2:39 p.m. - 2003-05-20
First day in Sydney
2003-05-21
I'm in Sydney now, Jack and Ro were in such a rush to get up to the North Island that I found myself in Christchurch a week too early (I'd changed my flights when I was in Queenstown, but had given myself too much time to see the West coast). So when I went to the New Zealand airlines office and asked for the next available flight, I was asked if I could make it to the airport within an hour. Without thinking I said yes, as I didn't want to spend the night in Christchurch. Subsequently, I panicked because my bags were in Jack's car and I didn't know where he was. The three of us had split up and arranged to meet later at a travel agent, as they were sorting out flights to go north. I ran around the City centre like a headless chicken looking for them, because I knew that if I missed that flight, I was fucked. I would literally lose the flight and I was too skint to buy another ticket. The guys were late to the meeting point and I didn't know whether to stay put and wait, or do something. I couldn�t sit still. I kept looking up and down the road as far as my shit eyesight would allow, praying I would see them. Time was ticking and I employed mind over matter. I just believed I would get there on time. However I knew that the airport was likely to be a long drive out of town. When I saw them I almost wet myself. "My flights in half an hour, I've gotta go!"
We went to the car and I got my half a dozen bags out and hailed a taxi. A couple of quick hugs and I was off. Fortunately the airport was only 20 minutes away and my cabby was a Pommie and let me off a few dollars of the fare, as I was down to the last of my Kiwi currency. I�d just made it! On the flight I sat next to a Maori woman called Lil, who showed me photos of her baby granddaughter. She was a croupier and told me where to look for a job in a casino, giving me her email address if I needed any more details.
I had no plan for Sydney. I was arriving at 6.30pm and the only place I knew about was Kings Cross, which is as seedy, if not more so, than London's Kings Cross. There are a lot of hostels there at the cheaper end of the scale, so I figured that was where I was going to stay. For my first night at least. However, a man called J*ohn L*eguizzo (or something Italian sounding) had other ideas. As I was standing and staring at the accommodation board at the airport, said little old man, who was sitting on the bench looking a bit worn out, asked me if I was looking for somewhere to stay. I said yes (what else could I say?). He started to tell me about this fantastic place only seven minutes away (this is not a virtue, I soon discovered) that housed lots of people like me, who were also living long term and looking for work. It was only $150 p/w and evening meals were thrown in Monday to Friday. I was sold, even if the food was soup and bread, it was still a reasonable price and he would arrange for his daughter to pick me up and drive me there. He even rang the guesthouse and asked them to save me some dinner. I imagined a cosy and sunny Queenslander style house (I know I was in New South Wales, but I didn't know what I was imagining at that point was called a Queenslander) with lots of nice young, interesting people who could cook tasty vegetarian meals. However, it couldn't have been more different.
When I arrived I met an Italian Australian woman called Jade, who was a larger than life character with frizzy red hair. She bossed me into the parquet-floored dining room and presented me with my dinner of pasta, mashed pumpkin, mashed potato, beans and carrots. This is more or less what I would be eating five nights a week for the next two months.
K*riskindl is not a backpackers, I prefer to call it a refuge for the displaced. It is run by a Catholic family (John, the father is an ex-priest and his wife an ex-nun) and is a, not very cosy or sunny, huge white crumbling building that used to be a Catholic school. There are crucifixes everywhere and everyone is Christian apart from the annoying but well meaning token Jew. A large majority of the guests are old divorcees that live there permanently. I discovered that one bloke had been at K*risk*indl for three years.
A free food fridge in the kitchen allows you to help yourself to fruit and cakes and there are dry pretzels, and chocolates everywhere. The cakes are given at the end of the day by Michel's Patisserie in the local mall. It's just too good to be true not to have to cook, and to be able to eat cake whenever I want. There are some weird people here. I don't really know how long I will stay, luckily I am sharing a room with a nice girl from Chichester. She's only staying a week though. It's all rather daunting, the thought of looking for work and accommodation. I just have to get on with it. I took the ferry to Manly today, saw the Opera House, it wasn�t as impressive as I expected it to be, but I had built it up in my head so much� anyway, it's gorgeous really and Manly was posh.
