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Mary in Mosman (dedicated to my amazing mum)

May 25, 2014 by Fran 2 Comments

As regular readers of my blog will know, I have a long, and lasting, relationship with Australia. Having done my rite of passage backpacking trip in ’94, I seemed to spend a month here every second year. Not always with the same person, but I like to think I was doing my bit for tourism, and the local economy.

I’m now on first name terms with the local Hunter Valley wine testing tour guide. And if I go on one more Captain Cruise tour of the Harbour I think I will be offered shares.

Mothers’ Day cruise

I digress.

All the trips here, the developing love affair, all led to me becoming a permanent resident of this glorious country, and hence the inception of this blog, documenting my travels and travails along the way.

In this time, if I had a dollar for each occasion mum said “I will come out one day and see Australia”, I would have more money already than my sister seems to be managing to save in her tin for a trip here.

So, on a long scooter ride last year, wind buffeting me and the Besbi, with time to think and with thoughts racing through my head, I made a decision. I went home that night, and booked a return flight home. And a flight back with me for mum. This was the only way it was going to happen. I had to take charge. If you were reading this blog last year, you would be forgiven for thinking I may not have even still been here right now. In Australia I mean. Not anything more sinister.

I decided that mum was coming to Australia. Before life took over. She was coming. All I had to do now was break the news to her. That was an emotional Skype call, but in a good way. Once mum had run off outside for some fresh air, and returned to my little glowing computer screen, it had become a reality.

Not having flown further than Europe before, I did wonder if I had bitten off more than I could chew. This could prove to be an ordeal. Twenty four hours, with a couple of stops in Munich and Singapore along the way, cooped up in a glorified tin can.

But it has to be said, it was “too easy, no dramas”. I think all the food served on the plane took mum’s mind of the actual flying. At one point I thought I’d fallen asleep and woken up in the middle of an episode of Man (or mum) versus Food!

Surely, she didn’t have room for a Magnum ice cream after ALL th……..oh wait……

Mary versus food

In no time at all we had touched down on Australian soil, were in a cab, zooming across the city, and Mary was in Mosman.

What followed was a fantastic 3 weeks of showing mum around the back yard. Where I have chosen to currently call home. Show her what keeps me here.

One thing I had resolved to do was get mum being a bit more adventurous when eating out. Go to any pub / café / restaurant with mum, hand her the world’s largest menu, and I can predict with eerie accuracy what she will order. “Scampi and chips please son.”

Well, we were having none of that on this holiday. Although she did try.

I’m not sure she was too impressed when on one of her first days here, I took her for seafood. With NO scampi. Her face was a picture when I offered her some octopus tentacles. And prawns that required the heads pulling off, and peeling were not what she was used to from Wetherspoon’s.

Another first was a wine tasting trip. Being Sydney’s most loyal customer, Sam the owner provided my trip at half price, with a promise that my next visit would be complimentary. I am already checking the calendar for when I will be taking him up on this offer.

I had purposefully chosen this particular trip, as on the way to the Hunter, we have morning coffee at a wildlife centre. Giving you the opportunity to get up and close with all your Australian favourites, although I think this little fella is everyone’s fave!

I think the wine was less of a hit with mum, but I benefited from this, having double tastings. Now this was MY kind of trip J

Can’t see any shrimps on that barbie!

Other highlights included the Mother’s Day lunch trip around the Harbour, a trip to Summer Bay (aka Palm Beach), an amazing high tea at Boronia House, a visit to Bondi beach (everybody has to on their first trip, despite what the locals say), and the numerous BBQs we had.

A particular highlight for me was mum frequenting the many stores in Mosman. Could I keep her out of the haberdashery? How much knitting can one granny do? And who would call a homeware store “Bird bath and Table”? Nobody but mum it seems…

Mum, we had a great time. You were a fantastic house guest. I miss you every day. And I look forward to seeing you again on these shores next year.

And so, into year 3…

August 4, 2014 by Fran 3 Comments

Yeah, I had to read that twice as well. I am actually in year 3 already of my move from sunny Yorkshire, down under to the sun kissed shores of Australia. To Sydney, to be more specific.

If you have been reading the travails of the Yorkshire Expat from the very beginning, from the embryonic outset of And we are off (a blog from exactly 2 years ago today), you will see that it has been quite a journey so far.

One of the very first pics, August 2012

And this is perhaps not a blog that you, let alone me, maybe envisaged me writing maybe 12 months ago. The move from familiar surroundings, ones that have cossetted you for the first 40 years of your life, to a land down under, some 11,000kms away, is not one without its ups and downs.

Give it at least 12 months people said. More seasoned observers advised making that 18 months. Here I am, 24 months in, and I have to say that they are right. Not until you have lived through certain milestones, celebrated at least 2 of an annual event, do you really get a sense of “being”.

Having a secure(ish), enjoyable job helps. I work, and have worked, with some great people, and have made some good friends. I am settled in my apartment and have been here almost 2 years, in a great suburb, with everything I could ask for. An amazing beach on my doorstep, great cafes and restaurants, and a choice of commute into the city by bus or ferry.

One of the many friends I have made

I have now gone through 2 winters here, and know how much I appreciate summer. Readers in the northern hemisphere may scoff when I say this, but in a country where properties don’t have heating, including my apartment, this place feels bloody cold some days, and most nights through winter.

It is now spring and how I yearn for the long summer days of November and December. Days when I can reacquaint myself with sunscreen, flip flops, and my, currently cast aside like an old lover, BBQ. Where I can sit on my balcony, with a cold sauvignon blanc, watching the planes fly overhead, piercing the azure sky, on their way to destinations near and far.

The esky needs dusting down and I again start my, now annual, hope that this year is third time lucky. In that I get sun on my birthday, Christmas Day. The gods have been against me the last two occasions and I am determined to be quaffing champagne on the beach, with the seas lapping against my feet, come December 25^th.

If life is about chapters, I have read of few over the last couple of years. Chapters about change, and transition. Chapters about dealing with grief, from a distance, across the lonely seas, as the circle of life marches inexorably on. People have been taken from me. And new people have come into the world to replace them.

Xmas 2013, not on the beach

As an expat, it is as though you watch these scenes unfold from behind a pane of glass. You can see, and hear all that happens, but the main characters are heart breakingly out of reach.

As I turn yet another page, a new chapter is about to start. Year 3 brings new beginnings, in economic parlance, “green shoots of recovery”. An exciting chapter, that in a sense feels like the start of a new book. A book I don’t know the end of yet. I don’t even know the next chapter, but I know how the plot goes. I’m writing that part myself.

A friend once asked me, over a year ago, what the chances were of me remaining in Australia for a full 2 years. I think I replied “17%”, without skipping a heartbeat. Obviously a totally arbitrary figure, but one that gave a sense where my head was. If that same friend was to ask me know, I would need a moments reflection. However, after that short contemplation, I would say that the chances are considerably greater.

We don’t know where life will take us. And although we are in charge of our own destinies, life happens whilst you are making plans. A John Lennon quote that I know I’ve used before. But it is so true.

A lot of life’s journey relies on timing. And sometimes that timing is just not right. But then, every once in a while, the stars align and the world intervenes. And this is when you know you have to grab your moment.

So all we can do for now, is keep making those plans, and hope life is kind to us. And with that in mind, I see no reason why I won’t be writing a similar blog in 2 years time, as a citizen of this great country. Four years being the qualifying criteria for an Australian passport, something I thought would be out of reach this time last year.

But right now, I may only have a 17% chance of still being here in 2 years. It could be a 77% chance.

All I can do is take it one chapter at a time.

The changing face of travel

March 18, 2016 by Fran Leave a Comment

Reading an article recently got me reminiscing about the first real trip I did. Not the week I had in Tunisia riding camels. Not the week in Ibiza, avoiding San Antonio. An actual backpacking trip. Years before flash packing was a glint in an entrepreneurs eye. There was no “flash” in the travel we were to embark on. Not even on the camera we had. No, seriously, it had NO flash. There are probably people reading this who don’t understand that statement. Does this help?

Example of 110 camera, introduced by Kodak in 1972

My, oh my. Taking pics on that old thing. And wandering to the chemist on Pitt St Mall in Sydney, paying extra to get the 1 hour processing. The height of excitement. Then, when the pics came, nervously flicking through to see what of the night out in Kings Cross actually got captured. I lost count of the times we either exclaimed, who IS that? Why is that girl sitting on your knee? Who are those lads drinking schooners with us? Those halcyon days.

The intention is not to rehash the original article I read, but to give me chance to reflect on times past, and the changes that seem to have happened over the years without me really noticing. I still feel like that excited 23 year old. Knowing there is a whole world out there to explore. I am a little older, and wiser now, but I still have that excitement about the world.

Traveling in 1994 was very different to traveling now. No email. Internet? What was that? All we had was our trusty guide book of choice. Mine being then, and still, Lonely Planet. But what hefty tomes they were.

Booking your next hostel over the actual telephone. The big ones in the street, that you put coins into. Not the one in your pocket the size of a small caramel slice. No kids, those weren’t invented at this point. Mobile phones, not caramel slices.

Passing on your contact details by getting out a pen, and ripping a piece of paper from your travel journal. Knowing that you were never going to see, nor contact 99% of the people. But it felt good to do it anyway. With your new lifelong “friends”. That is something that never changes, whatever the technology we use as enablers. Friendships don’t need social media.

And as for writing to let people know what you were up to. Well. You had to actually write. With a real pen.

Poste Restante. What a quaint idea. If you wanted a letter to reach you on the road, you told people which city, or town you would be in, and added c/o Poste Restante. And miraculously, it arrived. You went and queued up with all the other travellers, and vagabonds, with your identification. And collected your mail. I still have a box full of letters from that time, collected from post offices around Australia.

A few years after that seminal trip, I found myself back down under, travelling around New Zealand, tying in a quick visit to the sister, who at this time was living it large in Bondi. Sans children.

What was this strange phenomenon whereby fellow travellers were jumping straight off the bus upon arrival in Christchurch, and running into the nearest café? All lined up, clearly visible through the front window of the cafe, each sat at a computer terminal. Were they taking some kind of online exam? Playing computer games? No, the age of the Internet cafe had arrived. With pay as you go access to email, and allowing you to upload (if you had the time and money for the incredibly frustrating upload and download speeds) photos. At lot had seemingly changed since 1994. A brave new world indeed.

I had to join this brave new world, and so, far my next major trip, a round the world (RTW in travel parlance) I found myself travelling all the way to Leeds to hunt down an elusive Internet cafe. I say ALL the way to Leeds, and those readers from home will know this is not far at all. But in those days, it just highlights how few and far between these mythical Internet cafes were.

Not that I knew what one of these places of magic and mystery were, but I had read that I could go there and get an email address. Whatever that was. A legacy of this remains to this day, the reason I have “99” appending fcormack on my hotmail account. This was the year I set it up. A poignant, and constant reminder of a marvellous year.

Having an email address was only half the story. Finding a place down a dusty side street in Delhi that somebody had told you had a computer so you could email…who exactly? I think I was an early adopter in this email malarkey, which meant the options of who I could write to (electronically) were very limited.

And boy, were these internet connections slow! You paid by the 5, or 10 mins usually. And before you had written “wish you were here” you had spent next week’s beer and bed budget. Imagine my relief some years later when Stelios finally got into the game, creating his big orange “EasyInternet” cafes. Game changers at the time, that I have used in places from Berlin to Barcelona.

Traveling now is unrecognisable from my early days. My last real trip was at the end of 2010/start of 2011, all around South America. Most people I met were carrying expensive bits of kit such as MacBooks, and large expensive SLR cameras. Not to mention the mini computers, masquerading as phones, in their pockets. Or it’s the ubiquitous tablet, used to capture and share every waking moment of their trip. Be it the food. The amazing sunset. The “undiscovered” beach they have just discovered. The one first mentioned by Tony and Maureen Wheeler in the very Lonely Planet guide to South East Asia, Across Asia on the Cheap, from 1973.

I have a wry smile to myself, seeing some of the content in today’s travel blogs. From the “digital nomads” currently traveling all four corners of the earth. They sometimes really believe they are exploring uncharted waters. Seeing things with human eyes for the very first time. The reality is that they probably aren’t even the first person in their hostel to see it. But you know what, that is part of the beauty of travelling. Thinking you are Phileas Fogg. Educating the masses to the big wide world out there.

What is true is that the act of travel is no longer a luxury. Or even a rite of passage as it once was. It’s just something you do. Because you can. Because life is short, and it sure beats working. And because the world has shrunk to the point that any of us can be anywhere we want to be.

You just need to decide where that is, and make it happen.

Roadtripping Western Australia – Part 1 – Perth to Wave Rock

January 16, 2018 by Fran 2 Comments

You are probably more familiar with literature on road trips that detail journeys across the USA.
Who hasn’t heard of the iconic Route 66? It wouldn’t be iconic if nobody had heard of it.
And if like me you enjoy Beat literature, you will no doubt have followed Jack Kerouac’s

Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty as they travel west, along Route 66, to California.
The same route the Joads took in Steinbeck’s timeless classic, Grapes of Wrath.
Don’t get me wrong, the States, and particularly up the coast from California, on Route 101,

has some amazing roads to travel on.

Bessie

But, if you ask me, not that you did, I think the country just made for road tripping is Australia. Great distances between places. Vast tracts of nothingness in between, bar the obligatory roadhouse, for refuelling both your vehicle, and your passengers, with decidedly dodgy meat pies. And towns that you will struggle to pronounce, such as Jerdacuttup, Munglinup, and Coomalbidgup. All these towns house at least one obscure museum. What is it with small Australian towns and their museums?

Hyden (or specifically Wave Rock), which turned out to be our first overnight stop in Bessie,
had the “Memories of Yesteryear” museum, where you could step back in time and “see an

Austin car, a bottle collection, and so much more”. My italics. At only $4 entrance fee, try

and stop me!! Once I had done that I could spend all of 5 minutes visiting the “Lace Place”,

and marvel at the “magnificent world renowned lace collection”. World renowned people.

No italics needed. The fact it is world renowned may explain why it was more expensive

than the “Yesteryear” museum, at $5 to get in.

It wasn’t just Hyden. Every small town we drove through had at least one museum advertised.
If we didn’t have somewhere to be maybe we would have stopped. At least once. Just maybe.

So it was, this December saw us doing our second Aussie road trip, after driving the East coast a
couple of years ago. In the same size campervan, Bessie, we were this year going to drive through
South West Australia. This was after we first had a few great days enjoying Perth, which as it always
does, looked after me very well. It is a great, compact city, that seems to grow more on me each time
I visit. The food and drink options were the best I can remember, and apart from an erroneous
visit to Durty Nellie’s Irish bar, for which I blame a fellow expat from Halifax, we got to
experience some of them.

The highlights included an excellent Indian curry at Sauma in Northbridge, an amazing old school
cheese toastie, at Toastface Grillah, and at Petition on Barrack Street in the CBD, probably the
best bacon, egg, and black pudding butty I have ever had. In the evening Petition becomes a very
good bar, where we managed to escape the unseasonably cold, wet weather, and sampled a few of
the hoppy ales on offer with some friends from Sydney. Guys, we need a catch up back home, if
only to return the cardigan 🙂

Perth CBD and the Swan river as seen from Kings Park

Kings Park remains a beautiful oasis just on the edge of the city. Swan River seems to get more beautiful each time I visit. And Elizabeth Quay just keeps expanding, which is fine with me, as long as they continue to fill the space with outlets like Gusto Gelato. Am I back in Italy? Beautiful. And for novelty value, for my English friends, I can’t leave Perth without mentioning that we had a great afternoon, catching up with family, and new friends, at the Lucky Shag. It is a shame that by the end of the year it will be completely overshadowed, literally, by the completion of the development next door of the Hilton DoubleTree.

Lowlights of the city break? Well, none really, but watching England “play” in the Ashes, the last
one at the WACA, was debatable enjoyment. The least said about this summer’s ignominious
Ashes series the better.

But, faster than we would have liked, I was saying goodbye to Michael Atherton, who was also staying at the Alex Hotel, as the city side of our trip drew to a close, and it was time for us to hit the open road in Bessie.

Unlike the previous few days, Tuesday dawned with weather that immediately put a smile on my face. After two days of heavy rain and winds, the sun had come out to play. Taking an Uber ride with our driver Sujan, out past the airport, we started the day at Apollo motorhome hire where the smile soon disappeared. We had a long frustrating wait. Not even the sunshine could keep the smile on my face.

We waited so long I thought I would just need to drive a lap of the building when I finally got the keys, and drop them straight off back at the office, as it felt my 2 weeks were already up. Watching plane after plane come in to land next door at the airport I was full of the frustration of the stranded traveller. Bags packed, yet going nowhere.

When we finally hit the road we decided a cheeky wine might help our moods, so we took the very short drive north to the Swan Valley wine region, where we stopped for lunch, and a tasting at Ugly Duckling winery. Despite having had several trips to Perth over the years, and wine tasting being one of my favourite things in the world, I had never made it to the Swan Valley. This despite it being so very close to the city. The long wait to pick up Bessie in the morning did mean that we needed to start heading south relatively soon, but we did sneak in one more winery, the fabulous Sandalford. We proceeded to have a quick tasting, make a purchase, and then were off. Next stop Wave Rock.

Yup, that is Wave Rock

“Why on earth are you going to Wave Rock?” people asked. Well, let’s be clear, Wave Rock is not, and never has been, on our bucket list. But, we did need somewhere to sleep, and break up the journey to Esperance. And Hyden was conveniently about half way. And it had a very big rock as a tourist attraction. How could we not stop? Situated some 336kms (208 miles) from Swan Valley, the little town of Hyden, population 400, home to both Wave Rock and a roadhouse selling the aforementioned dodgy pies, would do for the night. Regarding the pie, I lost count of the lumps of gristle I had to separate from the meagre chunks (pieces?) of meat. Arriving in Wave Rock past 7.30pm is not advisable if you are hungry. I was. The shop, yes, only one, had closed for the evening. With the roadhouse being the only thing open, my dinner options were said pie, a dry muffin, or a bag of crisps. Strewth.

Another reason to break up your journey south is to stop yourself dying from boredom en route.
The landscape is like being in a gallery for hours, staring at the same picture.
A picture made up of every shade of beige and green, only punctuated by the vivid red dirt, and
numerous roadkill, which were also colourful in their own way, lining both sides of the asphalt.
The only thing to keep you awake is the concentration required every time a road train comes
thundering past on the opposite side of the road, almost sucking you into their path. The road trains
are the enormous lorries, dragging three, or four trailers in their wake. Trust me, you don’t want to
mess with them. As you motor on, hoovering up the kilometres, the small towns pass you in the
blink of any eye. Corrigin. Kondinin. Small towns of small populations. But one thing in common.

Oh look, another bloody museum.

The rebirth of Halifax, a true renaissance?

July 14, 2019 by Fran Leave a Comment

It was the smells that got me first. Aromas of Beef bulgogi. Three pan fried dumplings, £1.50. An excellent vegan cafe next door. This doesn’t sound like the small town I left almost 8 years ago. A town of Greggs selling flaky pasties, the remnants of which would stick to the front of your jumper all day. The Pride of Whitby, selling fish and chips to be rightfully proud of. But a good old chippy all the same. And pizzas from the long gone Inn-Cognito. Pizzas that I thought were the epitomy of Italian sophistication. Until I first visited Napoli, and the home of pizza. Needing a late night drink? Take your pick from Denny’s, or the Acapulco night club.

In the years since I left, I have read in some quarters that it is now described as the Shoreditch of the north. My humble home town of Halifax, West Yorkshire has come a long way. Or has it? Is this the rebirth of Halifax. A true renaissance?

The Piece Hall

If indeed it is, some will point to the money invested in the Piece Hall, a majestic 18th century masterpiece, as the turning point. First opened in 1779, to trade in pieces of cloth, hence the name, the Piece Hall had been neglected for some years, and thus, in the 1970’s it was considered for demolition. Thankfully, this never happened, and after a £19 million restoration, completed in 2017, the Piece Hall reopened. A sympathetic restoration, the building remains much as it looked back in 1779, but much more is happening behind those stone windows. Taking full advantage of this unique site, there is now a selection of bars, cosmopolitan restaurants, and a rather excellent book shop, The Book Corner, taking the place of the wool merchants. Being a lover of books, and an inveterate reader, I only wish every village and town had a bookstore of this quality. An excellently curated selection of books, with a large focus on local authors, and local history. As the star of local author, Ben Myers, continues to rise, his books take a prominent position, as do a number of books on Anne Lister, currently hitting the small screens in Sally Wainwright’s “Gentleman Jack”. A show that I unfortunately haven’t seen on TV at home in Sydney.

The excellent Book Corner book store in Halifax — Come for a book, leave with several

Unless you haven’t left the house in the last few years, you will know that the drink to be seen with is gin. No longer considered “mother’s ruin”, gin is now so fashionable, and dare I say trendy, that every town worth its salt now has at least one gin bar, offering a confusing number of gins. Halifax is no exception, and is on the bandwagon with Gin Lane. My experience whenever I try and order somebody a gin is that you are bamboozled with so much choice that you simply choose the same gin every time. Another example of the paradox of choice. And don’t dare order Gordons. Or if you do, make sure you whisper it, for fear of upsetting the gin connoisseurs. In fact, unless your gin of choice is described as artisanal, and comes with herbs (it seems rosemary is no longer just for your lamb henry), fruits, and flowers sticking out the top, don’t embarrass yourself.

Top Door espresso, Halifax — Halifax’s home of quality coffee

The Borough Market

Another underused, and neglected masterpiece in Halifax is the Borough Market, in the centre of town. Over the years, butchers, haberdasheries, and cheap cafes have proliferated, with the town never really taking advantage of what is under their nose, in the way the Leeds makes tremendous use of the Corn Exchange, and the Victoria Quarter. Further afield, look at how well London makes use of their Borough Market, with top class restaurants and coffee shops taking pride of place. Halifax Borough Market is finally trying, and has improved since my last visit, with Top Door Espresso now offering quality coffee, and giving Monmouth Coffee of London’s Borough Market a run for its money. It has taken Halifax some years to catch up, and realise how terrible the caffeine offerings are from the bland high street chains, but the rise of quality independent coffee shops is slowly improving things. The fact that these live side by side with the “old” Halifax only adds to the quirkiness, in my opinion.

The redevelopment of the Piece Hall also brought with it a brand spanking new library. Often the centerpiece of a community, the value of libraries can not be overstated. A library is the bedrock of learning. A space that is open to all, and available to everybody, regardless of creed, race, or wealth. The more people that we can get through library doors can only be a good thing, in this age of social media, and fake news that proliferates in the trashy daily newspapers on offer. The old library had sat on Southgate, long before the bus station was relocated next door in 1989.

Duke of Wellington watching over the shoppers of Halifax town centre — Watching over the shoppers of Halifax town centre

The changing face of Halifax

Wandering the town centre, in the drizzle, I also noticed that Woolshops got a new statue of the Duke of Wellington. Town centre stalwarts remain such as Pearsons fish and chip shop. Always serving up a reliable lunchtime special, with bread and butter, and a pot of tea. Simplicity at its finest. La Luna in the Westgate Arcade seems to be going from strength to strength, with the very hospitable brothers coming a long way from the original, small cafe on Commercial Street, Café Luna. Many of my lunchtimes from the Halifax head office, across the road, were spent sipping coffee and putting the world to rights in the cosy upstairs section of the café.

Las Vegas in Yorkshire?

The rebirth isn’t limited to Halifax town centre. Looking slightly further afield, a small village called West Vale, less than 4 miles from Halifax, has been rechristened West Vegas. Without the neon, and some would say the glamour, of Las Vegas, West Vale has seen the introduction of craft beer, wine bars and many restaurants offering fayre that would have been called distinctly “cosmopolitan” just a few short years earlier. Café Thai brings the flavours of Bangkok, with a traditional restaurant on the ground floor, and the rather excellent, if somewhat different, Thai Tapas upstairs. Cinnamon at the Mill, sister to the ever consistent Cinnamon Lounge at Ripponden, brings authentic Indian to the locals. And Catch, located underneath the curry house does excellent, traditional fish and chips, whilst also serving up seafood of a quality not often seen in these parts.

The future

What next for the future of Halifax? Further growth and development I hope, cementing the rebirth of the town. More gin bars, probably. A second hand book store would be good. And definitely, more places selling high quality espresso based coffee. Whatever opens, I hope to see increased numbers of visitors happy to spend, and support the local businesses doing much to breath life back into this glorious little northern town.

In the meantime, as I only have a short time left to explore my former home town, I am following my nose, and am off to try these exquisitely scented dumplings at the Korean stall in the Borough Market.

Sculpting a perfect morning in Bondi

November 9, 2019 by Fran Leave a Comment

It takes a lot to break me out of my morning coffee routine but the promise of a walk by the sea and some culture does the trick. Making our way to the eastern suburbs from the city, the number of people sharing our journey suggested many had the same idea. I suspected we weren’t in for a quiet stroll.

Sculptures by the Sea

Whether it is the walk you have come for, or the culture, today will tick both boxes. Sculptures by Sea ( https://sculpturebythesea.com/ ) is Australia’s largest annual outdoor exhibition. Located at Bondi Beach, in Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs, since 1997 the festival features art from both Australian and overseas artists. This long run may be coming to an end with an ongoing wrangle between the organisers and the local council threatening to make this the last year the event is held in Bondi.

Whichever way the dispute is settled, the festival is sure to keep it’s late spring slot in the calendar. Straddling the months of October and November, the festival avoids the heat of the mid summer months. The event is based predominantly in Bondi and along the start of the coastal walk, but we opted to do the journey in reverse. Starting at Coogee proved to be a masterstroke with us being able to avoid the worst of the crowds for most of the 6kms stretch of coastal pathway. This made for a more peaceful stroll and allowed us to take full advantage of the scenery as the ocean beat a constant refrain against the cliff tops.

Waverley cemetery overlooks the ocean on the Sculptures by the sea walk — Waverley cemetery overlooking the ocean

Refuelling

As the walk meanders into the various bays along the coast you come down from the cliffs, giving you the opportunity to refuel. There are numerous food and drink options along the way, from beachside shacks dispensing cold drinks and ice lollies, to cafes offering more substantial fayre. Bronte Beach is a perennial favourite and is home to the original outlet of Three Blue Ducks (www.threeblueducks.com). This institution has now spread to Byron Bay.

Boats on the beach along the Bondi to Coogee coastal walk

Leaving Bronte, heading north, the walk takes you back up along the cliff tops and around to Tamarama Beach. A lot smaller than Bronte, and still some 2kms from Bondi, this is where the sculptures begin. Seemingly scattered on both the grassed area and on the beach, this is your first opportunity to see the artwork up close. You will also notice a visible increase in selfie sticks. The number of people taking photos increases exponentially. As does the amount of times you will be asked, or should this be ordered, to move so someone can get an even better photo!

Scupltures by the Sea, Bondi to Coogee coastal walk

Tamarama beach along the coastal walk hosting the sculptures by the sea — Tamarama beach

Swimming Upstream

Extricating yourself from someone’s family album, keep walking because just around the corner is one of the main draws of the walk. Leaving Tamarama, like a salmon swimming upstream, keep following the path and soon the crowds become hordes. Your jaunty pace will slow to a crawl. The perfect photo becomes harder to capture. Reaching the top of the headland, and rounding the corner, you will see the waters of Bondi shimmering in the distance. Surfers dot the sea like currants in a Garibaldi biscuit. The world famous beach stretches out ahead of you and look closely and you might get a glimpse of the distinctive blue uniforms adorned by the professional life savers. Even closer up you may even recognise some of them from the TV show “Bondi Rescue”.

Reward Time

I won’t be going for a dip in the sea today but I am happy to be rescued from the hordes. Once again the combination of the exercise, the scenery and taking in some culture leaves me feeling refreshed, but thirsty. With the 6kms coastal walk finished it is time to head away from the main attractions and pick up that coffee that I skipped earlier. Checking the time I think maybe I should replace the coffee with something a little stronger, and a lot colder.