Week 1
Unsurprisingly, it’s been a week of firsts… amongst these, my first car trip to Bondi Junction. My sister seemed quite anxious that I would lose my car to the car park. I took her concern seriously – my sense of direction is so poor that I can get lost making my way back from the toilet in an unfamiliar house. So I was careful to lay a modern woman’s Hansel-and-Gretal style trail, photographing my parking spot and subsequent pathway to the supermarket.
I was triumphant, then, that I was able to locate my car without incident or reference to the photo trail, even though I had to take a slightly different route to accommodate my trolley full of groceries. Proudly, I loaded my shopping and prepared to depart. I started the car and followed the exit signs… which took me on a full circuit back to my original location.
I tried again. No joy.
On the next circumnavigation I took a ramp. It led to another floor of car park.
In desperation, I pulled over and texted my sister.
SOS. Trapped in car park. HELP!
She didn’t respond – with four children, she rarely replies immediately – and I had no choice but to continue my journey, taking random ramps in the hope that one of them would lead to daylight and freedom from the bowels of Westfield. Imagine my relief when, after what seemed like hours of pointless circling, I finally ascended the correct ramp to the outside world.
Thursday was my first day of work. I’m lucky in that I can get just one bus from home to work. I’m also lucky because my office is in Surry Hills. The place is fairly groaning under the weight of tiny bars, edgy cafes and quirky shops. Even the local primary school is uber-cool with its cathedral-like main building and terraced garden.
My building, surrounded by trendily distressed terraces and cottages, is conspicuously utilitarian. Although I worked in an office for four years when I was employed by Ausdance WA, our Kings Street Arts Centre office with its age-mellowed floorboards and pressed tin ceiling wasn’t exactly a typical office environment. In comparison, Floor 2 of this building, where I will be spending the next two months, is the archetypal office space. The bland little cubicles are enlivened, though, by photographs from the various magazines, as well as occasional pieces of merchandise… a model wooden train graces the desk of a toy magazine editor, a coconut sits on a shelf belonging to a food magazine editor. Plus, if I lean back in my standard order swivel chair, I can look out the window and see a clock tower (Town Hall?), its flag waving cheerily against a rectangle of sky.
The bus ride is similarly novel for me, even though it takes a frustratingly long time to travel the relatively short distance between Bondi Beach and Surry Hills, thanks to the infamous Sydney traffic. My trip starts against the iconic backdrop of Bondi Beach, proceeds (or, more accurately, crawls) along the shop-lined streets of Bondi Road, through to Bondi Junction, past the green fields of Centennial Park, down through genteel Paddington where the shop fronts become progressively high-end and through to more grungy Darlinghurst. It’s a world away from my ten minute pedal to Northbridge as the bus nudges its way down Oxford Street, depositing me at the corner of Crown Street a good 20 minutes later than the timetable promised.
Of all my new experiences this week, being able to pop up the hill to see my nephews is the best. Nephew number 3, however, feels he is not getting his fair share of Nani time. He is used to having me stay in the same house when I am in Sydney and, although he understands that, this time, I am here for 2 months (or 9 weeks, or 69 days – he likes to be sure exactly what he is dealing with when it comes to measurable time) instead of my usual 5-10 days, he would still prefer that all 69 of those days were spent in his home. Still, we’re having fun, including my first time as a soccer Aunt. Whilst I quickly lost track of how many goals our team was losing by, I got the outfit right (skinny jeans, puffa vest, fringy scarf - blending black and neutrals)… yes, you could have easily mistaken me for an Eastern suburbs mum.