I have just recently flown back into the stunningly beautiful city of Sydney. I think I was one of a small few to know what to expect, 80% of my plane snapped their heads to the left side windows, audible gasps filled the cabin, shutters of cameras serenaded our descent. As we flew over the CBD it was obvious that they had never seen the way in which the great steel Harbour Bridge sparkled upon the reflection of the water, the giant creamy points of the Opera House.
Their excitement was infectious. As their necks settled back into their bodies as the less glamourous Kingsford Smith Airport loomed into view I gazed patiently forward, equipped with a broad grin. Home! Whilst they were buzzing at the landmarks I was impatient with the other things this great city offers me everyday.
I love Sydney, I’m so proud to call such a beautiful, vibrant city home. I have never been one of those “God, I wish I lived in Melbourne” people (don’t get me wrong, the south is great but Sydney roolz). I like our fashions, our food. I love the way we celebrate whether it be Mardi Gras, a casual house party at the boys house in McMahons Point or the ultimate party – New Years Eve. We rang in this year cheering our heads off atop a rooftop in Potts Point, liquored to the max and surrounded by the most beautiful of people we saw the new year before the rest of the world – and we did it the best.
I like the dingy side alley ways in Surry Hills as much as I love the triangle created between Louis Vuitton, Chanel and Gucci. I love how the relaxed, Bondi lifestyle is a reality – not a myth. Where trackies, fur and heels are an appropriate (and stylish) combination. Colour is embraced, sequins are plentiful and inspiration is never lacking.
I understand the uncontainable excitement when Sydney looms across that little plane window, they are too tiny to show its whole story. You get such a small glimpse of such a fantastic place, you get out of the plane and you open your Lonely Planet and you go explore. But Sydney is more than words on tourist guides, pictures in travel magazines.
Sydney is being able to cry your eyes out in an alleyway in Darlinghurst during the middle of the day and no one bats an eyelid. Sydney is being locked on the upper level of a club when all your friends are downstairs because a girl fell down and smashed the glass bottom (funnier than it reads). Sydney is falling asleep under the trees at the Rose Bay marina with your flatmate and her puppy. Sydney is birthday breakfasts at Bills, Surry Hills. Sydney is the Thursday night all-you-can-eat pizza and 2-for-1 cocktails at Fringe Bar. Sydney is the god awful public transport system we call CityRail. Sydney is the cracks in the pavement outside Pretty Dog in Newtown that spilts your heels in two. Sydney is picking your Mum up from work then going with her to Louis Vuitton in your PJs. Sydney is the Lemon & Mint granita at Max Brenner. Sydney is Romance Was Born barnacles with nothing underneath.