Scary stories from a lovely place
Last week we house-swapped with my brother and his family. They chilled by the beach and enjoyed the grandparents while we tasted a little of life in Sydney’s ‘burbs.
We walked the streets and admired people’s veggie plots. We found a friendly corner hamburger store. We visited the local Baptist Church and met many, many friendly strangers (including one Fijian lady who married a German who moved her to Switzerland and encouraged her to study. So she did and emerged from university nothing less than an air traffic controller!). We swam in the Georges River and walked the train line from Oatley to Como.
We caught the train into Sydney and ran the kids ragged around Darling Harbour. While they napped in the pram we enjoyed an excquisite Japanese meal; hot salmon sushi, chicken curry, miso, tempura veg and some Asahi beer. It was very delicious, but let’s face it, any food is nicer when you are eating it without a child on your lap grabbing at your chopsticks.
We drove the M5 and the Hume in search of our nation’s capital. Stephen hadn’t seen Canberra in all its splendour (just joking, I actually really like Canberra – sensible traffic, tree lined avenues, real mally-malls and random animal sculptures) and was interested to see what it was like. We discovered an old school Carousel and took in a tour of Parliament House. All the hardworking politicans were still on holidays and so we had the run of the place. Inside the Parliamentary meeting room Silas didn’t get the subtle message of the steel bollards and pushed one down some stairs making an enourmous clanging noise for the other tourists’ enjoyment and my shame. That was our cue to leave.
I don’t know why suburban life gets such a bad wrap. It’s good, especially when you’re on holidays.