at this stage, and I offered that it might be quicker if we just flew to Paris and took in the Musee d'Orsay instead, but we got to the end of the queue, and I amused myself for a while by looking at the faces of the people doing what we had done. They'd walk past, looking more and more woebegone, and I'd tell them, "You're about half way!"
But the line moved fairly quickly, and as we were passing through twentieth century Australian paintings, it was no hardship.
Eventually, maybe a fifteen minute wait, we bought our tickets. Imagining that with such a queue, there'd be a crowd in the actual exhibition, we were very pleasantly surprised to be able to see the paintings more or less without obstruction.
Mostly Monet, mostly from Boston, all delightful, showing Monet developing his powers and gradually becoming increasingly blurry. But it's the impression of light and feeling in Impressionism that counts, not the fine details.
Once outside, it's as if our eyes have been washed clean and we can look at colours and shapes, textures and arrangements in the real world.
"Anything else, while we're in Sydney?" I ask.
"Peters of Kensington," Kerri says.
Kitchen goods, luggage, dinner sets and so on. We need a new cutlery set. Teaspoons attrit rapidly, and airport security swallows up knives at a steady rate. After twenty-five years we have two cutlery designs but would be hard pressed to find eight complete settings.
It's time for a third.
We plug Kensington into the GPS, park the car and saunter up to the entrance, smiling at the Pacific Islander security guy on the door.
"Closed on Sundays," he tells up, flexing a tatt.
Must be a recent change. He indicates a bulk warehouse in Alexandria, and we plug that fresh address into the GPS.
Eight sets on offer at the warehouse, which isn't so much bulk as skeletal in its range. I like four designs, Kerri likes four. No overlap. Much debate ensues. Knives are picked up and brandished. Eventually we compromise on one of Kerri's favoured designs.
And then it's back home along the freeway. Kerri takes over from her exhausted husband somewhere around Pheasants Nest, and in due course wheels us into the carport of a home where the kids have cooked dinner, done all the household chores and turned the heater on to dispel the unseasonal chill outside.
And it was just a bit too soft for my liking.
Nevertheless, it was a great room. The advantage of having a suite is that I can close off the bedroom door and use the computer in the main room.
Had a cuppa in the wee hours, but I didn't touch the minibar. A half-bottle of Moet for $75 or a bottle of water for ten? No thanks!
Returned to bed and woke in the grey dawn. When hanging out the "Do Not Disturb" sign in the evening, I'd forgotten to hang out the "Please leave a Sunday paper" tag as well.
So I had to go out the two blocks to Circular Quay, find a copy of the Sydney Morning Herald - the nice thick weekend edition, a couple of takeaway capuccinos from the branch of Harry's Cafe De Wheels, and a block of dark Toblerone for morning delights.
Lazed around in splendour, reading the paper, watching the Sunday TV, gazing out on the view. A new cruise ship had just arrived - P&O's "Dawn Princess", which looked a very close cousin to the Aurora of our March cruise.
I'd love to be cruising again, but then again, our room and view was far more splendid than anything aboard Dawn Princess, so we enjoyed the moment.
Later on we put on our outerwear against the cold and wind and rain of wintry November Sydney, and found our way up to the Queen Victoria Building, a delightful old pile, a whole city block to itself, beautifully restored chock full of boutiques and cafes and a huge Christmas tree strait up the middle.
Wandered around windowshopping, and then sat down for a decadent breakfast. Eggs Benedictine for me with sides of salmon, ham and mushroom. Mmmmm!
Back down to the hotel to pack and check out. Had a little trouble getting to the car, but eventually we were back on the road, all the way around to the Art Gallery of New South Wales.
"It's such an awful day," Kerri observed through the drizzle on the windscreen, "we should have no difficulty finding a park."
I wasn't too sure, and the road past the gallery, down to Mrs Macquarie's Chair on the harbour, and all the way back, every space was taken, with more cruising around and the parking rangers prowling.
Went to the Domain carpark instead, walked up the hill through a fortunate break in the weather, and inside. There was a queue for exhibition tickets at the desk, and we followed it around the corner of the desk, into the gallery, along a hall, around a corner, through another hall, around another corner...
Kerri was about to give up at this stage, and I offered that it might be quicker if we just flew to Paris and took in the Musee d'Orsay instead, but we got to the end of the queue, and I amused myself for a while by looking at the faces of the people doing what we had done. They'd walk past, looking more and more woebegone, and I'd tell them, "You're about half way!"
But the line moved fairly quickly, and as we were passing through twentieth century Australian paintings, it was no hardship.
Eventually, maybe a fifteen minute wait, we bought our tickets. Imagining that with such a queue, there'd be a crowd in the actual exhibition, we were very pleasantly surprised to be able to see the paintings more or less without obstruction.
Mostly Monet, mostly from Boston, all delightful, showing Monet developing his powers and gradually becoming increasingly blurry. But it's the impression of light and feeling in Impressionism that counts, not the fine details.
Once outside, it's as if our eyes have been washed clean and we can look at colours and shapes, textures and arrangements in the real world.
"Anything else, while we're in Sydney?" I ask.
"Peters of Kensington," Kerri says.
Kitchen goods, luggage, dinner sets and so on. We need a new cutlery set. Teaspoons attrit rapidly, and airport security swallows up knives at a steady rate. After twenty-five years we have two cutlery designs but would be hard pressed to find eight complete settings.
It's time for a third.
We plug Kensington into the GPS, park the car and saunter up to the entrance, smiling at the Pacific Islander security guy on the door.
"Closed on Sundays," he tells up, flexing a tatt.
Must be a recent change. He indicates a bulk warehouse in Alexandria, and we plug that fresh address into the GPS.
Eight sets on offer at the warehouse, which isn't so much bulk as skeletal in its range. I like four designs, Kerri likes four. No overlap. Much debate ensues. Knives are picked up and brandished. Eventually we compromise on one of Kerri's favoured designs.
And then it's back home along the freeway. Kerri takes over from her exhausted husband somewhere around Pheasants Nest, and in due course wheels us into the carport of a home where the kids have cooked dinner, done all the household chores and turned the heater on to dispel the unseasonal chill outside.
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ah! Like casinos
Date: 2008-11-25 06:53 pm (UTC)