Scrum This

For the uninitiated, rugby is, by definition, “a form of football played with an oval ball”. For all intents and purposes, it is organized madness, a full-contact full-speed full-force testosterone infused extravaganza in which massive and muscular yet sinewy athletic blokes attempt to infiltrate the opposition’s territory and ultimately score, intentionally and skillfully diving head first into the in goal. Indeed, not a simple achievement without skinning, maiming or breaking any one of a number of parts vulnerable to such a feat, or so it seems.

I had never seen an entire game on TV or otherwise, and this was not because I was never interested, but simply because I was not familiar with the rules, teams, or players, having been weaned on (and forced to watch) American football. Nor had I ever taken the time to seriously scrutinize the events and circumstances of a rugby game ... having learned a thing or two since coming to Oz, I suspect merely whispering the word "rugby" within earshot of of any fair dinkum fan promptly whips them into a sport-induced frenzy. One's perspective on rugby can be drastically and instantaneously changed after an introduction to the ovoid ball and first witnessing a successful try. I, for one, now know the truth.

Aussie athletes are completely insane.

Watch a rugby game and you see minimal pads, wrapped body parts, or shiny helmets (just those fabric headguard thingies which don't look so sturdy), but you quite often do see collisions of bone-breaking capabilities and various limbs flying and flopping about .... and just when you think that the game will have to be cancelled because half the team was involved in a catastrophic smash up and will be raced off in a caravan of screaming ambulances, they get up, they jump up, and continue to run, in dogged pursuit of the ovoid and he in possession of it. It is a phenomenon unlike any other, the seeming invincibility, tenacity and fearlessness of these athletes, and something for an American to just sit and watch, about as awestruck as one can be witnessing a sporting event.

I had the good fortune of witnessing such an event, my very first, with companions that included a seriously knowledgeable and devoted rugby fan, with a whistle that most certainly could be heard in the Blue Mountains (and of course I was sitting in front of him). Despite the irreparable damage to the eardrums of everyone within a 5 meter radius, he was very helpful in explaining the rules and jargon and strategy, although perhaps this information might have been more useful in a less lopsided game. As it turned out, it was a slaughter - the Waratahs defeated the Cats 50-3 ... but I was still very enthusiastic, made moreso by the contagious fervor surrounding me. So it's probably no surprise that I would strongly recommend a live game to anyone who has even a inkling of interest, with or without the accompanying fanatic. For those who like to be prepared and wish to absorb a bit of history and background on some of the organizations, teams, and players:

www.waratahs.com.au
www.rugby.com.au
www.nrl.com
wikipedia.org/wiki/Rugby_football

Or, for a lively and perhaps more subjective discussion, ask a rugby fan the difference between Union and League ...

Aussie Aussie Aussie, OY OY OY!!!

Hotly Contest-ed

"I have planned a city not like any other city in the world ... I have planned an ideal city ..."
Walter Burley Griffin

"Canberra: Why wait for death?"
Bill Bryson, from In a Sunburned Country

Many things can be said about Canberra, Australia's capital city, the 2 statements above which express the opposite and outspoken sides of the opinion spectrum. For those who are not aware, it is unusual in that it is a totally planned city, whose design was chosen through an international contest, won by Chicago architect Griffin. I have not researched enough to learn what the criteria was in creating this capital city, but from what I have seen, at present it is believed that they were achingly insufficient (who were the judges for this contest anyway??).

Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on whom you side with, my introduction and experience within Canberra was only from a cool Saturday evening to a sunny Sunday afternoon, short and sweet enough for the novelty and newness to have not worn off by the time I departed ... however, the novelty of the 3 hour drive to reach this leafy district had worn off after about 45 minutes. Upon entering the city boundaries, there is an eerie sameness to the length of the "main drag", although it is initially quite green and pleasant and tree-lined. I say sameness because it is block after block of wide streets with a giant island in the middle separating the opposing traffic, traffic lights almost certainly exactly the same distance apart from corner to corner, as if carefully measured with an architect's precision. Oh yeah ...

Finding Olims Canberra Hotel, my accommodation for the night, was no small accomplishment in a dark unfamiliar place, but that I did (after a wrong turn or two), arriving just in time to drop off minimal luggage, only to return to the streets in search of sustenance. Conceivably this was best, for although Olims is one of the city's "most famous hotels" with "BUDGET prices" (true) and is quaint and attractive on the outside, the room left much to be desired, and subsequently I discovered the reception committee and internal computer system to be less than adequate. Thankfully, one of those indispensable city guidebooks directed me to a local restaurant which I hurriedly sought, ravenous for palatable food, and surroundings.

From previous postings one might conclude that I am not too difficult to please in all things gastronomic ... and I was not in the least disappointed in Benchmark Wine Bar (the very first wine bar in Canberra), a cozy and comfortable award winning restaurant, with over 100 wines by the glass. Depending on your budget, it can be expensive, but limit yourself to one glass of wine and a shared dessert, and it should be well within your Saturday night allowance. Speaking of which, it was strangely quiet for a Saturday night ... no throngs of scantily clad twenty-somethings on their way to this club or that bar, no just-washed and waxed babe magnets with rib shakingly loud bass cruising the boulevard, no obvious police prowling for drunk drivers. With a full belly, I left the restaurant, wondering ... is there some secretive corner of town where all the locals socialize, snickering at poor folks like me, searching for the pulse of this city after 9pm?

After again foraging for (breakfast) food and only finding it near or within Canberra Centre (a big mall), I ventured along one of the broad avenues until inevitably a shiny metal spire reaching into the sky demanded my attention, topped by the flapping yet unflappable Australian flag, signifying that I had reached the center of this city, the Parliament House. Say what you must, but I was sincerely impressed with the sheer size of the foyer, with its shiny marble floor and multiple columns, and the main conference hall large enough to fit half of the population, or it would seem. Historically I have not been interested in the routine goings-on within such law making establishments, but thought it would be a welcome addition and round out my Australia adventures thus far ... complemented by a quickie 50 minute tour with Jim, the expert and well-rehearsed yet congenial guide, brimming with obscure yet fascinating facts for our amusement and education. Completing my visit to the House was a trip to the highest public floor, which lent a clear and fabulous view, as far as the eye could see. Nice.

Although I thoroughly enjoyed my mushroom risotto, and was impressed by the marble foyer of the Parliament House, undoubtedly the highlight of my brief trip was the National Museum of Australia. Expansive, all-encompassing, and award winning, this is truly not to be missed. A brief yet thorough and fascinating picture of Australian history and its people awaits you, from the National Historical Collection to the numerous changing exhibitions (including Exiles and Emigrants and Eternity). Except for the outdoor obscure wooden arch sculpture (which brings to mind a rollercoaster) and the quality of the cafe food, I found the museum rather remarkable, not only in size, but in the depth and breadth of the insight to Australia's past.

Having saturated my brain with more details and visuals than it could really absorb in a single afternoon, I had to bid adieu to the museum, and Canberra as well, for the day was getting short, and the drive ahead was long ... and although it is a city that I believe is best described as a place to visit, in my opinion, it's worth it.

Tasty Beverage

I dream about coffee.

I think about it after I wake, I ponder where I will go, to where I will venture to satisfy my fixation, my need, my virtual I.V. of caffeine and a strong, dark roast. I am enslaved by it, a morning zombie in a sea of zombies dressed in dark suits and knee-length skirts, posturing as professionals conducting business, meeting others to engage in professional things. This is a facade, plain and simple. Most of them, I strongly believe, do not have blood running thorough their veins delivering oxygen and nutrients, but rather it is coffee, delivering the buzz and stimulation to sustain them ... until 3 pm, when they will return to replenish.

A fair dinkum Aussie had no qualms in telling me that her fellow Aussies are, in no uncertain terms, coffee snobs. Admittedly being from the land of a Starbucks on every corner (sometimes two), this is an appellation foreign to me. Although there exist independent establishments and comparatively miniscule chains, in California Starbucks is the monolithic monopoly which very few openly or effectively oppose. And, under no circumstances would I have even imagined that anyone could have more coffee shops than San Francisco. Once again I have been proven unmistakably WRONG. But happily so, because there is a plethora of choices ... I could not experience them all even if I discovered a different one every day for a year.

Unquestionably my palate is not so sophisticated that it can discern subtle differences in the taste and quality of coffee, but that certainly doesn't mean I am without an opinion! Within my microcosmic existence thus far in Sydney, I have happily sniffed and sipped and savored a few of the available local offerings, in addition to noting the accompanying service.

Rosso (Galeries Victoria): I would say this is in the "atrium" of the Galeries, with tables lining the perimeter of the gaping maw to the bottom floor. The first time the cashier seemed like he could not be bothered, but on a subsequent visit he was exceedingly polite and attentive. The coffee is BIG. And I mean in size - a large is really large! And good, but not outstanding.

Mio Espresso Bar (Galeries Victoria): If you blink you might miss this one. Cramped, tiny, but my single cappuccino purchase was tasty and a bit stronger than most (that is how I prefer it), and they are fast, efficient, friendly, and a bit cheaper than the others.

Manetti's (Queen Victoria Building/QVB): Although the woman behind the counter didn't seem like she was having a great morning, she was speedy and the coffee was hot (which I also prefer, as opposed to lukewarm as so many seem to be). As this is close to the exit/entrance of the Town Hall train station, it is not the ideal environment, but you can certainly people watch all day.

Rossini (Australia Square - Bond and George Streets): There are 3 baristas that I believe have never left the counter. The same 3 are there everytime I go, and they have coffee making down to a science. They line up the lids, sometimes 12 or more deep, and know exactly who ordered what, despite the hovering horde of look alike blue pinstriped suits and slick blond ponytails.

Bar Italia (Leichhardt): Perhaps the java here was so good because it was full fat milk (I usually have skim ... shhhh!) with a thick frothy foam and full bodied feel ... or because it was Vittoria coffee (pretty good, in my experience) ... or because I had read/heard good reviews about it. Regardless, attempt to ignore the less than elegant surroundings and enjoy. Try a panini too!

Berkelouw Cafe (Leichhardt): As are most cafes on Norton Street, this one is not exactly what you might call intimate or quiet, but the staff is helpful, the coffee is decent, and there is a great bookstore attached. I have not tried any of the sandwiches or salads offered, but they look a bit tired, greasy, and unenticing.

Primo Espresso Caffe, Italian Forum (Leichhardt): If you want a peaceful little cafe, even though it is on the second level overlooking an enormous courtyard, this is one place that has good, hot, strong coffee. If rating the coffee only, this would be one of the best, although I have no idea if it is because of the brand (Vittoria) or the Italian lady that made it for me.

O'Brien's (North Strathfield): Besides every employee smiling and greeting and exhibiting pleasantness, the plus side of this eatery is that you can order a really fresh and delicious toasted sandwich to go with your coffee. And they give you a small square of minty chocolate (sweet!).

Michel's Patisserie (chain): I'm no coffee snob, but this would never be my first choice, unless it were my only choice. It will do in a pinch, but I have not been impressed by the coffee, and sometimes not the service. But they do have those scrumptious caramel slices. Yum.

Gloria Jean's (chain): See above. In addition, the one time I dared to try (I had no choice, I was in a mall!), the barista, and I use this term loosely, was so busy pounding the foaming jug on the counter and looking around and chatting ... oh nevermind.

Certainly, similar to oenophilia, the love of java is subjective ... for a coffee simpleton like myself, all I need to know is that it is readily available and at my disposal. Yet I will happily endeavor to hone my coffee rating skills by seeking il piu bene. Ciao.

Check them out on Google Maps.

Oh Bugger

A shrieking banshee cry pierced an otherwise tranquil and peaceful evening. It seemed, to an uninitiated party, that somebody was being brutally murdered and simultaneously witnessing a murder. The victim's and a witnesse's horrors combined and were released in a wail of untold agony, dread and repulsion. So it was no wonder he rushed breathlessly to the bedroom where, as he was convinced, the bloodbath was taking place. There, he witnessed a little Japanese American apparently trying to decimate a 5 cm cockroach by emitting a high-pitched scream in its general direction. Seemingly it worked, as the cockroach chose to charge toward the 86 kg human male who had just entered the bedroom, in fear for its life, rather than remain within striking distance of the decidedly deadly and dangerous owner of the voice box.

The voice box having suddenly malfunctioned, the little Japanese American laid on top of the bed, no extremity remotely close to the polished wood floor, mute and pointing a quivering index finger in the direction where the disgusting thing has skittered off to. Prompted by the increasingly agitated urging of the 86 kg male, the voice box magically began to generate hushed and uneven sounds, attempting to construct complete and coherent sentences in conjunction with the cockroach traumatized brain, and describe the full details of the past few seconds that seemed like eternity. Really. As she gathered her jumbled thoughts, without hesitation he began rifling through her few belongings that sat on the floor (that is going to change, no doubt). It took a few tries for him to realise she was attempting to convey that it could be anywhere in the apartment by now, but most certainly was no longer in the bedroom.

From where she gathered the courage she did not know - perhaps the presence of the fearless 86 kg male - but she tentatively braved setting foot outside the bedroom, in search of the prehistoric pathogenic Blattella or Periplaneta or whatever it was, with the intention of once again calling on the male to bludgeon it with whatever means necessary. She carefully opened the narrow linen closet, where there were boxes and other items stuffed sufficiently at the bottom that it would have taken more effort than she was willing to exert at the time to extract ... so she vigorously kicked at the boxes in hopes that it would flush out the revolting brown bug. But nothing.

Venturing further into the apartment, the male already ahead of her and doing some investigating of his own, it struck her how ironic it was that they chose, and actually pursued, an apartment with dark polished wood floors, the perfect camoflauge for a dark shiny nasty little creature. Sigh ... but no sooner than she had contemplated and cursed their home-hunting criteria, she noticed he had returned to the closet, and was extricating a box and a sizeable black duffel bag; and within a nanosecond exclaimed "here it is!" or "I found it!" or "suffer and die a horrible excruciating death you hideous foul loathesome minion of hell!" Or something. And he stomped it with his black-socked foot, its innards spurting out the sides, she half expecting them to be slimy green and burn a hole through the previously desirable dark wood floor, right down to the car park.

Let that be a lesson to its brethren.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Fly Fly Fly Fly Fly Fly Fly Fly Fly Fly
LAND!

One can only hope that this is the most torturous and insufferable flight one will have to bear in one's life. Ever. Except on the flight back. Oh, there are ways of making it manageable, some of which I most likely cannot legally describe here. Yet, considering all the wonder and beauty and sunshine that awaits you, refrain from snapping your head around like a possessed Linda Blair in the Exorcist and malevolently cursing the impish and innocent 5 year old behind you, incessantly kicking your seat and screaming "Are we there YET??"

Although I have been led to believe otherwise, to me, the available public transit is more than adequate. After arriving and desiring to see and hear and smell the delights of my destination, I discovered that if what you wish is to travel from suburb to suburb or from landmark to any part of downtown, there are numerous convenient and available means at your disposal. For someone with my itinerary (Opera House, Taronga Zoo, and other must-sees for first timers), City Rail is headache and hassle free, easily accessible, with airport-like timetable monitors and knowledgeable staff; and for those who know exactly where and how they want to go, there are simple to use ticket machines. If you are really lucky, you will find yourself on one of the newest sparkling clean and pleasantly cool trains, complete with reversible cloth seats (love those!!) and programmed display screens to indicate the next stop, in addition to a verbal announcement. There remain some decrepit creaky and graffiti laden open-the window-to-get-air trains, but those are reserved for commuters heading into the CBD during rush hour. Or so it seems.

Just as accomodating for your daily excursions are the Sydney buses, if not more so, as long as you are well equipped with a timeline booklet and a bit of patience. Alternatively, you can ask any seasoned veteran bus driver, as I assume all of them are, because they always have the answers to my incessant questioning. I have yet to encounter either an unindulgent driver or squirming unhappy riders eager to get a move on. Typically, both the trains and buses are close to or on time ... and if not, they are frequent enough in busy areas that you will never want for a ride, or be stranded and standing there repeatedly and anxiously looking at your watch.

If, after much deliberation between bus and train timetables, you are still undecided (confused?) as to the hows and whens of reaching that hole-in-the-wall pub you are determined to find, as long as you have access to the internet, you might want to try the Transport Infoline. Not only does it tell you how to get from point A to point B, it gives the options of train, and bus, and ferry, and walking, at the exact times, and in meters. Sweet.

Are you an adrenaline junkie? Do you like to walk on the wild side?? How about drive on the wrong side? If what you are looking for is not a leisurely picturesque stroll at the water's edge in any one of the many miles of dreamy coastline, but rather white knuckled flushed cheek blood rushing fun, take a driving lesson. Okay, perhaps I am being overly dramatic ... but exaggeration notwithstanding, this is a difficult endeavor indeed. Narrow roads, no turning on red lights, and roundabouts (!), not to mention constantly using the windshield wiper when trying to signal. Yes, the windshield is clean but I want to turn right!!

Depending on your length of stay and where you wish to go, renting a car is another option - just make sure you get lots of insurance. For starters, you can try truelocal, one localized search engine, useful for finding driving schools or fender repairs or windshield wiper replacements. After surviving an hour or two of lessons, if you still yearn to brave the streets on your own, Hertz, Thrifty, and Budget are three well known and comparable car rental agencies. Unless you are planning on wandering aimlessly, whereis.com.au will provide shortest, fastest, or toll-less driving directions if you know your starting and ending point.

Finally, if all else fails, "TAXI!"

Sidebar: Foodies REJOICE!!

I LOVE DAVID JONES.

No, David Jones is not some ruggedly handsome or affluent charming Aussie bloke. David Jones is a massive brick and mortar retail conglomerate with enough shiny gorgeous attractive offerings to distract even the most focused suited starchy-collared Sydney banker or broker or business person and launch them into an unprecedented "OhmygodIvediedandgonetoheaven!!" spasmodic joy. Alas, it is merely a chain of multi-storied high end shops, not dissimilar to Nordstrom in the States.

I can summarize my adoration of David Jones (DJs) in one word. Foodhall. I cannot deny the desire for a sweet pair of boots or the perfect shimmery Saturday night spaghetti strap top, or even a fantastic quality German made washing machine with the most delicate of delicate cycles to wash such a top ... but for Foodies everywhere, this is the place to be, the place to go, the place that makes you feel like you have found your paradise. Admittedly, my love for such establishments extends far beyond what may be perceived as rational ... yet I make no apologies for my addiction-like inescapable draw towards all things food.

I used to knead, package and slice in a generic national grocery chain bakery-deli, engulfed in all things gluten and glazed and sold by the pound. Perhaps this is where my adoration was born and subsequently blossomed (ballooned!) ... but nothing could have prepared me for DJs. In all seriousness, it has the most impressive and breathtaking bakery I have ever seen, with professional tiered wedding cakes to an entire cookie store, to some of the most delicious breads and scrumptious looking tortes, enough to put you in a diabetic coma on sight.

There are as may bars as populate a city block in the CBD, but most likely not a drop of alcohol to be found in any of them; instead, there is a full-size noodle bar, a fresh sushi bar, a juice bar, a sit-down pasta and panini bar (complete with chef with tall white hat), and of course, an espresso bar. There is a cheese and antipasto bar which could more accurately be described as an island when considering its size. I did not make a note of the numerous countries of origin, but I would bet you a kilo of kasseri that you could find virtually any cheese (even salame!) you desire. There is even an oyster bar with accompanying glasses of champagne for pete's sake! (Okay, there is some alcohol ... )

Let's not forget the butcher's and seafood counters with anything and everything you might need for the weekend barbeque or Saturday night dinner party ... and that is only some of the fresh food they have. Did I mention they have a Green Grocer with fruits and vegetables so immaculate, so divine that you wouldn't want to pierce the perfect skins?

Not to be outdone, no so subtly positioned to the side is the Wine and Spirits department, complete with a cellar man who they claim "lives and breathes wine." I'd like to see that. Right after I raid the packaged confectioneries, which now is hopping with colorful bright-eyed aluminum foiled chocolate Easter bunnies, with ears intact, surrounded by eggs and baskets and things that make you go YUM.

Sigh. I'm hungry.

Tourist's Paradise

As it is required that you must, no matter the circumstances, include no less than 5 Sydney landmarks/tourist attractions in your first travels Down Under or else you may be hurriedly escorted outside the city's borders to make room for other adventurers ... me being a straight-off-the-plane Yank, found myself walking, walking, and walking some more (bring your walking shoes - no flip flops!). I cound never be mistaken for a green thumb, and manage to kill every form of flora that enters my immediate vicinity, thus I was hypnotized and mesmerized by the giant prehistoric looking ferns and the unique and native plants like the waratahs ... and mostly at the fact that this is a vast expanse of lush and gorgeous greenery, the likes of which I have never seen, in the middle of a 5 million plus modern crowded industrial businessy city. The Royal Botanical Gardens was our first stop of the day, a thankfully relaxing introduction to this amazing destination.

What is Sydney really know for? What does every travel book and picture postcard and hour-long TV special thrust in your face first and foremost? Well, the Opera House of course. There is nothing quite like seeing something for real, being there, touching it, reveling in its majesty and impressive "that-is-so-cool" effect on you. In the wonder that is Sydney, the Opera House is the epitome of this, instilling a soothing awe and calmness within, despite the hordes of camera-toting tourists descending upon it. And regardless of its name, one can attend an opera or a symphony, a play or a comedy show, and many other visually and musically stunning forms of entertainment. Aussies and visitors alike should be up in arms, lobbying to include this as one of the (Seven? Seventeen?) wonders of the modern world, an icon of our times.

Immediately across from the Opera House is the Sydney Harbour Bridge. This is the second most revered creation, from what I have discovered, of the city of Sydney. Upon first viewing this with eyes already in overdrive, you may see what appear to be tiny ants slowly dredging their way to the top. Make no mistake, these are humans, participating in the 3.5 hour Harbour Bridge Climb. I would suggest that those suffering from acrophobia leave this off their list of "things to do", as it is suggested in the name, within this activity one climbs to the apex of the big black bridge. Leaving nothing to chance, they drown potential climbers in a sea of safety precautions, from alcohol breath tests to special BridgeGear to tethering you to a static line with an infinitesimal chance of fall or escape.

Having almost certainly been on a recent exceedingly long plane flight, try a different form of transportation, one much shorter at that. Jump on a ferry in Darling Harbour and take a brief jaunt to the Taronga Zoo. A mini gondola ride will take you to the top, from which you may descend in a zig-zag manner back to the bottom (or any way you see fit!), along the way encountering hundreds of native and transported, exotic, hungry, playful or sleepy creatures, enclosed within something as close to "home" as the zoo can provide. For the most part. A cage does not quite emulate the feel and smell of the rainforest or the African savannah; yet the koalas seem to have found contentment! A eucalyptus tree, and a nap, and another eucalyptus tree, and a nap ...

Finally, in my overly biased and severely limited list is the Sydney Aquarium in Darling Harbour. It has been quite some time since I have been to a large aquarium, and I must admit that they are not usually at the top of my "I-have-to-do-this-before-I-die" activity list ... and yet after wandering through with glassy glazed eyes like my nephews watching "Robots", my preconceived notions about catching a glimpse of a day in the life of a giant fish were completely and totally shattered. Because it was totally amazing. From the giant cuttlefish to the (supposedly) non-stinging jellyfish to the living and moving Great Barrier Reef Oceanarium, it was fascinating. But the coolest thing, and something I was not expecting, was the Open Ocean Oceanarium ... walking under a gazillion gallon aquatic tank, peering through a thick glass arch, at sharks. Sizeable sharks. Okay, that wasn't the only swimming shiny gilled marine animal there, but wow. Guaranteed.

Bondi Babes

I am old and fat and totally not hip.

Well, not really (on all 3 counts anyway), but that was how I felt after I first arrived in New South Wales in the "suburb" of Bondi Junction, where the average age is unfathomably young and said youngsters are excruciatingly tanned and beautiful and fit looking, enough to make me want to just throw in the towel and be resigned to a life of unhipness and accept the gray hair and the seat offered to me on the bus by someone calling me ma'am. Okay, that doesn't happen but just thinking about it gives me gray hair ...

Being from California, I would have thought that it was it was not humanly possible to be more tanned and beautiful and fit looking than Californians (please note - myself EXcluded!). But there I was, slack-jawed, mouth agape at what was unmistakenly proving my previously long held idea completely wrong. Had I known my self esteem would be eroded away (each day more vigorously than the last) by the realization I was old, fat, and unhip, I might have just stayed inside the airconditioned confines of the serviced Meriton apartment I had for the first month, and watched 9 AM with David and Kim and Ready Steady Cook. Repeatedly.

I suppose that anywhere within a 10 kilometer radius of Bondi Beach the Bondi babes are inescapable. Nowhere less heavily concentrated outside the sandy coast do they socialize/gather/show off their bronzed bodies than the gym. Of course, I happened to join the super ultimate exclusive and young Fitness First Platinum located in Westfield Bondi Junction, which happens to be the most monstrous mall I have ever seen in my life; 2 enormous buildings, 6 stories high, occupied with more shoes and skirts and singlets and mobile phones than human consumption could possibly utilize ... and yet these young tanned things use them all, it seems. All the women wear breezy gauzy long layered skirts and two tank tops at a time, effortlessly chic and casual and I SO could not wear that ... with flip flops nonetheless. EVERYONE wears flip flops - men, women, young, old - and I think that everyone owns about 23 pairs to go with everything.

Needless to say, even though I have not been in all of the larger suburbs of Sydney, I think I can say with confidence that those looking to see and be seen, to gather amongst the beautiful people, and to spend a few dollars (well, heaps) on matching flip flops, Bondi Junction is the place to visit.