Sydney Harbour...an Irishman's View

[mrmoshe]

Harbour of dreams

When you've travelled halfway round the world, your destination just has to be good. Peter Carvosso reckons that Australia's greatest city is even better than its reputation ...

By Peter Carvosso

Tuesday April 08 2008

Often when you see an iconic city for the first time there's a sense of disappointment that the reality simply doesn't live up to the legend. And if you've travelled halfway round the world, the feeling of loss is even greater.

With Sydney, the first view from the Botanical Gardens of the Opera House -- with a backdrop of the Bridge -- puts the hype in the halfpenny place. It's everything you had hoped for, and more.

That's the big image, of course, but there are so many smaller ones that leave a lingering smile at the memory: the Bondi cliff walk; the ferry-ride to a beach cafe with Sydney's skyline as a backdrop; the breathtaking views from Sydney Tower; the statue of Queen Victoria "generously donated by the people of Ireland"; the regenerated city wharves that are now celebrity haunts; those fabulous tomatoes that make the ones you buy here seem like a different species; catching kingfish in the harbour with a flyfishing rod.

On the first day it's hard not to simply stop and stare at the crowds -- a milling mixture of East and West, with most apparently dressed for the beach and the business people trying hard not to sweat in their worsted suits and tightly-knotted ties.

Then your gaze turns to the buildings and you have to remind yourself that the city is a baby -- only a little over 200 years old. The centre is a remarkable contrast of strutting skyscrapers with modest old terraced homes often still nestling beneath them. And everywhere the dissonant, history-in-a-word street signs tell their own story: Balmoral, Clontarf, Woolloomooloo.

I confess that I knew absolutely nothing about Sydney other than the images we all have of the Bridge (which locals call the 'coat-hanger') and the legendary Opera House.

What amazed me most was the sheer size of the harbour, which stretches a full 20kms inland to the mouth of the Parrammata River and has a shoreline of almost 250kms.

At its heart, by the Opera House and the Bridge, is the extraordinary 'busyness' of the inner harbour, as the ferries -- some looking as though they were put together by Captain Cook's boatbuilder, others modern and flashy -- scurry back and forth with an air of suppressed impatience. You're almost surprised they don't honk at each other in fits of water rage.

The most dramatic view we had of the harbour during our visit in February was from the 309m-high Sydney Tower, on the evening when the venerable cruise liner, the QE2, nudged and harried by tiny tugs, made her final exit from the harbour en route to become a floating hotel in Dubai.

She was saluted by that young upstart, the Queen Victoria, as the two mighty vessels crossed paths right in the middle of the main harbour.

For a moment you could hardly see water and it seemed that every small boat for miles had come to witness the unique royal encounter.

For the ferries, of course, there was no sentimentality: it was back to business as soon as was decently possible.

During your stay, take one to the outlying bays with their gorgeous beaches and enchanting views.

Fantasise about owning one of the multi-million-dollar homes with front gardens creeping down to the seafront.

And imagine what it was all like before the building started: there are still many kilometres of preserved bushland which make up Sydney Harbour National Park

The ferries are the Sydneysiders' Luas and Dart, and thousands of commuters use them every day from places like Watson's Bay, with its wonderful views of the city, and Manly Cove -- so called because the early ships' officers were impressed by the stature and bearing of the Aborigines they found there.

My best afternoon in the harbour was with the amazing Justin Duggan, who runs Sydney Fly Fishing Tours and takes anglers out to catch species like the legendary kingfish. This is a far cry from the elegant Irish art of the dry-fly for brown trout on rivers like the Suir. These tropical babies grow to 50lbs and almost rip your arms off with the power of their runs.

But it wasn't just the fishing that made the day so memorable: it was hearing the living day-to-day stories of the harbour. Justin's contempt and anger over the shocking pollution vandals whose cynical legacy is only now being cleaned up; his pride at the natural wonders of the harbour -- the pristine beaches, the hillside wildlife, the fish -- including the occasional shark.

The most beautiful place he took me to was the last -- as his boat meandered up through Middle Harbour to a small landing stage. Here the woods came down to the water in many places, and, if you shaded your eyes you could imagine you were in an untouched wilderness, with no hint of a skyscraper over the brow of the hill.

It was so easy to share the astonishment of the men and women, now known as the First Fleeters, as they got their initial glimpse of the vast harbour sanctuary in January 1788 after months of privation at sea.

If you want a real feel for how it was then, read The Birth of Sydney, which contains compelling first-person stories of many of the early settlers. It's edited by the historian Tim Flannery, whose lengthy introduction paints a bittersweet portrait of the city's short history. The book is dedicated "To the Cadigaleans -- with the deepest regret that our shared history is not different and with a promise to cherish Cadi and all its creatures." Some of the Aborigines living near the north of the harbour called themselves Cadigaleans: 'Cadi' was their name for the harbour and 'galeans' means 'the people of'.

Flannery's love for Sydney shines through the pages -- as does his fear for the city. He describes it as an overweight adult, suffocating on its own lard. "The tragedy is that the best things Sydney has to offer -- its weather, beaches and parks -- are free. They're not making them any more, yet each year there are more and more people who want a piece of them."

All cities have their problems and the price of "progress" is apparent everywhere. But to the visitor it seems that Sydney is not only aware of the issues -- but is doing more than many places to address them.

It's seen in the big issues like cleaning up the harbour and establishing inviolate city parks; and the small ones, as we witnessed on the walk from Bondi to Coogee.

The legendary Bondi. Yes, it's full of fabulous bodies posing like crazy. But the truth is that there are so many tourists looking as porky and pale as you do that there's no need to feel self-conscious.

The best way to watch the action is from the lunchtime balcony of Icebergs restaurant at the start of the Coogee cliff walk. Have a glass of local chardonnay and some tempura prawns, and imagine yourself, if you'd been born an Aussie, waltzing the waves with these crazy young men.

Then that five-kilometre walk -- gentle and slow in the sun, stopping to look at everything. The crab pools, the natural rock-formed swimming pool, the surfers' waves crashing into the cliff-face, the tiny sandy coves. There's no crass interpretative centre, but everywhere discreet little signs, telling you some history, some geography, something to make the trip even more fulfilling.

And between the houses, the parks, and the sea, there are acres of natural reserves for endangered native marshy grasses -- a co-operation between the authorities and the locals. Not a huge deal, maybe, but you just felt that a lot of people do care.

Someone else who cared, or if he didn't, gave a damn good impression, was the Opera House tour guide who showed us around Sydney's defining building. Mike tells the same story 10 times a day. But what a story: the guy who designed the world's most recognisable piece of modern architecture -- with its roofs soaring like sailing masts 67m into the sky -- has never actually seen his masterpiece!

Danish architect Jorn Utson was commissioned to design it 51 years ago. The cost jumped from $7m to over $100m, and years into the project Utson left after one too many rows with State bosses who were stumping up the money. His masterpiece was finished in 1973, but he was so aggrieved he never returned to Sydney.

Now, in recognition of his work, his company has been commissioned to renovate the iconic building and some of his new thoughts are being put into practice by his children -- but, he says, at nearly 90, he's too old to travel to Sydney.

I see I'm back to where I started -- the inner harbour. And I've left so much out.

The museums, the spectacular aquarium, a beautiful and oh-so-trendy hotel called Blue with a vast interior that looked like a working factory, a memorable meal at the Four Seasons followed by a jazz session in the bar.

Do you remember the end of the long summer holiday when you were six and you had to go back to school? The screaming, kicking and crying. It was a bit like that as I was driven to the airport.

Only worse ...

[donjuarez]

I've travelled a fair bit and seen many cities, and have to admit that there is no place like Sydney...

Sydney will always be home...

[jewgaffer]

Excellent post Mallacoota Pete!!

What a nicely written story of an Irishman on a holiday in Sydney.

Everybody would enjoy Peter Carvosso's fine writing style and expression .

Cheers

jewgaffer

[jewgaffer]

I thought I'd revive this story presented as a topic by Mallacoota Pete. I don't think the story in Peter's topic received enough exposure time.

It's a beautifully written story by an overseas traveller named Peter Cavosso describing the city of Sydney. It's very striking in its description, very interesting and readable and almost a narration.

Anyway above is the story again and it's a story that I for one can relate to having first come to Sydney as a country boy from Cowra in Western NSW.

I hope readers enjoy the above story, the writing style and the vivid descriptions of Sydney as much as I did.

Cheers

jewgaffer

[Jigholio]

For anyone who enjoys a good read about our harbour, like this great article, or anyone who fishes for that matter A Jerk On One End by Robert Hughes is top stuff.