Sydney day two

 I am once again in a country that knows how to melt cheese. Highly exciting. Yes, you can find things with melted cheese in them in Turkey and India. No, they are not plentiful enough or well done to be noteworthy. Pizza. I was craving pizza. I don’t think I’ve had any at all since leaving Italy. Since I slept in, I happily wolfed down a pie on my lonesome as a late breakfast.

The topology of the transit network here is pretty unique and I’m having trouble wrapping my head around it. They’ve got a ton of electrified mainline rail running through the city center in tunnels which feels kind of S-Bahn like. Sometimes the trains through run and sometimes they’re pushed through a little loop and spat back out. It’s almost like the trains are run through a massive traffic circle underneath the city. On top of this (literally) there’s a tram network and one metro line. Also frustrating me is the letter designations. The mainline trains are labeled T and then a number. In any other part of the world this would refer to a tram. The trams are labeled L which I typically associate with the Market Frankford Line in Philly. That’s a personal nitpick but I keep walking to tram stops for the T. Costs me time.

The people here dress well and creatively formal or not. I like that. What does that mean? People in Scandinavia dress well but terribly boring. They look great, stylish clean outfits that are straight out of an H & M cover shoot. Everyone looks the same. It’s incredibly boring and makes people who don't love black, grey, or navy stand out. People in London dress creatively. Everyone is showing off some sort of personal flair and looking good while doing it. The problem is that they can’t dress down at all. There’s no casual culture and they have no way of relaxing while showing personal style. That’s how a country grows a blazer addiction. The balance here is something I haven’t seen since I left France.

Overall Sydney feels to me like California where everything went right. I’m sure they have their problems but there’s no poop on the street, people are enjoying the sunshine, and women go for runs alone at night if it pleases them. I can’t say the same for LA or SF. The relaxed feel, sunshine, and carefree attitude reminds me of home. Maybe I’m just glad to get out of Malaysia which culturally felt a bit stifling.

After four months, I’m not in much of a mood for sightseeing, I’d much rather just finish my novel. Bond has just bankrupted Le Chiffre and there’s still about eighty pages left. I can’t let them sit. I hopped the T to Circular Quay and took the first ferry I saw. Just my luck, it was headed for Manly, a place I understand has always been a sort of coastal resort town next to Sydney. I parked myself on a bench and read.

Bond Book By the Beach

A few chapters in, my phone vibrated. Rosalind Meyer, a distant relation, had just sent me an email coordinating us meeting up after I got to Melbourne. I absentmindedly flicked through it until I saw the address in New South Whales, the state I am in now and Melbourne is not. Quickly, I tapped out a reply hoping to see her that day. After a quick stop at a bakery, I was on the bus to her apartment.

Los Angeles or Mosman?

Rosalind is my Grandmother Katie’s younger cousin. They are of different generations but close enough in age that the first two decades of their lives share the same beats. Born in Singapore to Baghdadi-Jewish family, they escaped during the Japanese invasion and wound up in Australia. This is an incredibly broad reduction of two people’s lives but one cannot compress the richness of even one of them into just a blog post. Her book “Rosie’s War” reads like the autobiography my grandmother never wrote. Katie spoke very little of that time of her life, I cannot imagine how difficult it was for her to go through it. I owe Rosalind an immense gratitude for preserving these memories in spite of the pain they may cause. We talked for a few hours about our shared family, her life, Katie’s life, and where the world is going. She has a lot to share and the advantage of being old enough to not care what people think of her opinions. That is editorial freedom. She is still sharp as a tack, can rattle off the names of countless long gone leaves of the family tree, and teaches a writing class in her senior home. What a treat and a joy it was to spend some time with her.

The author signs a gift for my mother

It got late and we were both in need of a nap. I said goodbye and went back to my room. When I awoke, it was late. Too late. Sydney is good at a lot of things, nightlife is shockingly not one of them. Odd, people are out, there are great bars, but at 11 pm I was struggling to find a decent dinner. I settled for an indecent dinner Hungry Jack’s is open 24/7 and who can argue with Aussie Burger King? The milkshake was a great end to the day.