We Go to a Land Down Under -- XI

The icon you've all been waiting for

Wednesday, Oct. 12

Note: I am reliably informed by my family and by the time stamps on my photos, that I have some of the chronology wrong in this post. We visited Bondi Beach in the morning after our stopover at the Royal Botanical Gardens and took a driving tour of the city in the afternoon. My original version of this post also contained bad chronology, and I used our printed schedule to prepare what follows. Confused? Yeah, me too. But I opted for this note instead of amending the post.

Today will be a full day, devoted to seeing the sights of Sydney, including the two most iconic places in the city. You can probably guess what they are. If you can't, well you'll know soon. We drive past buildings that survive from the founding days of the convicts and head into the Royal Botanic Gardens. Like most of the gardens we've seen, they're huge and gorgeous, though our only stop is at an area where we can take pictures of the Sydney Opera House and the Harbour Bridge, which lie on the other side of the harbor. While we’re there, we’ll have a group picture made and see Mrs. Macquarie’s chair.

Sharon tries out Mrs. Macquarrie's chair.

Mrs. Macquarie was the wife of Governor Lachlan Macquarie (1810-1821). His wife liked to come to this particular point on the harbor and watch the ships, so Macquarie had the convicts carve a bench – really a ledge – from the limestone at the point for her to sit on. While telling us the story, Tony hops up on the bench and begins striking poses; the guys a total ham, I tell you. Most of the women have their pictures taken sitting on the ledge before we jump back on the bus.

From the bench we can see an island that was the site of Fort Denison, once a penal site and defensive fort that is now a historical site and ferry terminal. The island used to be was called Pinchgut Island because a prisoner sent there for punishment received only bread and water during his internment. The island was also the site of a gibbet, a place where a convict was hung and his body left hanging in public view as a deterrent to other would-be evildoers.

Back on the bus. I wish I could tell you what we saw and heard about, but I can’t. Didn’t listen that carefully and really couldn’t see much. But we wind to the Sydney Opera House, where we will take a guided tour. The story of the opera house’s construction is filled with political intrigue, engineering derring-do, great vision and sadness.

Two of the men most heavily involved, including the designer and architect, never saw the fruit of their labors, having become convenient scapegoats when things went wrong. The whole project was fraught with controversy, but now the building is what most people think of first when they think of Sydney. It's worth looking up the story.

The iconic shells that cover the opera house are not actually attached to it nor do they provide any ceiling structure to the building and are considered to be engineering marvels. The whole structure is designed to fit in with and reflect the harbor environment.

Part of the interior of the opera house

The interior is a study in lines, Sometimes beginning photographers will be given an assignment to take pictures reflecting various shapes to help develop their sense of composition. An assignment to do lines would be a cinch here. We aren't always allowed to take pictures inside, unless we are in public areas outside the theaters and concert hall. Our guide becomes very excited because the symphony orchestra is performing that night, and we will have a chance to hear a part of the rehearsal, which is being led by conductor Vladimir Ashkenazy,

I know next to nothing about who the guiding lights in symphony are, but our guide is almost ecstatic that Ashkenazy is the conductor. And like a true fan, she’s giddy that she gets to see the great man rehearsing the orchestra while wearing ordinary clothes instead of the tux he’d wear during a performance. Whatever floats your boat.

After our tour we gather outside to walk to a wharf where we’ll board a boat for lunch and a tour of Sydney Harbor. Someone notices a plane skywriting a proposal, so we all dutifully begin taking pictures, but we have to leave before we find out the name of the person being asked. Not that we’d have known who it was. I never did look to see if it made the news.

The Harbor Bridge

The company conducting our tour of the harbor is named for Captain Cook, and we are greeted by a man wearing a period British naval outfit as we board the boat. We grab seats on the dining deck, put in drink orders and hit the buffet. Afterward we head out onto to the upper decks to take pictures. The view is stunning -- a bright sunny day with lots of boats, commercial and private, plying the waters. At one point we sail briefly into a section where you don’t see the opera house and the Harbor Bridge, but mostly they are the objects that dominate the view, and we will see them from all sides before we dock.

Again, though a running commentary is piped over the PA, I don’t remember most of what was said, though I know parts of the information repeat history we’ve already heard, or in the case of the bridge, will hear the next day.

Bondi Beach lifeguards. The swimming area is marked by
these red and yellow flags. You can't swim outside the flags.

At the end of the harbor tour, we’re back on the bus with an ultimate destination of Bondi Beach, perhaps the most famous beach in Australia. We hear more of the history of the city and travel through some of the tonier sections of town. Among the things we learn is that Speedo started in Australia -- thanks, mates -- and that the beach life-saving patrols that were immortalized in “Baywatch” were developed in Australia, right there on Bondi Beach.

You already know about Uggs, and stores that carry that brand of love-‘em-or-hate-‘em shoes are everywhere. I did not, however see the Uggs style that’s a cross between a traditional Uggs and a sandal.

I’m sure I’m leaving out some other iconic brand for us that began in Australia, but I can’t for the life of me remember it. Even with help from the Internet.

The winds are blowing when we arrive at the beach, but not near as strongly as they were on our trip to the Twelve Apostles. It's a bit cool out, and the waves are rolling in at frequent intervals. Surfers and body boarders try to catch the waves, but I didn't see anyone manage a ride that lasted more than a few seconds.

We’ve been given enough time to walk out to the water and have a wade if we want. The boys doff their footwear and head for the water. I trail behind just to take pictures. Tony has warned our group not to turn their backs on the water because people have been surprised by waves that were larger and came up farther on the beach than expected, knocking the unsuspecting tourists down and pretty much ruining their day.

The sand on the beach is beige, deep and quite fine grained. How fine a grain? My feet sink in a bit while walking, but I never noticed that any sand had entered my shoes. But back at the hotel, I take off my shoes, and sand spills out onto the duvet on my bed. I brush that off and then notice that more takes its place because the soles of my socks are covered as well, as I should have expected. Easy solution; take my socks off. But the sand has penetrated my socks and also covers my feet.

The guys take a selfie after a quick wade.

Bondi is the last stop on our city tour, and from there we wind our way back through the narrow, hilly streets til we return to the hotel. We again leave the boys to their own devices and head back over the pedestrian bridge to the shopping mall to check out the souvenir shops there and to grab some nighttime shots of the convention center and Darling Harbor at night.

We wander about in the mall but don’t find anything we can’t live without. So we walk back across the bridge, take a couple of other pics, and head back to the room.

TV guide: The same networks seem to be on pretty much everywhere we go, much like the standard hotel lineups you run into, except you don't see listings for local channels. Local news inserts take place between shows, though. One channel is devoted to old British shows. Yet another seems to be devoted to the coverage of cricket. I never watch much of it because cricket makes no sense to me.

One thing about watching the news programming is that it all seems quite familiar. Same kinds of discussions we have back here, same kinds of political rhetoric, just with an Aussie accent.

The Monday after our arrival is dominated by discussions of the Australian Rule Football championship -- the equivalent of our Super Bowl -- which were held in Melbourne Saturday, and the national rugby championship held in Sydney on Sunday. Aussies are just as sports absorbed and fanatical as Americans.

Another item that dominates the news is the Tostee murder trial. This Tostee fella met some young woman through Tinder and started a relationship. Something went bad, and she wound up falling to her death from his 25th story apartment balcony. Someone actually got a picture of her legs dangling outside their apartment.

The prosecution said Tostee threw her off the balcony during a fight between the two. He said she jumped. He also said horrible things to her during the argument, which the prosecution had a recording of, though I didn't catch why they had that.

I did look the story up when we returned, just to find out what the verdict was. Not guilty. Reminded me of one of my journalism professor's talks on covering trials. People are found not guilty of a particular charge, he said, but that doesn't mean they are innocent. Probably true here.