Friday, November 03, 2006
Happy Eating
I planned a daytrip to the Blue Mountains, a national park a two-hour train ride from Sydney. I wanted to leave early in the morning but I reached the train station just minutes after a train left. I had to wait one hour for the next train. I spent that time walking around the nearby Chinatown. Despite having a large Chinese population, Sydney's Chinatown is about as large as Washington's or Oakland's.
Blue Mountains
I got to Katoomba, the largest town in the Blue Mountains, at 1 PM. From there I took a shuttle to a trail that winds along the edge of a valley. I saw a couple of waterfalls and admired the old red cliffs. Walking through the eucalyptus forests, I didn't see much in the way of unique Australian wildlife, though. Halfway into my hike (or bushwalk, as the locals say) the skies suddenly turned black. It began to rain, and worse, a dense mist permeated the valley. I could see hardly ten feet in front of me. I trudged along, cursing my bad luck. But before I reached the end (or for that matter, fell off an obscured precipice) the fog lifted and I was treated to a majestic view of the most famous sight in the park, the Three Sisters.
Larger of two waterfalls I encountered
After hiking for three hours I returned to the town and took a train back to the city. Catecorner from my seat were two college-aged girls. One of them received a phone call—I could make out her telling the person on the other end that she would be busy for the next couple of weeks. After she hung up she explained to her friend that the caller was an Iranian who badly wanted to see her. "He can barely speak English. (Imitates him in a derisive accent.) If you're in this country, you have to learn English!" I'd like to think that in the melting pot of America, I and my countrymen have a more enlightened attitude toward immigrants. But after seeing Borat I have to reconsider this position.
Pied currawong
When I returned to Sydney I went once more to Chinatown. In the daytime this neighborhood was unremarkable but now it was positively bustling. The hottest spot is Dixon St, a pedestrian-only street lined with restaurants and outdoor tables. Tonight all the tables were full, but still girls working for the restaurants stood outside and called on passersby to come in. I also counted three Asian food courts; I entered one with the felicitious name "Happy Eating". Inside were a plethora of gustatory choices: Japanese noodles, Korean hot plates, Hong Kong BBQ and even Indonesian. I ordered a plate of chow fun from Booth 118 that explained how this food court got its name. And for AU $7 (US $5), it was a good deal. What most impressed me about Sydney's Chinatown was, unlike San Francisco's, a lot of white locals came here to eat. In fact, I didn't see many tourists at all.
Three Sisters
I got back to the hostel around 10. Every night a group is organized to go out to some bar. I wanted to join them tonight but missed them. I checked out the Kings Cross scene by myself. It was hopping tonight, but it wasn't my bag. Most of the places in this neighborhood have guest lists and the people are dressed a lot like last night—that is, much better than I, in my scrub backpacker outfit. I heard about another nightlife mecca called Oxford Street but since it was quite far from Kings Cross I didn't get a chance to see it. Next time, I told myself.
