Sad.Sigh Down Under - Part 5
11.19.08 - Bondi
That’s pronounced Bon-Dye, you Yankees.
In the morn, prior to boarding the free shuttle from our Central City hostel to the one in Bondi, which is a suburb of Syndey on the beach, I needed caffeine like a mother, and went straight to the… you guessed it, Starbucks. The reasoning behind this American superiority and consumerism is that is nigh impossible to find a decent cup of coffee anywhere else in Sydney. You can only get cappucino & other espresso drinks. When you ask for coffee, the typical response is ‘what kind?’. This has resulted in me being undercaffeinated a lot. Boo.
So, we boarded the shuttle, (really, a rickety VW Eurovan), and headed toward the Bondi YHA, where, of course, being a beach community in a beautiful country, it was cloudy. Sigh. Given that we had some time to kill before we could actually check in, I finally called AT&T and had those assholes switch my service over. They had to go through the whole credit check including asking me awkward questions about my past.
After we’d checked in, eaten, and relaxed a bit, we took a walk to the beach. Bondi, as you’ll see by the picture, is very much like Santa Cruz, except everyone is beautiful, and there is a dearth of white dreads.
After our tour of the beach, we headed back to the hostel where we made a delicious pasta dinner. I’ll talk about this more tomorrow, as we’ll be eating it for the next 14 meals.
After dinner, we went to bed early, as:
1. Jamie was feeling sick.
2. I was too much of a chickenshit to head back to Sydney proper and go gay barring again.
3. I am poor, and didn’t really want to pony up the cash to take a cab both ways, plus pay for drinks, (although knowing how good looking I am, I probably wouldn’t have had to pay for drinks).
This brings me to my next point. I’ve realized I’m old. We’ve been staying in hostels with 18-22 year olds. I’m by far the oldest person, (well… besides Jamie), that I’ve encountered in the last 4 days, and it’s really starting to make me feel bad about myself. They’re all young and pretty and drunk/French, and have exotic accents, (ooo! Canadian!), and I’m old and creaky, and have to sleep on a top bunk. Luckily, I have a 2 week trek throughout all of New Zeland with some more youngsters to truly remind me of my own mortality.
Luckily - I’ve found the boy who I want to make out with. He has spikes through both his ears, and I believe is Irish. Plus, he wears gay shorts. (Don’t worry, B. His gay shorts are nothing in comparison to yours.) Awkward.
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Every time I read your posts I keep thinking- “hey! that’s no sad-sigh!” but then you get to the part about you feeling old and I feel better. Sorry, we are all just envious of your trip…