I wrote this when taking a break on my way to the Museum of Contemporary Art.
July 5. I'm sitting down on a bench for a minute to write because the beauty of being on one's own schedule is doing such things on a whim whenever one is feeling like it.
Second impression: Sydney may not be endearingly dilapidated, but it is breathtakingly gorgeous. The historic district is preserved yet polished. As I walk through the botanical gardens towards The Rocks area, the streets are lined with a mix of taller contemporary buildings and one- or two-story intricate churches, art galleries, and old facades that have retained their original charm and adorable quality. I want to get lost here for days - to pick a different area to take the train to, walk the streets, find a park bench, settle into the scene, and breathe the city life around me.
And, hello! There are benches. Without homeless people sitting on them screaming at you about killing people. I'm sorry if that's not a PC or sensitive way of putting it; it's just my experience.
It strikes me how present I have been so far - over 80% present, which is all you can ask for, really. While some things here are common to the Western world I knew before, portals of familiarity through which I can travel to stay on track in this novel landscape, everything is different enough that it sucks me in and grabs all of my attention. There is nothing familiar enough that I can tune it out and use that space to be somewhere else.
Everything is new - the direction that the cars drive, the balcony decorations on the facade behind me, the intensity of the sun, the happy mix of accents assaulting me from all directions. So for now I am here, letting Sydney fill every cell of my being.
July 5. I'm sitting down on a bench for a minute to write because the beauty of being on one's own schedule is doing such things on a whim whenever one is feeling like it.
Second impression: Sydney may not be endearingly dilapidated, but it is breathtakingly gorgeous. The historic district is preserved yet polished. As I walk through the botanical gardens towards The Rocks area, the streets are lined with a mix of taller contemporary buildings and one- or two-story intricate churches, art galleries, and old facades that have retained their original charm and adorable quality. I want to get lost here for days - to pick a different area to take the train to, walk the streets, find a park bench, settle into the scene, and breathe the city life around me.
And, hello! There are benches. Without homeless people sitting on them screaming at you about killing people. I'm sorry if that's not a PC or sensitive way of putting it; it's just my experience.
It strikes me how present I have been so far - over 80% present, which is all you can ask for, really. While some things here are common to the Western world I knew before, portals of familiarity through which I can travel to stay on track in this novel landscape, everything is different enough that it sucks me in and grabs all of my attention. There is nothing familiar enough that I can tune it out and use that space to be somewhere else.
Everything is new - the direction that the cars drive, the balcony decorations on the facade behind me, the intensity of the sun, the happy mix of accents assaulting me from all directions. So for now I am here, letting Sydney fill every cell of my being.
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