Day 183 - city life

I'm so bored of partying...



So, after getting a free upgrade to a twin room (I love it when that happens), Sam and I dropped off our bags, threw on some shorts and a t-shirt, and headed out to explore the city. Our hostel is RIGHT in town. Its about 10 minutes walk from the main shopping drag (Pitt/George Street) and 15 minutes from the bridge and opera house. Its not actually possible to get any more central.



One thing I love about Sydney is that it fits my mould for a classic city perfectly. As you walk down the streets, the high-rise, reflective buildings shoot up either side of the road, reaching seemingly miles up. The streets are narrow, and drenched in shadows. Yet the high reaching summer sun is always shining somewhere. The harbour bridge can be caught between the buildings as you walk down George Street, and the sydney tower (with a revolving restaurant no less) peeks into view everytime you cross the street. The gardens are big enough to look like they never end, when in fact they take just minutes to cross. And, as with every great city, Sydney has an extensive Chinatown.



And Sydney's clean - that's totally noticeable. There's not even a real chewing gum problem on the streets. No litter, no smog, no dirty buildings. Just shining, gleaming, radiant cleanliness.

Anyway, enough gushing. No matter how well it fits my mould, will Sydney stand up to the character test? I'm writing this blog after being here about 2 weeks, so I've had a bit of time to guage the place. Its great. I love it. But it is a little souless. I don't really feel connected with sydney. Don't get me wrong - its charming. Both in appearance and in excitement. There's loads going on, and its vibrant and hectic. Like it should be. But I don't wanna 'hang out' anywhere in particular. There's no real areas where you just want to 'be', or no must-go clubs or bars. The trendy kids keep themselves to a select few clubs, and the gays line Oxford Street exclusively - you'd be lucky to see two guys holding hands anywhere else, but on Oxford Street its hard not to see it within each block. Its weird. I like it here. And I'm embracing it as much as I can. But Sydney isn't embracing me back quite as much as I'd hoped.

Anyway, that aside, the last two weeks have been crazy. I feel drained - I've had more alcohol in my system in the last week than I have done in the last 2 months. After spending the day wandering around the city, sorting out an Aussie bank account, trying to get a tax file number for when I get a job, looking for smart clothes to wear to my first job interview (when I get one), I get an email from Kelly (who I met in South America) and we're straight out, dancing like idiots in Bondi Junction.



Kelly reliably informs me that Aussie men are rubbish. its official. apparently they don't EVER make an effort. they expect girls to do all the hard work. So as the night goes on, she's the one persuing this guy (who was a bit of an idiot if you ask me), while I'm doing my usual and chatting to anyone who'll talk to me, including a raft of guys with moustaches (its Movember here, where guys grow 'tashes for a month to raise money and awareness for testicular cancer) and anyone whos wasted beyond comprehension.





As we leave the club, we end up in a cab with two twenty-something lawyers who are coked off their heads, and end up in another club with them, where I stupidly offer to buy a round which costs 20 quid. Nice work duncs. But they were boring, and way too wasted to be fun, so we ditched them and headed home at 4am.

And after a hungover day in bed on Thursday, in the evening Sam and I are gearing ourselves up for an indie night at the World Bar in the seedy Kings Cross region of town. Sam's way too excited about this - and before long is drunk in the hostel, rounding up other travellers to come with us. We manage to persuade a group of 6 Kiwis to come with us. 2 hours later we're dancing to indie like we're at the Pav Tav back in Brighton, getting barged around by English routs everywhere. I meet a girl from Bournemouth; ricky and tracy who make me laugh all night; dave from new zealand making me skull my drinks. And before long I'm sipping water in a corner because I'm too wasted to function, and shouting at Sam for making me wait for her before going home. Messy.





ANTOHER hangover, another day in bed, another dent in my productivity. I'm being so rubbish at the moment. But we're meeting Adam for drinks tonight. He's one of Sam's ex-colleagues who's moved out here, and after spending an uncomfortable 2 hours talking to his dull (sorry adam) friends, I was ready to leave. That was until I stumble into Mark at the bar - Anthony's ex and friend from London. Its nuts - to bump into someone on the other side of the world. I loved it. We caught up, before realising he knows new friends ricky and tracy from last night (weird). AND THEN, who walks into the bar, but bloody Suzi from south america - who we travelled with for 2 months. She's only just got back to her home country and I bump into her and Minnie too. This pub is mental. So of course, my night of not drinking becomes another wasted one, as does the following day.



AND THEN, as if this isn't starting to get boring for me as well as you, we spend Saturday night out on the town. I wasn't gonna go out, but by middnight we had rounded up a gang of 13 people, including a Mexican and an Ecuadorian, so I couldn't pass up the opportunity of getting drunk and talking bad spanish at them. So of course, we're wandering the streets again, getting turned away from over-strict bars, getting ID'd, even though I'm 27 years old (compliment or just annoying) and ending up in bed AGAIN at 4am drunk.







So my round of wasted nights out has done my motivation and self-esteem a severe battering. I look like shit. My eyes are dark and sunken, my skin is oily and smells of vodka even after a shower, my hair needs some serious work and I'm losing the will to live. And despite all this, Sam has arranged for us to meet her long-lost GODFATHER, never seen since she was 7 years old or something, for lunch. Great. Trudging across sydney to the posh Darling Harbour area, scorching sun beating down on my alcohol-filled pores, and we meet Allen Dodd at the entrance to his very grand apartment.





He's nice. Super friendly and his wife is lovely. We exchange a few introductions, chat about sydney for a bit, then head out for a slap-up lunch on the Dodd's (cheers guys). Sam goes for snails (she's so rank) and kangaroo, and after a thoroughly enjoyable 2 hours in their company, we bid them farewell and rode the town's monorail (which seems almost exclusively a tourist attraction) back to the hostel (doing a complete loop of the city first, of course). The evening was spent recovering (what? no alcohol?), watching DVDs and chilling out.

Tomorrow's gonna be different. Tomorrow is the start of the new duncan. in the new sydney. I'm gonna get a job. and a flat. I'm gonna be productive. and it all starts tomorrow morning. finger's crossed...