Sydney in the masses

Zoo Logics of Travel

At the zoo, life was abundant. Animals moved with play. Lions yawned. They stirred lazily from restive sleep and showed off their sleek muscles in captivity. Koalas stripped eucalyptus boughs, seals performed their acrobatic feats, and gorillas beat their chests and chased loved ones who attempted to steal their enormous salads. All the while, an orangutan draped a canvas sack over its head to shield its long orange locks from the rains and stretched its lanky arms high above in the tangle of ropes. The shy platypus remained out of sight.

Each species appeared happy—well fed and cared for—which enlivened our spirits under a dampening sky of dreary clouds. The land of the Pacific Northwest continued to follow us deeper into the Land of Oz.

Four nights of stay carried us northward to our anticipated departure. We saw much of Sydney, as any highly-caffeinated traveler. There was the Australian Museum, the Business District, Darling Harbor, Chinatown, the Gardens and the Domain, and last but not least the signatory Opera House. There were long days of walking, exploring the streets as if Captain Cook arrived some years later from centuries lost at sea.

We meandered Sydney’s verdure via its public spaces. We became comatose with our feet up next to a schooner of local beer. And to make matters more adventuresome, nights were relentless. Day after day, night after night, we were exhausted as sleep came early to minds which continued to linger in a time change seventeen hours behind schedule. Unfortunately, the backpacking hostel scene did not aid with much relief.

It was classic, the typical hostel scene found world round, whether it be Europe, India or
Thailand. Late hours of pub crawls with freshly strewn collage graduates clambering down narrow halls. There were the raucous cheerleaders of the groups encouraging shouts for quicker, deeper chugs. Heads back, throats open. The cans of beer soon crumbled. The glass bottles clanked and shattered. The songs sung from more glorious days. Ah yes! Days of youthful unconsciousness. How the body copes with societal sufferings!

Take for example our final morning. At 7am Laura and I crept down the hallway’s abandoned stairs to the hostel’s derelict commons. There we found an unfamiliar gent slumped over on the couch. To find our seats before the computers we flicked on the light and then mindfully extinguished it not to disturb the slumbering beast. He was faded, passed out. Yet in ten minutes he rose with clear ambiguity, and just as he rounded the corner out the doorway I caught sight of his features. Unbeknown to him, black marker scribbled his facial features, smearing his cheek and forehead, all thanks to his faceless mates. Moments later we heard a loud and deep groan emerge from the bathroom as he took a hazy glimpse at the morning’s mirror.



En Mass & Gone

Such were the sounds beyond our den’s refuge, stretching the hours of night into a long eternal restlessness. And as usual for any beckoning traveler in search of culture and life beyond one’s doors, where we found relief was out upon the streets talking to a local Israeli man who ran the health food shop Healthy Nuts or beneath the star-studded skies as thousands upon thousands of flying foxes (giant fruit bats) departed their upside down perches in the Royal Gardens for a twilight flight to an unknown distant cave (think of Birds, but with bats!). And after a final day of café hopping with our books and coffee before sandwiches and beer, we were ready for the next city to pick apart. Yet it would not come in the form of Sydney filled with the masses, nor would it come as a town. From Sydney north towards the warmer equatorial line, twenty-four hours of train and bus took us to the remote settlement of Helga and Claus. There, we were to become farmers, horticultural apprentices among many other things.

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