Manly-Sydney Quayside-Hobart
Omigod. The rain was torrential on Boston when I took off six days ago. I got off three pictures in the Mohave desert before the sun went behind the clouds. It came out again for the last 15 minutes before sunset. It was clear and hot on the Hoover dam the following morning, but that was the last I saw of the sun. Three days of rain in Las Vegas. Landed in Sydney this morning, and it is still raining.
I boarded the plane in Los Angeles at 10:30pm on Wednesday 19 October. I was extremely tired mentally and physically after three solid days on my feet and on my guard, needing to be pleasant 24x7: a stranger on the airport shuttle who saw my company shirt asked me casually about the company, how it was doing, how I liked it, turned out to be an enterprise customer. I was also smoothed out by drugs and alcohol. So it was no real surprise to stagger off the plane to find that Thursday disappeared and it is Friday already. Easy come easy go I guess. I certainly feel remarkably refreshed.
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It is 7am. I have a 6 hr layover, so (after thank goodness being allowed to check my big pack on for the last leg to Hobart) I took a 45-minute, personal minibus ride to Manly (north of Sydney). Although I knew we must travel right through the center of Sidney, I was glad that we did not pass anything that I recognised.The driver showed me the ferry landing then dropped me a few hundred yards away right on the beach. |
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The beach was deserted (no surprise, 8am and wet) but there were crowds of people sitting out in sidewalk cafes having coffee, despite the rain.
I sat and had a coffee at a counter where I could still watch the ocean breakers, then since the point of being in Manly was only as a point from which to conveniently catch a ferry, I returned to the ferry terminal.
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The good news was that the next ferry was leaving in 15 minutes, and it had been replaced by the catamaran (no extra charge) which would knock 15 minutes off the trip. The bad news was that there's nowhere to sit outside on the catamaran. This is a problem from a sea legs perspective, but also leaves photographs to be taken through scratched and rain-smeared windows. The light sucked anyway, so I put the camera away and simply enjoyed the view while I keep one or both eyes firmly on the horizon. |
So I officially arrive in Sydney the "proper" way, in a boat. To my dismay, but logically, we don't go under the bridge, and instead pull into the quay between the Opera House and the bridge. Big shock: on this overcast, wet day, the Opera House looked a color that Bette Midler would call "putty." I was assured later by the Opera House guide that this is because the tiles that cover its surface are not white. They are two putty shades that reflect white in the sun, but at the same time provide some measure of heat protection. Sounds a little like the belly of the shuttle, and the mosaic of tiles reminded me of that.
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Still conscious of the time, I get off the ferry and head straight around the quay towards the Opera House. I just miss the 10am tour, so sign up for the next one at 10.30. The ticket includes a free "refreshment" at the Opera Cafe, which is part of the lower level walkway that opens directly onto the harbor. There are two lines waiting for counter service, and I'm directed to join the faster-moving "free refreshment" line. We're definitely second-class citizens. The coffee comes out of a different pot, is served in paper cups instead of china, and is without question the weakest, nastiest, most insipid puddle of mud I've downed in a long time. But of course I down it.
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The roofs are covered with exactly 1,056,056 Swedish ceramic tiles arranged in 4,253 pre-cast lids.
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Now I have nothing to do but wait, I stop to absorb the surroundings a little. I'm standing in the world's most photographed object (an interesting statistic I wonder how you could validate it) but the view from here has to be almost as famous. The long, lazy arch of the bridge seems as distinctive as it is majestic.
There's something very uplifting about these side-by-side monuments, so different in their design and their purpose, but both subjected to the perils of acceptance by committee, and the risks of budget restrictions outweighing artistic or spiritual merit, but both in the end beating out their clearly more pedestrian opponents. |
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Every time beauty triumphs over budget it breathes some hope into the future of our culture.
As I stare, I suddenly notice a line of stick figures slowly making their way up the top of the arch. Bridge climbers! Then I notice several other groups, each a crew of about a dozen people, walking single file like teams of mountain climbers. Which I guess they are. It's hard to imagine that we are supposed to be in one of those crews at the other end of the trip. |
Meanwhile, back on the Opera House tour, we were supposed to see the second largest of the concert halls. But there was an impromptu rehearsal. The guide was distressed—this company has never allowed any visitors in the auditorium while rehearsing, and we couldn't visit the other large hall, because there was a concert going on. We'd had some rough spots negotiating the rain and building works already, the tour was not cheap, and the natives were getting restless. Finally the director arrived and let us know he'd been able to get permission for us to creep into the circle and take a (silent) peek. |
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So not only did we get to see a rehearsal instead of an empty theatre, but I recognized the piece they were rehearsing (from Gilbert and Sullivan). Afterwards, the guide said she'd been doing this for 20 years, and had never been allowed into a rehearsal before.
My favorite piece of trivia: several Aussie personalities got their start in the drama theatre here—Mel Gibson, Geoffrey Rush, Kate Winslet were on the stage. Nicole Kidman was an usher. |
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Back on the quay, I passed an arty-farty store, with some beautiful didgeridoos in the window. I step inside, and discover, of course, that didgeridoos come in all sorts of sizes and qualities. Just as naturally, I can pick out the expensive ones without checking the price tags. But when I do, it is scary. They are several hundred dollars more than the next tier. I ask for some sort of justification. It's very simple, according to the help. These are a musical instrument, those are a souvenir. These are hollowed by termites, those are drilled out. I like the clarity and frankness. Better still, he picks one up and plays it. Then does the same with the cheaper one. Even to my uneducated ears, the difference is stark. But that's a bummer. There's no way now that I can buy an imitation, and no way that I can afford the real thing. Especially 20 minutes into the trip. I take one more wistful look around, and leave empty-handed.
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In a somewhat less classy establishment, I spot a pair of boxer shorts made from the Australian flag. And since this has the Southern Cross where the US flag has its stars, I snap a picture for the treasure hunt.
Then back to the airport for the connection to Tasmania, and an event-free ride into downtown Hobart, where the shuttle dropped me right outside my hotel. |
After checking with the chatty receptionist about where to go for supper, I walked down to the port in search of fish and chips and a celebratory beer. On the way, I passed a record store and hearing the jazz wafting through the door, I stepped inside. There's a balding old fart behind the counter, but you can tell us apart because he's wearing a cardigan.
"I'm looking for something Australian, preferably some sort of jazz piano, can you recommend something?"
"I don't know what you like."
"Well, let me see. Brad Mehldau is one of my favorites."
"He's not Australian."
No shit Sherlock. I can't think of a suitable response, caustic or comforting, so instead I browse a little more. I pick something with an interesting cover.
"That's not the one I would have chosen."
I wish my brother Chris was here to enjoy the situation, and to come up with just the right crushing response with which to make a graceful but devastating exit, but I'm alone and speechless. Instead I grab all the CD's by this particular musician, and ask the cardigan to make a choice. He does, he puts it on, I don't like it. While I'm listening, his mother calls, and clearly is telling him that his dinner is on the table. He assures her he'll be home shortly. I thank him for letting me listen and beat a retreat for the door.
"Sorry I was rushed" he calls as I let the door hit me in the ass. I feel a great sense of relief that I didn't buy my way out of the moment.
I continued on down to the harbor, and the recommended chippy, which appropriately is right on the water, I ask which fish I should try. Can't remember the name, but it was excellent... so was the beer... |
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Manly
"Seven miles from Sydney and 1,000 miles from care" was the slogan used by
the Port Jackson and Manly Steamship Company in 1940 to describe Australia's
Premier Seaside Resort. Ferries have been plying this spectacular route between
Sydney's Circular Quay and Manly since 1855. The 7 nautical miles via the
magnificent waterway of Sydney Harbor is the original and still best way to
travel, arriving at Manly Wharf - a brand new food and wine oasis at Manly
Cove.
Sydney Opera House
The Sydney Opera House, situated on
Sydney Harbor at Bennelong Point, is
considered by many to be one of the
wonders of the modern world. Designed by
Jørn Utzon and constructed under some controversy, it was opened in October
1973. The Opera House is the home, amongst others to the: The Australian
Ballet, Australian Chamber Orchestra, The Bell Shakespeare Company, Opera
Australia, Sydney Dance Company, Sydney Symphony and Sydney Theatre
Company.
Prior to the Sydney Opera House, Sydney had no adequate dedicated music
venue. Orchestral concerts were given in its Town Hall, and staging opera was
almost impossible due to the lack of suitable stages. The appointment of Sir
Eugene Goosens in 1947 brought
into Sydney's musical life a focal point for the need to create a better venue for
the performing arts. Goosens told reporters that his
plans included the creation of a concert hall suitable for opera as well as
orchestral performances. However, apart from occasional
public announcements and exhortation from Goosens, nothing happened for
seven more years.
Finally, late in 1954, the State Government of New South Wales, finding itself
increasingly embarrassed by its own inaction, became involved in a moderately
supportive manner. The Premier of the day, Joseph Cahill, set up the committee which got the project
under way. He also set up an appeal fund to raise money for the building. When
it became obvious that the fund would not even raise the $7 million the Opera
House was first estimated to cost, Mr Cahill introduced the Opera House
Lotteries. The original appeal fund raised about $900,000 and the rest of the
$102 million that the Opera House ended up costing came from the profits of the
lottery. The building was completely paid for by July 1975.
The committee set up by the Government selected the site for the building.
Known as Bennelong Point, it was named after the first Aborigine to speak
English, who was born on the site. Until this time, it was used as wharfing area
and had a rather unsightly tram storage barn prominently occupying much of the
site. An international competition was organized for the design of a performing
arts complex, and although this was well known, the misnomer "Opera House" caught on.
Design entrants
were free to choose any approach that they wished, and that
there were no limits to the cost of the structure. 233
design entries were submitted. The winner , announced in January 1957, was the Danish architect Jorn
Utzon. It was originally envisaged that it would take four years
to build the Opera House; in actual fact, it wasn't completed until mid 1973.
Construction of the building commenced in March 1959. The original design
called for two theatres, but at this point the government changed the
requirements for the building now required that four theatres be incorporated into the design—a large hall for opera, ballet, and large scale symphony concerts
capable of seating 3,000-3,500 people, and a smaller hall for drama, chamber
music and recitals, capable of seating approx 1,200 people. Recently, some internal changes to the structure have enabled a fifth theatre to be
created.
The original design was so boldly conceived that it proved structurally
impossible to build. After four years of research Utzon altered his design and
gave the roof vaults a defined spherical geometry. This enabled the roofs to be
constructed in a pre-cast fashion, greatly reducing both time and cost.
The project was subject to many delays and cost over-runs, and (probably
unfairly) Utzon was often blamed for these. A new government was elected in
NSW in 1965, partly on the campaign promise to "do something" about the cost
overruns with the design. The government withheld fee payments to Utzon and
refused to agree to his design ideas and proposed construction methods. This
pretty much forced Utzon to resign, which he did in February 1966 as Stage II
was nearing completion.
The first performance was in the Opera Theatre on 28 September 1973, was The Australian Opera performed War and Peace by Prokofiev. The Sydney Opera House was officially opened by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II on 20 Oct 1973.
The roofs are covered with exactly 1,056,056 Swedish ceramic tiles
arranged in 4,253 pre-cast lids. The
exterior and interior walls, stairs and floors are faced with pink aggregate granite
which was quarried at Tarana in New South Wales. The two woods used
extensively to decorate the interiors are brush box and white birch plywood
which were both cut in northern NSW. There are 6,225 sq m (67,000 sq ft) of
glass, made in France, in the mouths of the roofs and other areas of the building.
It is in two layers - one plain and the other demi-topaz tinted. About 2,000 panes
in 700 sizes were installed. |
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