Of tourists and temperance.
I'm walking across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, sharing the walkway with a squillion gawking, selfie-taking tourists, probably the majority of them recently disembarked from the live sheep transport, Carnival Legend which I can see berthed at the overseas passenger terminal in Circular Quay. Well, forgive my excessive cynicism, but my description of such modern cruise ships as those of the Carnival line (and many others) in such terms is because they remind me of the rectangular, boxy and gigantic freighters used to send our animals overseas for slaughter in nations fussy about doing such things themselves. Call me a romantic, but when it comes to cruise ships, I much, much prefer the classic elegance of vessels long gone such as the SS Normandie or the QE2, not these monstrosities resembling giant shipping containers with amusement parks perched in top.
It's very hot today, and many of the tourists are pausing here on the bridge not just to take photos but to seek some relief from the heat. A breeze is ripping through the harbour, and unimpeded up here, nearly 50 metres above the waters below, it does provide some relief from the blistering heat in which most of Sydney is baking. I'm not sightseeing however; I'm on my way to work, and dressed inappropriately in my work clothes of dark trousers and a dark business shirt. I'm only about a quarter of an hour into my 70 or so minutes walk, and already I'm drenched in sweat, and it promises to get only significantly hotter once I'm off the bridge and walking back down at street level again.
The views of Sydney, its harbour and iconic buildings is of course superb, which is what draws the tourists out here. Most just walk across the bridge, but some pay the $15 to climb to one of the pylon lookouts, while others fork out up to twenty times that much to don light grey overalls attached to a life line and 'do' the Bridge Climb with a guide, which takes them to the very top of the bridge itself, 134 metres above the harbour. Despite the rip off cost, this is one of Sydney's biggest attractions, and continues day and night all year round, and in all but the most dangerous of weather. Whenever I walk across the bridge, no matter the time of day or night, there is always a group overhead clambering their way to the top, and today is no exception in spite of the heat.
But here at the midpoint of the Bridge what suddenly strikes me today; more than the tourists and summer heat, is that from my vantage point I can see three of Sydney's great architectural wonders, each of them built about 40 years apart. The first of them is of course the bridge itself, opened nearly 85 years ago after six years of construction. It seems almost like another time and another age long gone, but both my mother-in-law and her sister and both still very much alive were there as young girls for the official opening, a notorious affair in which the official ribbon cutting was interrupted by one Captain De Groot, a member of a para-military group who slashed the ribbon with his sword and thus found his way into the history books.
The second masterpiece is the Sydney Opera House. This was officially opened in 1973, and what I find incredible about this building is not just the originality of the design, but the fact that the very conservative government of the day actually had the boldness and vision to choose such a futuristic design and construct it. My first visit to Sydney as a spotty youth was at about this time, and was in part at least prompted by the chance to see this astonishing building for ourselves. Although we must have toured the building, I have only vague recollections of it, whereas I have a very clear memory of visiting the observation deck of Australia Square, then Sydney's tallest building. I can see it now from my vantage point here on the Harbour Bridge, but these days it looks rather forlorn, surrounded as it is by many other, far taller towers. Australia Square's observation deck is now long gone, replaced by a revolving restaurant, apparently of no great note. How times change.
One, or should I say three of the buildings that dwarf Australia Square by comparison is in fact the third of Sydney's architectural triumphs, the triple towers of Barangaroo, which are just part of the billion-dollar project still underway and which has so radically re-shaped the Sydney skyline and foreshore. And it's this 40+ year gap between these three icons of Sydney that strikes me now and makes me wonder what it is that requires a whole generational gap between significant developments in this town.
Well, whatever the reason for it is, as I reach the end of the bridge and climb down the steps, I am deposited into my favourite part of Sydney, which is the oldest part known as The Rocks, and which contains Sydney's oldest buildings and most importantly, its quaintest pubs. It's also where my wife's great grandfather Isaac owned a house about 120 years ago, and still standing much in its original state on Lower Fort Street. I will walk past it past shortly, and it's this tangible connection with the past, and the largely unaltered state of the dwellings and public houses of three and four generations ago which create this generational tension between this area, and the surrounding business district towering overhead with all of its steel and glass.
The first of five of its quaintest pubs which I walk reluctantly past is immediately across the road as I come off the bridge. The Glenmore Hotel is four-storey wedged shaped construction on one of The Rocks awkward corners. Like a miniature version of New York's famous Flatiron Building, it grabs your attention, has loads of charm and character and a brilliant rooftop bar. This rooftop watering hole is clearly viewed from the walkway of the Harbour Bridge, and on my walks to work for night shift on Friday and Saturday evenings, it breaks my heart to walk past here, with its rooftop full of happy workers beginning their weekend in grand fashion at a grand location. Just now though it's Tuesday lunchtime, and the clientele are far fewer in number and boisterousness.
Soon I turn left and walk under the 50-metre width of the Harbour Bridge and onto Lower Fort Street. As I walk past the second pub of my Rocks walk, The Harbour View Hotel, I can see my great-grandfather-in-law's former home directly across the road, and despite more than a century of time passing, it's hard to imagine it looking much different to the way it does today. Isaac was a vintner and vigneron amongst other things, and so it's easy to imagine him popping across the road here for a sociable tipple or two and perhaps chastising the owner for not stocking enough of Isaac's own wines.
That strong connection with the past is just about enough to bring a tear to my eye, but it's so damned hot just now that the only forms of moisture emanating from me are rapidly multiplying rivulets of sweat. It's hot enough now to send a Bedouin camel handler into the shade, and as I walk along Lower Fort Street I am beguiled by the third pub I approach on my walk through The Rocks, The Hero of Waterloo, shimmering through the heat haze. This is another wedge-shaped building on another awkward corner, and the cruel gaffer there has put an enticing 'Cold Beer Inside!' notice board on the footpath, and which nearly breaks my resolve. Worse still, through the open door as I draw alongside I can see Willy Nelson's identical twin behind the bar pouring the sandwich-board-promised cold beers. I flirt briefly with the idea of popping in for a singular cold one, then cutting short my walk and catching the train the rest of the way to work. In reality though, there isn't enough time to enjoy it, and dragging myself away would be harsh and cruel, so I plod on, around the corner and past the equally enticing Lord Nelson Hotel and brewery (Sydney's oldest pub, or so they claim), and then The Palisade, with its beer garden and views of Darling Harbour. It's almost too much to take, and as if to rub salt into the wound, as I descend from The Rocks and into Barangaroo, temporary stalls with 'Middle Eastern' street food have been set up to cater for the Sydney Festival crowds, the mingling smells of Lebanese kibbeh and Turkish menemen further reducing me to a weeping, sweaty bundle of outrageous cravings.
Despite it all, I don't give in. I sternly remind myself that I am in training, and not only is it important to supplement my running with these bonus walks, but to resist the enticement of additional and unnecessary beer or food. My legs and waistline will thank me, or so I assure myself, and I trudge on, further telling myself that I would in any case be too embarrassed to order anything with my shirt dark and dripping with sweat like this.
I shan't subject you to, or torment myself with the rest of the walk. I don't need reminding of the up-market eateries of the Barangaroo towers, or the long line of open-aired cafes, bars and restaurants that line Darling Harbour and past which I must walk. It is simultaneously a fantastic way to commute to work, and a tormenting Siren, luring you into its gastronomic, alcoholic glory and which requires an iron will to pass by.
I like to think there's an analogy here to running, but the best connection that I can arrive at is that by denying myself these pleasures and maintaining the pursuit of health through this chosen sport, I will ultimately reap the benefits through longer life and greater opportunities to enjoy the delights that I am currently denying myself... typically drooling of mouth and growling of stomach though these deprivations may be as I skulk past.
Doubtless no such deprivations will be observed in Almeria after the race in three or so weeks. And after all, aren't delayed gratifications the most enjoyable? Well, you have to believe so, otherwise days like today are that much harder to take.
Oh yes.
Jumpin' Januaries!
