Sydney 26 Part 2

The city is genuinely, really beautiful, at least the part I got to see. I mostly stayed in the CBD. And, against my usual habits, I actually did museums and galleries right away, at least a few of them. Normally I save that stuff for when I’m old and can’t walk anymore, that’s the basic plan. But out here at the other end of the world, who knows how often I’ll make it back. And damn, around midday it can get hot and humid, so why not hide in the air conditioning.

But from the beginning.

Saturday morning in a big city, and what do I do? Right, first stop: the gym. I picked what looked like the best one around and it didn’t disappoint. A proper iron sweatbox. Love it.

What really surprised me was how disproportionately many genuinely well defined, bulky, middle aged guys were training there. Either they all have an excellent coach and nutritionist, or an excellent dealer who knows his craft. If you know what to look for, it kind of speaks for itself: acne on the shoulders, muscles popping in places you normally don’t “accidentally” train (like the cheeks), misalignments or gaps between the teeth (which can hint at stacks involving growth hormone), plus that small round belly, the bubble, despite hard definition and a lean look everywhere else. Then you know what’s up. Normally you see maybe two guys of that caliber at that age in a gym, and they know exactly what they’re doing. I also know what it costs in time and discipline. Just not 80 percent of the room.

After running through my 45 minute program I went back to the hotel. It was almost noon by the time I headed out again. First stop: the Australian Museum, a natural history museum. I wanted to learn something new about Australia and the First Nations. The description says: “Australia’s oldest museum, founded in 1827, with extensive zoological and anthropological collections.”

Quick note: museums and galleries in Australia are often free, except special exhibitions. That’s the continent’s wealth for you (and everyone complains about how expensive life is, if only they knew; it doesn’t seem to help education all that much either). Which dinosaurs once wandered across Australia or the ancient supercontinent, fine, whatever. Birds are descendants of dinosaurs, wow, what a groundbreaking insight from the 1960s. Every time I see a chicken, I see the dinosaur in it, the same way I see that little rat like mammal in many humans, the creature they ultimately came from.

What I really wanted was to learn about Aboriginal people, or more broadly the First Peoples, and I left disappointed. One hall, an exhibition with a few instruments, and then a section on Pacific navigation and seafaring. To be fair, that part was fascinating to me. Open ocean navigation long before the compass, using observation of nature, currents, water temperature, bird migration. I genuinely learned something new there. But on the First Peoples, it felt like shockingly little, at least to me. Then again, the mistake may be mine, maybe I simply didn’t look carefully enough. I moved on anyway, it was getting a bit too crowded.

Past St Mary’s Cathedral and on to the Art Gallery of New South Wales. Again: free entry. It was later than I’d planned, and I still wanted to get to the harbour to shoot the sunset, so I rushed through a few sections and thought: I’ll come back tomorrow.

But one painting stopped me cold. Beautiful, really: violet blotches, red lines. In front of it a young Asian woman posed in a deliberately seductive way while her boyfriend took photos. Only when she was satisfied did they move on. I stepped closer, read the label, and realised the work was about Australia’s settlement policy and its bloody history, including the many massacres committed against the First Nations. And once again, it proves true: check your background first.

So there I was, standing in front of this memorial like piece, where a moment earlier someone had been posing so prettily, and within minutes I learned more about colonisation and Australia’s violent history than I had in the past year combined. Around 350 massacres are documented as part of the dispossession and takeover; the last one is dated 1928, from what I found in a quick search. Undercount? Quite possibly. To this day Australians struggle, not with the past itself, but with working through it. If you dig into it you run into lines like: “In some accounts colonisation is described as (settler) genocide or as genocidal practice; legally the classification is disputed due to the requirement of intent.” I don’t think much more needs to be said. Legally. That word alone says enough.

And what’s more, you hardly encounter the topic in everyday life. They still celebrate Australia Day on 26 January (1788), the day the British fleet put the first colonists, about 750 convicts, ashore. Others call it “Invasion Day” or “Day of Mourning.” What I also noticed in Sydney: rainbow flags everywhere, sexual orientation and gender identity are highly visible, equal treatment for everyone, all of that is fine and right and important. And at the same time there’s this other blind spot: if you’re not white, you’re different, and you’re not equal.

It got late and I walked to the harbour through the Royal Botanic Garden. It feels like every city has one, just like every city has the same street names: Charles, Queen, King, Edward, boring British Lizbeth vibes. The suburb names, on the other hand, are often wonderfully weird.

Down to the water then, through the garden, past the open air cinema (nothing I cared to see), and over to Mrs Macquarie’s Chair to find a good spot for sunset photos. That part was easy enough. Sadly the Opera House and the sunset don’t line up this time of year. Wrong season. But I did get the sun dropping behind the skyscrapers, and for a few minutes there was some drama in the light. At least a handful of solid shots.

For the next day I had another position in mind. But first: food, and Sydney does that well. In Brisbane I’m used to the sun going down at six and then basically everything shuts and everyone’s in bed. Here people are still sitting outside, enjoying life, very European. The only difference: hardly anyone smokes anymore. Only the truly addicted can’t quit and pay absurd prices for their cigarettes.

I went with Indian, and it was the right call. Great restaurant, friendly service, nailed it.

The next day started slow: wandering around, coffee here, a small breakfast there. Then back to the Art Gallery of New South Wales to see the rest, pay for the special exhibition, and look at Ron Mueck’s larger than life sculptures. Outstanding.

Something else that stands out: they make a real point of showing Asian, or more specifically Chinese, art everywhere. There’s a reason for that too: tourists dominate central Sydney, and it seems to be a very popular destination, with money to spend, and the money is welcome. After getting a Chinese New Year dragon dance with loud music right inside the gallery, I headed back toward the city. First to a library to prep quietly on a few topics, then on to the Museum of Contemporary Art right by the harbour.

There were excellent installations that actually make you think. Art can and should critique. Still, the themes were less daring, and a lot of it felt like something I’d already seen before, just decades earlier, on the other side of the world, in one form or another.

Then on to The Rocks, originally an artists’ market, as I understood it. Today it’s more of a luxury boutique backdrop. I’d also planned to take a boat ride, but the weather rolled in and the sunset photography was a write off. The excellent Indian dinner, however, was not.

In that sense.