Luna Park is ablaze across Sydney harbor drawing us like moths to a flame. To avoid the carny chaos we walked through in daylight on our way to Wendy’s Garden. Even in broad daylight the place is just a bit creepy bringing to mind all the horror movies of old.
Strolling through Paddington, we find bizarre treasures that exploit Australian icons from Down Under.
….to jet lag.
Waiting for Hotel Palisade to open up…and the grass was so inviting.
We plan to go Walk About in Australia. It has been a few years (1973) since I landed in Sydney as a supernumerary steward on the Manutea, and later worked as a crew boss for a geophysical company in the Great Sandy Desert. Now we expect to cover from east to west coasts with stops in the middle, as well as a couple of islands including Tasmania..where I hope to finally see a platypus in the wild.
Until then, I will leave you with a sample of an old comic strip of mine that never made it into the newspapers. The star is a platypus.
Sipping juice and savoring fresh pastries at our hotel lobby, we slowly watched the quiet street open up…scooters and motorcycles are banned in the morning (and 2 other times during the day in this old historic part of town). As an elder man slowly placed bird cages on outdoor hooks, and begins sweeping the front steps, a canine orgy is taking place in the narrow street. One poor wretched critter is locked in coitus with no exit plan. Other dogs join the conga line and the elder man tries kicking the two headed beast…to no avail. Only after washing down the steps does he twist the hose and spray the two dogs, and “Houston, we have separation”.
It dawned on us as we strolled the village streets that we were in a Vietnamese Disney World with stage settings that created a retreat from history and war, from poverty and disease, greed and envy, from autocracy. This was becoming, not a workers paradise, but a tourist fantasyland where only the workers were in on the illusion. Oh hell, it was relaxing. Give in to the plan, Man. The dogs had to be real. Let’s hope they don’t end up on the menu. And the birds were singing a sweet song from captivity.
Whittoons 