Sydney, day 6

Today we are heading to the beach town of Manly, which involves taking a ferry from Circular Quay. This is our substitute for a tourist-style tour of Sydney Harbour since we're too cheap to pay for a ride on a real tour boat. We like ferries better. We walk along the pedestrian corso that links Manly ferry terminal (which faces west to Sydney Harbour) to Manly beach (which faces east to the Tasman Sea). There's even an arts & crafts market going on today that we peruse. Curt's mildly interested in buying some shorts while we're here, but honestly, we're just not very good shoppers. I have a Kiwi friend who came to Sydney with her two teenage daughters specifically to shop for a week. They'd be disappointed to hear how much shopping we've done on this trip, which is next to nothing. I'm pretty much a failure at being a shopper. It's just not in me.

As we wander down Manly's beach, Curt finds a modern sculpture to sketch. It looks a lot like the sculptures along the boardwalk in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico (which he also sketched). I dutifully assume my role, sitting on some rocks, dangling my feet in the water, and reading a book. Ahhh. That's what vacations are all about. I'm well into my second book already, and brought along a third one just in case.

After the sketch, we walk farther to Shelly Beach which is even nicer and more secluded than Manly beach. Despite our aforementioned ineptitude at shopping, Curt scores a major success at a small gift shop near Shelly Beach that happens to have a perfect black ceramic pot for our bomb collection. Before you report us to the elite anti-terrorism squad, let me tell you the story of our bomb collection: My brother gave us a black ceramic pot for Christmas 18 years ago, and as we opened the box, it looked just like the size and shape of a cartoon-type bomb (but without a fuse). One of our boys cried out, "Cool! Uncle Scott gave us a bomb!" Uncle Scott immediately zoomed to the top of the list of best uncles ever, because what could be better for Christmas than a genuine bomb when you're 8 years old? Ever since then, we've called that pot our "bomb", and we began to collect matching black pottery bombs on our all travels. We have to be extra careful these days not to call our pottery a bomb in the airport as in "Do you have the bomb in your carry-on honey?" or "Don't let the bomb break." This kind of slip-up could have catastrophic consequences.



After securing our most important purchase of the trip, we climb some steep steps to a lookout over North Head. It has another stunning view of the Tasman. We keep following more trails, through a hole in a rock wall, and ultimately into a couple of dead ends. We've been walking for 90 minutes now, without knowing where we are or where we're going. We are utterly lost. I have visions of us stranded in the bush for days. With no water. It's HOT out.

Who will ever report us missing? Nobody will even notice our absence until Curt doesn't show up for work Jan 8. I'm convinced we'll get bit by a poisonous spider or attacked by endangered bandicoots (whatever they are). I can see the headlines now: STUPID AMERICAN TOURISTS' BODIES FINALLY FOUND or STUPID AMERICAN TOURISTS LOST IN THE BUSH WITHOUT WATER. Well, we eventually find our way back to civilisation, head towards the ferry terminal and get some nice cold water. And chocolate milk for you-know-who. So I guess we won't be headlines this time.


After that sweaty, nail-biting adventure, I'm ready for something safe. We take the ferry back to the city with three objectives: 1) Salad Nicoise 2) shorts for Curt 3) a movie.

1) Allow me to explain - Curt has been hankering for Salad Nicoise for days. We keep stopping at every restaurant and reading every menu, but can never find Salad Nicoise. (We actually do find it on one menu, but it's at a restaurant that is closed for 2 weeks during the holidays. Drat.) Don't ask me why he's so obsessed with finding Salad Nicoise, but he is. It's like he's pregnant or something and is having cravings. In the end, we settle for tasty exotic salads at David Jones Food Hall and I promise to make him Salad Nicoise when we get home to NZ.













2) We successfully purchase some shorts and two shirts for Curt so I guess we can say we did some shopping here after all. He did, anyway. The shorts are khaki, and the shirts are white and ... white. You have no idea how many white shirts he already owns! He's such an engineer. He wears white shirts and keeps a pen in his pocket - even while he's on vacation. I kid you not. Luckily, it's part of his charm.

3) At the cinemas, I want to go see The Queen. Curt thinks it's about Diana's death and he hates all that "pseudo-celebrity schlock" as he calls it.
Me: "But it's not about Diana's death. It's about the queen's reaction. And Tony Blair's."
Curt: "Mmm hmm." (pause) "Let's see what time James Bond begins"
Fortunately, James Bond doesn't start for 90 minutes and The Queen starts right now! So we buy the popcorn (this step is absolutely essential) and go watch The Queen. Even Curt likes it.

We end our night with a train-bus ride back to the hotel, and polish off the semi-melted ice cream bars we have in the room's mini-fridge that supposedly includes a freezer section but these ice cream bars aren't exactly frozen anymore. Still, that doesn't stop me. I eat it with a spoon. Tastes fine.