Sydney

Grabbing a taxi from Central Station, we found ourselves standing outside what we would call home for the next 14 nights, hoping that it would be better on the inside than it's outer shell made it appear. Hopes were soon dashed as we were shown around the shabby kitchen and courtyard, dreary looking lounge and finally to our four-bed dorm with it's barred windows facing onto the busy main road, cracking walls and squeaky metal bunks.

Our only hope at this point was that the atmosphere would make up for the drabness of our surroundings, but this looked unlikely considering we were surrounded by Koreans and Chinese who spoke little English. Our room-mates for the next two weeks however were to be Jennifer and Antonio, a young couple from Leeds who shared similar doubts about the hostel and knew that the time of year would make it impossible to move elsewhere. Consoling ourselves with the fact that we wouldn't necessarily be spending much time there was about all we could cling onto.

With our earplugs working overtime, we woke the next morning and took the hour-long walk through the city to The Rocks, an area situated directly underneath Sydney Harbour Bridge, where we soon met up with Andy and Rachel, good friends from home now residing in Hong Kong, who had flown in for a synchronised ten-day break.

After a quick pint, we all headed off for our scheduled Bridge Climb. Despite the dull and heavy looking skies above us we were all looking forward to testing our nerve on the iconic giant steel structure which spans the harbour. Throwing on our jump suits, harnesses and accessories we met our guide and took the standard safety briefing, and soon were heading out onto the grated metal walkways and a series of ladders.

Our guide gave a running commentary through high-tech radio's and headsets (mine and Andy's stopped working within about five minutes of being on the bridge), but as the cold wind grew stronger and we kept being stopped for fairly irrelevant stories and photos (a reasonable four for thirty quid!), the more the thrill of the experience became a little tiresome. It was clear that the company that run the whole affair keep their clients up on the bridge for three hours in an attempt to justify the rather expensive price tag, and by the time we began to make our way down we just wanted to get back to the pub. We're certainly glad that we took the effort, but it's not something that would need repeating. The night was polished off with late drinks in one of the many pub-stroke-clubs which adorn the streets around Circular Quay.

Christmas Eve came with a loud clap of thunder and a liberal bucketful of rain, but not much else. It was astounding to think that it was now christmas when hardly anything within Sydney itself would even suggest it's arrival. The climate alone is enough to throw anyone from our part of the world off kilter, but when you're used to the festive period being shoved down your throat from as early as October, the adjustment can be a little underwhelming.

Realising there was going to be little repsite from the torrential downpour outside, we legged it across ten or so city blocks until we found a reasonable looking Irish pub called Scruffy Murphy's to plot up in and satisfy our hangovers need for sustenance. As the afternoon progressed, our friends began to gradually arrive, Sam and Neil from our time in Cusco, and Gareth and Stacey from the week in Buenos Aires, with a whole Irish mob in tow.

Andy and Rachel soon followed and before we knew it the night had reached 10pm and yet the bar was still surprisingly empty. Moving downstairs in search of a livelier scene, the bar was much more of what we're used to. Four-deep at the bar, nightmare journey's to and from the lavatories, and a live 'Green Day' tribute band. Much more acceptable, although it still didn't really have that Christmas fizz about it. Midnight came and went without so much as a countdown, and although we were all out until well gone 3am, the festive spirit never really materialised outside of our twenty-strong British group.

We were already aware that it is backpacker tradition to visit Bondi Beach on Christmas Day, and not one to mess with such a notion, we rose early and caught the bus over to the bustling coastal town some five kilometres south-east of the city.

At 11am, the long strip of sand and beachside cafes were brimming with people making the most of the sunshine and twenty-four degree temperatures when it really should be bitterly cold. Fish and chip lunches and a quick dip in the freezing seas with it's crashing waves ensued as the thumping bassline from the nearby Gatecrasher gig provided a monotonous beat to the day. With the wind picking up considerably in the late afternoon, we all decided to call it a day and head for a bar in Kings Cross that was supposedly open for the evening. Incorrectly informed, we arrived to find the doors firmly closed and wandered the city streets in search of an establishment that might be serving booze. Defeated however, we returned to our hostel at 10pm, watched some very uninspiring television and went to bed. Certainly a very different christmas experience for us, but if we're honest, we did miss our roast dinner with all the trimmings.

With little to do on Boxing Day, we took advantage of a lie-in and then ventured into town to take a look at the opening day of the post-christmas sales. The crowds however were way too much for us to deal with and after returning to our hostel briefly to change clothes, we headed out for the evening, again in the general direction of Scruffy's, where another band was playing, and I got to watch a quite entertaining game of Premiership football. Watching your team play football at 1am, in a packed nightclub with handful of fellow fans is a truly enlightening experience and one I can wholeheartedly recommend, especially if they win.

With the sun still shining, and a bad spell predicted, we though it best to take advantage and get back to the beach while we still could. Coogee beach, about two kilometres south of Bondi and just a twenty minute ride away on a bus that stopped directly outside our hostel, seemed like a logical choice. Smaller and cleaner than it's higher profile neighbour, this was a nice but uneventful day, rounded off with dinner back at the hostel and much need chance to save some money.

After checking the weather reports, it seemed that the imminent rainy spell wasn't quite as imminent as the forecasters had quite thought, and so we arranged to meet up with Steve, the guy we had just travelled most of New Zealand with. To achieve this, we first had to catch the ferry across to Manly, an ideal opportunity to see some of Sydney's coastline from the waters of the harbour. Manly lies about ten kilometres from the heart of Sydney's ferry ports at Circular Quay and is reportedly the 'Jewel of the North Shores'. With it's own harbour, shopping mall and all the trappings of a toursity beach destination, it certainly holds its own as an appealing resort away from the over-populated city centre. Another day of general lounging in the sun soon became the order of the day, and a few beers in the local seafront pub for old times sake would have been perfect, except for the fact that we had to sit through yet another embarrassing display of English cricket.

That evening, we once again met up with Andy and Rachel, who had returned from their three day jaunt in the countryside. To the west of the city is Darling Harbour, and entering this place at night is a sight to behold. The lights emmenating from the snazzy harbourside restaurants over the numerous private yachts in their moorings set the whole scene of this once thriving docklands area alight with colour and glitz. Probably not the sort of place that most backpackers would choose to dine out in, but our friends had very kindly offered to take us to dinner, insisting it was an invitation we should readily accept. After the best quality meal we'd had in a long time, we all merrily headed back to George Street and a busy bar called the Three Monkey's, where we finished off the night with a few beers and an enlighting chat with an inebriated Aussie chap whose self-confessed problem was that he 'knew too much about English football'. After an insightful chat in which it was made abundantly clear he didn't know anything about English football, chatting about legends of the nineties as if they were still playing in the present day and enacting how a tackle should really be won (generally using his head or his kneecap), we could entertain him no more and hastily removed ourselves to an upstairs bar before calling it a night.

The next day the four of us took a drive out to the National Park just south of the city in the rental car Andy still had under agreement, with a nice day consisting of lunch in the park with some giant Paraqueets and a visit to a scenic beach lagoon with rocky headlands, which of course we climbed and scrambled across as boys should.

That evening, we headed for Govinda's, where a tenner gets you an all-you-can-eat indian buffet and a movie in their cool in-house cinema with lounge-style beds to stretch out on. 'Thank You for Smoking' (Recommended!) was a cynical and darkly humoured look at the tobacco industry and this rounded off another enjoyably relaxing day.

Finally, it looked like we would be able to get out and see the other icon of Sydney: it's famous Opera House. Construction of this, the most photographed building in the world, began in 1959 when a Danish architect called Jorn Utzon won an international design competition.

Much political interference however caused him to quit the project in disgust several years later, leaving a consortium of Australian architects to design a compromised interior at a much more elevated cost. Finally completed in 1973, it was lumbered with an impractical internal design for staging opera's, but to this day still attracts much attention for its sleek and stylish external prowess.

It's quite surreal to finally be standing in front of something you've seen in photo's and film many of times before, but the shell-like exterior, made of hundreds of thousands of small tiles, is still a mesmerising sight. The crowds in the general vicinity make it relatively difficult to take an unobscured snap, but after a bit of patience we think we managed to engineer a few decent shots.

After quick stroll around the famous building, we headed around to the Royal Botanical Gardens in the next bay, where plant life from the south pacific live in harmony with majestic lake swans and the resident colony of fruit bats who spend their days chittering loudly and hanging around upside down until it's time to commute south across the city at dusk.

It was nice to lie around in the park watching the mad joggers sweating in the sweltering mid-afternoon sun and a couple of weddings pass happily by. With our heavily hit budget in mind, we retired to the hostel and a nutritious cup-a-soup dinner which we'd been saving for a special occassion.

It felt like it had only been a couple of days since christmas, and yet New Years Eve was upon us. Plans for what to do that evening had been left until quite late, but after a quick lunch with Steve for his birthday, and a few beers with Andy and Rachel, we took ourselves by train over to the northern shores to the party being held by the Irish crowd. Not only was their flat in a prime position to see the flurry of fireworks expected for the evening, the view from their balcony looking out onto the Bridge from the west, but it also seemed like the cheap and relatively hassle-free option. Many people had been out on the headlands, locked inside especially constructed enclosures since as early as 9am that morning, and we were glad to be free of this kind of desperate measure.

After a few drinks we all assembled for the first set of fireworks scheduled for 9pm, which is when of course, our camera decided to freeze-up and die with outstanding punctuality. A little disappointing to say the least, but with promises of photo sharing from other party guests we could at least focus on watching the spectacle unfolding before us; namely, twenty minutes of fantastic pyrotechnics being fired from a series of barges strategically placed in the harbour waters. More drinks and general socialising ensued, and soon after it was time to head outside into the park oppostite for the main event. With the bridge appearing to catch fire at the stroke of midnight, and another series of fireworks lighting the night sky all around us, the celebrations truly began. Old Langs Eyne was completely abandoned in favour of a multitude of Irish songs we had never heard of, but the effect was still the same. We hung around for a few more hours, happy that we'd got to see the New Year in with a nice crowd, but obviously missing the usual familiarity of being with friends and family.

For New Years Day we had a disastrous farewell lunch with Andy and Rachel at The Rocks (anyone for bone in their chicken pie?), took a few calls from some family and inebriated friends at home who were finishing up their own party, and generally used the day to get over our hangovers and plan for the coming the few days.

Our first job was to get ourselves a new camera, an unfortunate but necessary expense, and organising our hire car for the south coast trip. A quick visit to the Blue Mountains, so called because of the hue created by the vapourous gum trees, was one thing we had left on our to-do list, and so we jumped a two-hour train west of Sydney to the famous region.

Anyone who has been to one of our barbecues will not be surprised to hear that it absolutely hammered down the moment we alighted the train, coating the usually picturesque valley in a cloud of mist and fog which rendered many of the attractions useless. A short reprise in the downfalls did give us a few moments to take some rather gloomy snaps of the famous Three Sisters, but generally it wasn't worth hanging around.

It was on this evening that Sarah finally lost her big toe-nail, in scary (for her) but fairly amusing (for me) circumstances. The Inca Trail of two months previous is being accused as the catalyst for the unfortunate loss, and we await with a mixture of dread and frivolity (see above) for the other to follow suit.

One last day in Sydney meant we could take a walk across the famous bridge and get a few more close up shots and also have a stroll around the large Paddy's market, an institutional haven for cheap goods of all varieties.

The thought of spending any more money soon scuppered our ideas to meet up for one last night out, so we had a ring round to say goodbye to those hanging around in Sydney or heading off in other directions, and had a quiet final night in with our room-mates.

All-in-all, a great couple of weeks catching up with some good friends from both home and on-the-road, and an alternative christmas to what we have previously been used to. Sydney deserves alot of time, and I think that in our two weeks we managed to cover a great deal, walking further in this short time than we probably have in the last year! It was time however to leave it all behind until our return in a couple of months to start our East-Coast expedition, and head for what would hopefully be a cheaper and more relaxed discovery of the southern coasts towards Adelaide.

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