Here are ten random meditations on Sydney.

1)   The shops open at 9am. Have you ever been in a department store at 9am? It’s quite a displacing sensation. It feels as if you got up to go to the shops rather than getting up and deciding to go to the shops. It’s not right. There are other things that don’t feel right when you’ve just arisen from your nightly slumber such as seeing a jazz band, wearing black tie or eating oysters.

2)   The largest department store in Sydney still has customer announcements: “Good Morning Customers, we have terrific savings in men’s haberdashery today with many named brands 50% off” The old lady making these announcements was persistent, if a little confused as to the correct pronunciation of Hitachi (top marks for retrying on-air though) and I could tell from her delivery she was convinced that blu-ray was a typing error on her script.

3)   Most people in Sydney are employed by the security industry. Not security as in police offices or armored vehicle personnel but “you can’t come in here wearing that” type of security. Bouncers if you will. They are everywhere and at all times of the day – bars, restaurants, store entrances and so on. They are the ever-vigilant protectors of dress code and gaggles of somewhat classless girls. As we all know, their real job is to balance your spending potential with your trouble quotient; we seem to be welcome everywhere.

4)   The girls here are victim to cheap high street fashion. Same problem happens in the UK when all the affordable retail outlets are inundated with cheaply made, “night out with the girls”, trampy partyware. Things are bulging out in the wrong places, seams are crooked and the only decent fit is the one I will have if that girl hitches up her stupid strapless dress over her boobs one more time. Girlfriend, get a better fitting and tasteful outfit or better fitting and tasteful boobs – either appears to be fine in Sydney.

5)   Talking of boobs, topless bathing is quite acceptable on Bondi beach.

6)   Talking of Bondi beach, they have the most fantastic swimming club called the Ice Breakers. The swimming pools are right next to the ocean and the waves occasionally splash into them in a pleasing almost choreographed fashion. The clubhouse juts out from the cliffside, affording amazing views of the whole beach and bay from the ultra-chic top level bar. They serve the general public although the general public rarely goes in because it costs $17 for a gin and tonic. The also serve Pimms. I had two and charged the bill to my expense account. I am Mad Man!

7)   The Australian dollar is taking performance-enhancing drugs. It is so expensive in Sydney that my credit card creaks under the weight of its burden. There are 95 Aussie cents to the US dollar so you might as well call it parity but that’s where the parity ends. I sneeze, it costs $10 and I can’t even expense bodily convulsive explosions. Now, I fully understand that the three of us (Snr. Dir. Biz Dev, VP of Operations and little old me) might only be frequenting the more exclusive of establishments be we secretly know that we’re not even at the second to top tier of Sydney dining. We’re just trying to have a decent meal whilst suffering the hardships of being away from our home and loved ones. If such suffering is only abated after a third bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, then so be it. Oh the humanity of it all.

8)   Hanoi and Sydney are sister cities in traffic madness. There are more cars than road space and just like Hanoi, your right to be on a certain piece of road is governed by the fact you just placed yourself on that certain piece of road. Lots of locals cycle and cycle lanes are ubiquitous. These cyclists are insane, nobody cares for them and they don’t care for themselves. At least in Hanoi the cyclists are in packs of several hundred, there’s safety in those numbers. Here they are the bi-pedal urban kangaroo that bounces out into the middle of the road mesmerized by the oncoming headlights. Some city cars still have ‘roo-bars so ensuring neither marsupial nor bi-cycle will damage the front of your BMW.

9)   Lots of guys in Sydney lift a lot of weights. Big biceps, perfect pecs and a triangular torso stuffed into a skin tight t-shirt. I guess if the beach and the nightclub were your two main social activities, Darwinian theory would say that your chances of mating are higher if you look like you could beat someone up for both ogling your girl and stealing your break. At Sydney’s top nightclub, Hugo’s, I stood wondering if I might have a better chance than the local males because I look completely different than every other guy there. Perhaps some innate and buried desire for genetic diversity would surface and I would be considered suitable breeding material for a passing female. Then I realized the best I could hope for was a vicious mauling from a passing cougar.

10) Population density in Sydney is huge. Seattle is small town America in comparison. Kings Cross on a Saturday night is an overcrowded, oversexed human zoo of mardi gras proportions. The Manley Ferry on a Sunday afternoon is equally as chunky although it’s the under fives feeling queasy rather than the under twenty fives. Chinatown smells and old Asian ladies push washing machines across busy intersections. This is exactly what a Chinatown should be. The gay district, Darlinghurst, is just plain nasty.  That too, is exactly how it should be. I don’t believe reflex anal dilatatio (look it up) should feel at home in the gentrified, commoditized and commercialized gay neighborhoods of the Passive Northwest. Every city street at any time seems to be teeming with life darting in opposing directions but moving in concert. Sydney is the great barrier reef of urban existence.

So, my time here comes to a close. My plastic camera is not a reliable source of documentation. Its temperamental and inconsistent nature yet again leaves the words on this blog as the sole journal. Most of these meditations were made under the influence of less than wholesome stimuli and I must give credit to my colleagues who may either have planted the seed of my acerbic commentary or spoke the original nuggets of comedic observation that I may have plagiarized for this essay. If nothing else, I owe much to one of them for ordering yet another round of drinks and more to the other for signing my expense report “no questions asked” – I hope.