Monday, March 12, 2012

Sydney, New Apartment, Mardi Gras

I flew into Sydney after a heavy storm had recently cleared. The plane rolled hard to the right for the approach and I, with a window seat, took in a birds-eye view of my new city for the first time. Suburban sprawl bled into denser residential housing into light commercial buildings and finally into jutting skyscrapers at the center. Brooklyn Bridge-esque sandstone towers anchored the north Sydney suburbs to the heart of the city and in between lay the Sydney Harbor bustling with ferries and sail boats. The Sydney Opera House -- smaller than I expected but catching the eye like a diamond -- conspicuously glistened in the clean, post-storm gleam of the setting sun. Talk about a grand first impression.

I had spent a lot of time looking at Sydney from Google maps, and roughly deduced the plane's location. I was quick enough to realize I was probably looking at a commercial building that would soon be my haunt eight hours a day, five days a week, for the next six months. What would my life be like here? What does Sydney have to offer?

I took a double-decker train from the airport to CBD (central business district), and then a bus to the apartment I had found from Gumtree searches when I was still in Perth. I met my quirky home owners, Maurice (ex-pat, British, age 63, semi-retired, slightly obsessive compulsive) and Alice (age 45, Chinese immigrant, hairdressing shop owner, chatty and fiery). They introduced me to my room in the detached in-law flat I'd be sharing with a Chinese university student. When I say detached flat, I mean a renovated garage. Unsurprisingly, the kitchen was outside under a covered patio. I sat outside with the owners as we got to know each other, and a rat ran across the one of the beams of the pergola. Alice exclaimed in stilted English, "I never seen that before!" One hour into my short-term lease and I was sure I needed to find a new place sooner than later.

During the first night, I was disturbed intermittently by some sort of rodent scampering in the ceiling. It didn't take much to imagine what sort of rodent it would be. I brought this up to Alice the next evening, and she said curly-tailed possums are notorious for nesting in ceilings, but they aren't a big problem. Okay, whatever. I started my search for a new apartment that evening. A few evenings later, while I sat at my desk, I heard scampering directly above the ceiling. A piece of the drywall spackle fell away from the edge where the ceiling mated with the wall. I looked up to see a dark brown rat tail hanging down from the hole. Yeah, try to fall asleep with that image in your mind. Good luck.

This time, when I told Alice, she listened. The next day she installed an ultra-sonic rat alarm, which surprisingly worked, and they had a contractor stop by to quote a price to fix the problem permanently. Fortunately for me, I had been proactive in finding a new apartment, and would move into my new place by the end of the second week of work.

Fast forward five days. (Whitney Houston died. The owners bicker about petty things. Every night, Whitney Houston music plays on a stereo system through a blown speaker).

With little fan-fair on a Friday after work, I packed my boxes and backpack, and hailed a cab to take me to my new row house apartment in the inner-city suburb of Surry Hills. (The cabi's licence was alpha-numeric and there were no dice in the mirror. He was from Bangladesh, if you were curious). I had only visited this part of the city once, which was during the room showing on a late night weekday. Now, on a bustling Friday early evening, I got to see it in a new light. Night clubs were setting up for the weekend debauchery and trendy clothing stores were closing down. A small number of street-level shops had seedy looking neon signs in front of inconspicuous staircases. Bars, cafe's and restaurants were full of people of all ages enjoying society. While I'm painting you a picture with words, there seemed to be a noticeable amount of well groomed men wearing tight fitting clothing and speaking in flamboyant accents.

Jason welcomed me with a formal tour of the house. He had taken care of everything so I could move right in: clean room, clean bed sheets, a shelf in the closet for shoes (and yes, I need a full shelf), cabinet for my food, two shelves in the frig, and a cabinet in the bathroom for toiletries. He suggested I unpack and then offered a tour of the essential shops nearby. So I did just that. As I learned the location of two grocery stores, Salvation Army, straight clubs, gay clubs, liquor stores for wine, liquor stores for beer, and bus stops, I got to know my new roommate better (I also live with a French guy and his Thai girlfriend).

During the house showing I had learned that Jason is from Malaysia, he's gay and works as an accountant in the city. While walking around the street, he laughed at me as I asked him if Surry Hills had a large gay community. He basically said Surry Hills is the heart of it. Sydney seems to be is a very gay friendly city though.

At some point during that walk, Jason asked me if I wanted to join him and some friends in the Mardi Gras. I agreed then basically out of a principle that my friend in Perth once put to words regarding living in a Western country like a traveler: Say yes to all new opportunities, because they usually end up being great experiences. Well, the Mardi Gras parade was one of those things I didn't feel comfortable with -- not because I assumed I'd be dressed in a hyper-skimpy outfit in public (which is really the best part) -- but because thousands of people would be intently watching each float that goes by and secondly, the parade was being broadcast internationally. With a debilitating fear of being the center of public attention, I'd have been equally as nervous as a driver of a float.

Between that Friday and the next Saturday, I got ready for the parade. First, Jason mentioned that he liked to style hair, and I mentioned that I liked to get free haircuts. When my trendy haircut was all finished, he gave me styling tips for how to use gel. Then he looked at my patchy chest hair, waved an open hand in the general area, and said, "You're gonna have do something with all this before the parade." Two days later he was shaving my chest and giving me instructions on how to do it without getting ingrown hairs. There was one night during the week where I met Jason's friends and we brainstormed about costumes trying to incorporate the float theme colors of red, white and black.

The float theme was "Muslims Against Homophobia". I mentioned this to a few people, and if they didn't say it out loud, then I read it in their faces: Um, are you crazy? I assumed they were trying to estimate about how many people in the world hated me. I would then have to explain that the float needed volunteers and, depending on how hard the guy was coming onto me, that I was neither. Anyway, I personally preferred our sign that read "Queer Muslims Need Acceptance". That's a message a little easier on the ears.

On the morning of the parade, I walked to the Asian market and picked through some of the women's clothing stores. I found some white daisy duke shorts, and striped white-and-red socks. I would pair that with suspenders I'd be borrowing and a star-print handkerchief.  Finally, I thought I'd paint on a lightning bolt over my eye a la Ziggy Stardust.

Jason's friends came over at 3pm and we spent the next 3 hours getting ready. My lightning bolt idea turned into a star to stick with the theme of the handkerchief and I added a few more in some risque places. Everyone else had rocked the color theme well.

The final product. The gay turned up to 11. 

From left to right, me (I'm the fat one), Jason, Florian (my other roommate, the florist), Susan, Yens, and Alan.  During the parade, everyone was cat calling for the two on the right. 

We arrived at the parade around 5pm but the first float didn't launch until 8pm. It had been overcast all day, and soon it was raining and cold. We were all a little under dressed, to say the least, and our float was scheduled for the last half of the parade. After a long time of huddling under a bus stop awning, the marching director of our float, a militant drag queen, arranged us in three's and two's and made us practice a dance routine to a Shakira remix. And then we were off.

At the back of the pack, anything resembling order quickly fell apart and we ended up free form dancing (well, you could call it dancing for the others; my technique is often classified as awkward shaking), waving, screaming, and running around to our adoring fans. It was pretty amazing how much warmer the street was when we got to the spot lights and big crowds (and the television cameras, which I ignored). The rain let up too, but I got the impression that the crowd was a little more subdued than previous years.

Forty-five minutes later, and it was over. There was an after party concert with RuPaul and Kylie Minogue, and we lost a few of our group. The remainder of us went out for Thai food in the Kings Cross area. The streets were a sea of people, but I would only be a spectator for the night. I was happy to have survived a very public event and have a set of friends for a unique welcome to Sydney.


2 comments:

  1. So you are happy with your new living arrangements and Sydney? I'm so glad you are having a blast, Adam!!

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  2. Wow, sounds like you've had quite the experience since landing in Sydney! I'm headed that way here in a few days, but just passing through this time.

    I wish you the best in your travels! Maybe we'll meet somewhere down the road :).

    All the best,
    Hilary Billings
    NomadGrad.com

    ReplyDelete