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This may be a story about Australia, but don’t go looking for any bronzed blokes named Crocodile Dundee or any baby-eating dingoes. Instead, this story is about my home town of Sydney, one of the most diverse, permissive, outgoing cities on the planet. Having just spent twelve months away, I returned to Sydney recently, not quite a visitor and yet not really a local anymore, merely an onlooker now, I guess. As my wife, Diana, and I had dragged our weary bones off the jumbo jet from New York, and charmed our way through customs – beware the sniffer dogs, incidentally, they’re deadly – my Sydneysider instinct quickly returned to me. A budget, for instance, is the key to traveling in Sydney. If you’re skimming off the top of your student allowance, best take the backpacker hostel route: they’re dotted around the back streets of the red light zone, King’s Cross, and the very gay, extremely friendly Darlinghurst. Don’t let a few “no vacancy” signs put you off: there are plenty of hostels to choose from. If your budget falls somewhere between the bar fridge and the backpack, look around, there’s plenty of fair-to-middling hotels slightly away from the tourist havens of the center of town. Don’t sweat it, though, Sydney is San Francisco in size, so getting about isn’t a drama. And if you’ve got a few more bucks to throw around – don’t forget, the American dollar buys about $1.40 Australian, rising every day – any of the flash hotels in and around Circular Quay and The Rocks are just the trick. Best brush up on your Japanese beforehand, though. Speaking of tricks, you’re bound to end up in King’s Cross during your trip, irrespective of where you’ve stored your backpack. It’s an easy subway ride from the center of the city, or an uphill stroll if you’re wearing your Docs. At a push, I’d say it’s worth a token glance, but not much more. If you’ve toured the dark side of Amsterdam, or can recall Times Square before Rudy’s cleanup, don’t expect too much; King’s Cross is really just a few blocks of touristy sleaze, with some nasty back streets thrown in for thrill seekers. Sure, you can watch the prostitutes drape themselves over traffic stopped in William Street, or you can be harangued by zealous entrepreneurs along Bayswater Road, but there’s more serious excitement elsewhere in the city. Trust me. |
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Oxford Street is the heart and soul of the booming gay district. So booming, in fact, that the month-long Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras, which floats its way along Oxford Street in February, is on the brink of becoming the world’s biggest gay gala. Really. A half-million donned the tank tops and bike shorts in 1997, and there’s every chance this year’s crowd – always a mix of gays and straights – will exceed that. The Mardi Gras itself winds up (but definitely doesn’t wind down) with the Sleaze Ball, where everything is accepted and no questions asked. Book early. But don’t roll up if you’re easily shocked, or homophobic. You’ll be way outnumbered. |
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Yet even during the other 11 months of the year, Oxford Street remains the hub for great food and serious fun. What do you want? Thai? Vietnamese? Cambodian? Indian? Thaibodian? Indamese? No problem. Dance clubs that never close? Take your pick. Have a beer at the Albury Hotel and make new friends. Get in early at the Q Bar and play pool on a proper table, and between shots take in the human parade on the street below. Head-bang to AC/DC with the straights and drunks at the Judgment Bar. Stock up on Lonely Planet Guides at Ariel bookstore. Or just walk the Oxford Street strip, from Hyde Park at the city end, right up to Paddington, or vice versa. The people-watching is top notch and the coffee is so punchy it reduces Seattle’s finest to some dim Starbuck’s nightmare. My wife developed a serious addiction to “flat whites” while in Sydney: think of a Latte with more oomph and less froth. Sydney is also a dedicated rock’n’roll city. The 12,000 capacity Entertainment Centre is our very own Madison Square Garden (well, sort of), but the 500-ish capacity Metro is much hipper, while the State Theatre is a picturesque venue that houses those acts too big for the pubs but not quite ready for the masses. Ben Harper and Brad were performing at the State Theatre while I was in town, Radiohead was filling the Entertainment Centre, and brattish Brits Oasis were but a few weeks away. The Entertainment Centre also just so happens to be on the fringes of Chinatown, which is well worth a pre-gig wander, as is Darling Harbour (home to the glitzy Star City casino), a waterfront spot where Diana (my wife, not the princess) and I had a Zen-like experience at the tranquil Chinese Gardens. It was there, amidst the greenery and carp, that we got our heads into shape before we jumped a monorail and spun about the touristy/shopping center of town. If you do have shopping in mind, and the plastic to burn, the very stylish Queen Victoria Building is as good a place as any to acquire major debt. It’s packed with designer stores and slightly more mid-range shops. Even if adding a Spice Girlish outfit to your wardrobe isn’t on your list of must-do’s, the Queen Victoria Building is still a solid place to drift, checking out the stained glass from the inside and the Victorian architectural splendor from the street. If you’re a Christmas visitor – remember Sydney summer burns from November through March – the QVB folks hoist up a pretty fair Christmas tree, an indoor version of the Rockefeller Center’s glittering spectacle. It’s really not bad. If you visit Sydney and only cruise Oxford Street, not Sydney harbor, the loss is entirely yours. Any of the cheaper ferry trips out of Circular Quay will give you the full Harbour Bridge/Opera House vista. My first recommendation is to take an easy roll over to Taronga Park Zoo, which is a cool oasis and a mellow escape from the city hustle, despite the fragrant bouquet of animal waste. Or ride the waves to Manly, where you can glimpse the surf beach action, stroll the sunny streets in search of food, or watch a lunatic feed sharks at the aquarium. With a tourist-friendly climate and something for all tastes and desires, Sydney is the coolest city south of the equator, but just don’t go there expecting beer-swilling yobbos wearing hats with corks, or blokes with leathery skin wrestling the wildlife. We leave that myth for Paul Hogan films, thanks all the same. February 1998 More NY Rock Overseas: For our New York City Directory of 
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