323. Jazz Harbour Cruise

Sydney has been build up over the decades around the natural harbour and most of the iconic sights like the Bridge, the Opera House and the freakish clown face at Luna Park are best seen from the water. So as part of my job as Mum and Dad’s tour guide I had booked us onto a cruise of the Harbour.

Isla and I were running slightly late and when we arrived at the wharf where the boat was going to be leaving from, Mum and Dad were already there sitting in a bar near the dock and there was a queue of about 30 people lined up on the wharf-side. I have to say that we weren’t really paying attention to what was going on as we were having an in-depth conversation with Mum about the Rach 3 so when the boat pulled up and the queue started moving Dad started having a flap – “Come on, hurry up or we’ll miss the boat. Stop you’re chatting.” You get the picture.

We walked over and joined the end of the queue and were ushered onto the boat with the rest of the crowd. I was impressed how high-class the boat looked as there was leather seating everywhere and beautiful decking although it was reasonably small. Mum and Dad quickly found seats and within a minute a nice girl had approached us asking if we wanted anything to drink. Seconds later we were knocking back icy beers and wine and chatting with the really friendly passengers.

Mum was having the usual chat about people’s geneology and a lovely couple that they had cornered were going on about how there mothers were from Edinburgh and Isla and I were stretched out on the outside deck enjoying the beers while Isla slapped on the complimentary sun cream. It looked like this cruise was going to be a good day out and with all the complimentary drinks it would be hard not to.

Suddenly it occurred to Dad that the music that was playing over the sound system was not jazz and then the most surreal and embarrassing conversation then took place between him and one of the other chaps on the boat…

“So, when is the jazz going to start?”

“Jazz?”

“Yeah, jazz. Is there not going to be some live jazz music.”

“Erm, I don’t think so. It’s a bit small in here for musical instruments! Haha.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be a jazz cruise of the Harbour!”

“Eh, no. This is Mitsubishi Crow’s Nest Christmas Party!”

We all heard it and there were 4 simultaneously red faces on the boat. Now I’m not one to get embarrassed but on this occasion it would have been hard not to. I mean I was sitting on someone else’s charter boat, using their sun cream and deck space while guzzling back the beers that everyone else on the boat had paid for. It didn’t help that the captain had to go back to the dock to let us off which created a ripple through the people who were not in the know of “why are were going back?”
Scarlet, we bailed out onto the wharf despite the friendly couple’s insistence that they didn’t care – “Well you’ve already had a few drinks you might as well stay!” Unsurprisingly that didn’t make us feel any better and we high-tailed it to cover and watched, hidden, as the Mitsubishi car sales folk made their second attempt at a Christmas party.

I later realised that nobody had asked us for our names or tickets and when we eventually boarded the Jazz Cruise boat that was the first things we were asked for. We were shown to our table in what can only be described as a galley which housed about 12 tables at the bow and another dozen at the stern with a small dance floor in the midship and an adjacent collection of musical instruments complete with a baby grand and of course musicians.

Before long the 80 or so passengers were on board and we set sail, stowaway free, round Sydney’s harbour. Our beer-buzz was completely gone and although nobody on this ship knew our secret shame I still felt mortified with a self-consciousness that only some booze could undo.

Now booze is the most appropriate word here because as I was standing in the queue at the bar to pay for a bottle of cheap fizzy white (no free drinks on this boat) I happened to hear the conversation of the two gents behind me who were saying that they only need to get a round of Cokes as “Jenny’s got a bottle of vodka under the table!”. So despite the classy jazz music and the veritable feast of a seafood buffet it was in all honesty a “jazzed-up” booze-cruise.

None the less we found ourselves having a great time especially after the second bottle of fizzy wine. The musicians did a good job of keeping the crowd entertained and despite only a few young kids and their grand-parents hitting the dance floor with hip-breaking fear on their faces everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.

Soon we were laughing at the earlier “incident” and I knew that it was the kind of event that would be told with good humour over beers in the future.

322. Cycle – St. Leonards, Gordon, Mona Vale, Manly, Spit Circuit

Distance – 56km
Time – 2hours 34min
Average- 21.8km/h
Top Speed – 69.2km/h

5.15am is a shocking time to be up especially on a Sunday morning but since opportunity to get out on the bike had been recently lacking and Tom had agreed that he’d be up for a ride at that time with me then I felt obliged to throw back the covers with as much vigour as I could, wipe the sleep from my eyes and get myself out on the highway.

The route was fairly straight forward and uneventful. I made my way wearily up to Chatswood were I met Tom and then we continued up the Pacific Highway until we reached the Mona Vale turn off at Gordon. There were a few heroic climbs which I hadn’t accounted for but as with all climbs there was the down hill on the other side which were adrenal-explodingly exciting. The road into Mona Vale topped out at almost 70km/h which is where I realised that at that speed you have no possibility of your breaks doing anything other than melting.

At Mona Vale we turned right and followed the coast road south all the way to Manly and then the Spit River where the bridge was raised and gave us a rare photo opportunity as I’d never even realised that it was a draw bridge.

After the brief but difficult climb up onto Military Road we were soon cruising again and it was only about another 10 minutes before we were back in St Leonards chowing down on a tasty savoury treat from Bakers Delight. Another good cycle done – and the day had hardly even started!

321. Rachmaninoff Third Piano Concerto at the Sydney Opera House

I’m not much of a fan of classical music but to say that my parents hand a very narrow spectrum in their tape, vinyl and CD collection would be an understatement. As a 10 year old the only music I’d ever heard at home and in the car was Abba’s Greatest Hits, The Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, The Best of the Shadows and, unfortunately, everything ever written by Cliff Richard – I think I sang “Wired for Sound” for about 6 months solidly with the odd rendition of “Devil Woman” thrown in for good measure and I’m sure it can’t be healthy for a young male growing up in the West Coast of Scotland to know all the words to Phantom’s “Music of the Night”.

Despite the above there was the occasional smattering of the classics and several years later after watching the movie Shine I realised that I did actually enjoy some classical music in particular the works of Chopin and Rachmaninoff. So when Mum asked if there would be anything on at the Sydney Opera House during their stay in Australia and a brief internet search revealed that Garrick Ohlsson was going to be playing the Rach 3 conducted by Vladimir Ashkenazy I frantically booked tickets.

On the night in question we managed to get some seats in the lower concourse of the Opera House which gave Mum and Dad a chance to enjoy the views of the Harbour that we had upsettingly become so used to and after a couple of glasses of lovely chilled wine we made our way into the main concert hall. I must confess to not knowing the first thing about how to do the interior decorating for something like the Opera House but it was all pine panelling and beech wood ergonomic seating and was befitting of the exteriors iconic design.

As I said I’m no expert on the design of the concert hall, but when the music started and I closed my eyes it wouldn’t have mattered if I had the IQ of a fish and I was sitting in a squash court, a fool could tell the acoustics were phenomenal and the rendition was awe-inspiring. Every note was momentous and the orchestra performed as admirably as the impressive Ohlsson.

Apparently, Ashkenazy is one of the worlds most famous conductors and I’m sure his contribution to the performance was invaluable although to me it seemed that none of the orchestra were watching him and his sole job was to jump around on his little platform in a way that reminded me of the “Bug” creature in Men in Black when it wears the skin suit of the farmer after crashing it’s space craft into the farmer’s trunk. Oh well, what would I know?

319 and 320. Hunter Valley Three

Isla and I had been the Hunter on 2 previous occasions as I’m sure you’ve read but since the folks were in town I thought it was rude not to take them on the wondrous fermented grape journey of discovery that had treated us so well in the past. Besides, any excuse to go the Hunter was a valid one in my book and that included taking my tee-total father and one-can-Dan mother wine tasting.

This time we went with a small company called Boutique Wine Tours for two reasons. Firstly, and most importantly, of all the vineyards we had been to in the past the boutique ones were far more interesting and in general we found the wines and the chat at the tastings to be infinitely more pleasurable than the bigger mass producing cellar doors. Secondly this company had won the “Best Tour Operator – Hunter Valley 2007” award and after getting on the mini-bus it didn’t take long to realise that they absolutely deserved the recent kudos that had been showered on them.

Our driver was an incredibly knowledgeable chap called Jason and he was instantly likeable. The 2 hour drive went incredibly quickly mainly due to a combination of all 13 patrons having to get over their embarrassment and “tell everyone a little bit about yourselves” and Jason’s fact filled cheery banter.

Over the course of the day we would only visit two vineyards that I’d not been to before and the first of that duo was 319. McLeish Wines which was originally started be a Scotsman and had a placard above the entrance stating “Hame o’ McLeish Wines” which really only sounds right if a Scot says it. There wines were of the high standard that we had come to expect in the Hunter and there wasn’t a drop of whisky in sight. The quiet lad who took the tasting was well versed regarding his product and it wasn’t long before I was handing over my bank card and receiving a couple of bottles of red.

After lunch we found ourselves at the 320. Ernest Hill Estate which had by far the best tasting that I’ve ever been to. The surprisingly young bloke who presented the wines was one of the Hill family – also called Jason – and he gave the most heart felt sermon about their wines that just brimmed over with a passion and love for his creations that I’d never noticed with any previous presenter. His emotional attachment to his produce made you feel that if he never sold another bottle of wine for the rest of his life he’d still be the happiest, most content man on the planet provided he had a chair, a wine glass and a few cases of their choice stock.

I don’t want to give you the impression that he was an alcoholic who cared about nothing but wine but when he said, “If you like this Luna Spark late harvest wine then you’d better buy it now because myself and the staff have already drank most of this years vintage” I got the impression that tasting his own wines was more important to him than selling them.

His delivery about each wine and the confident way he spoke was as smooth as the wine he was hawking and was laden with humour and anecdotes that only someone who is 100% confident about what they are talking about can muster. As for the wines, well they were incredible and again the bank card took a hit – one for the team you understand.

Although the Hunter will never end, our trip had to and I feared that it would be my last visit to one of the most memorable destinations of our entire sojourn to the Southern Hemisphere. This was compounded by the fact I would forever more be unimpressed by the vile vinegar-like rubbish that is served up in the UK.

Mum and Dad visit Sydney

316 – 318. Jervis Bay Trip

It had been 10 months since we left home and apart from the odd internet phone call we hadn’t had much in the way of contact with our friends or families. However, Mum and Dad were doing a bit of a tour of the Southern hemisphere as part of that “do all the things you never got a chance to do while you were working but now you’re retired you can galavant all you want” phase of their lives, and decided to drop in to Sydney for a couple of weeks… like you do!

Anyway, we had organised a few excursions for their time with us and things started with a trip to 316. Jervis Bay. I’d heard lots about this weekend holiday destination and in our hire car we drove 2 hours south of Sydney to the house on the beach we had rented for a couple of nights. It was gorgeous with 2 spacious double bedrooms and a great dining/kitchen with open plan living area that opened out onto a large balcony with the most spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean. The noise of the waves gently washing up on the beach was hypnotic and at night we would find ourselves lying in bed with the windows all open so that we could fall asleep listening to that mesmerising sound.

The place contained all mod-cons and it was a little less rustic that I hoped it would be but when I discovered the gas barbeque on the balcony all was forgiven. In the space of 48 hours I managed to cook steak, fish, chicken, corn on the cob, roasted vegetables and garlic bread on it with out so much as a hint of carbon unlike the charcoal BBQs I’m used to in the UK. One of those was immediately added to my “wish list for things I want in the future!”

Our first night of R&R was rounded of with several glasses of wine and a few hands of Bridge which is never a good combination especially under the watchful (and teetotal) eye of my Father and his card counting prowess!

A night with the waves and the sun was up before we new it. Even though the curtains were or the black-out variety they were useless against the heat from Australian sun and by 0730am the temperature gauge on my watch (I’m such a geek!) was reading 32.4C. The tide was coming in and the increased swell and the fact that the waves were breaking from right to left gave each set the sound of a fighter plane tearing up the coast in the way that the F4 Phantoms and the GE F1-11s used to sound when the drilled on the Clyde in Scotland. With cups of tea in our hands Isla and I sat on the balcony in our PJs and watched the day bloom.

Mum and Dad obviously need the sleep and didn’t surface until after 10am but soon we were all washed and dressed and after a short walk on the beach we made our way from the apartment, which was actually in Vincentia, to Huskisson where the 317. Huskisson Markets were being held.

I all honesty this affair was more like a glorified garage sale than a market and was exemplified by the fact that Dad spent about 30 minutes going on about how he’d just seen a small drill-like tool that he needed to put leg extensions on a table back home which he’d found for $10 lying in a box on the back on someone’s ute which was marked as “odds and ends”.

Despite the usual array of T&C, as I’ve come to call it (tat and crap), we did find a great stall that was selling all kinds of jams and chutneys, the funds of which went to dogs that had been rescued from adverse life circumstances. I think Mum was more interested in the German Shepard bitch, that sat nervously behind the tables since she used to be kept in a 3ft by 2ft cage solely for the purpose of breeding, than the preserves but still she bought a few jars in order to be supportive. Of course, those ended up in our fridge in St Leonards and we enjoyed them to the very last scraping.

The only other place that I found remotely interesting was the hat stall. I’d been toying with the idea of buying a leather hat for a number of months and always put it off because for almost half a year it had done nothing but rain in Sydney. However, the sun was searing down at us and when the bloke at the stall said, “You’re from Scotland aren’t you? These hats a water-proof!” that was me sold. Actually, I was surprised how cool it kept my head and my neck as well as my shoulders due to the wide brim and even though I looked like a complete tool and an Australian it was worth it, especially when Isla said, “You will wear that later won’t you…?”

Moving on swiftly, we stopped in a lovely coffee shop for… coffee and then headed back to the flat, via the supermarket and, of course, the bottle-o. Mum had also picked up a disaster of a jigsaw puzzle which sapped up much of the rest of the day. It didn’t take long for the BBQ to be back on and before you could say “I’m stuffed” the cards and wine were back on the table for a further Bridge rendition. It was a shame that we had to be out early again the next morning and so despite wanting to keep dealing for the perfect hand we had to call it a night and get some shut eye.

In the morning the heat of the sun blistered through the curtains again and we were up and packing the car. We handed in our keys by 10am to the small office that managed our rental and many of the other holiday houses in the area and in minutes were back on the Princes Highway making our way back to Sydney.

The drive was mundane and we were all upset that we’d had to leave such a glorious location especially Mum who kept saying “can we not just stay there for the next 2 weeks?” Oh, if only! None the less, I knew there was something that would cheers up the restless masses and within an hour I spotted the sign for 318. Crooked River Winery which I’d seen on the way down to Jervis Bay. It had only just passed 11am but as I’d noticed written on someone’s tee-shirt a few weeks earlier “Hey, it’s 5pm somewhere in the World!” so we stopped in for a tasting.

It was a quite a find and the owner, Brian, served up the tastiest wines and the best banter combined with a dash of inspirations and a whole heap of wine knowledge. I should point out that actually only Isla and Mum were tasting as Dad’s teetotal and I was driving however, I did smell plenty of new wines and since I was feeling left out, hastily made the impulsive decision to buy a few bottles so that I could do a tasting of my own later once I was sans voiture. In fact those bottles fueled the creative aspects (and questionable prose) of this chapter.

When we reached the boundaries of Sydney we still had over a ¼ tank of petrol left and as we had opted to pay for the tank in advance we had to figure out a way to use it up – not exactly environmentally friendly but at least we recycle for what little that’s worth. Eventually we decided to make the trip up to Palm Beach so that the folks could see the set of Home and Away. They seemed moderately impressed but appeared to have more of an interest in “what are those guys doing with those huge kites?” and for the next 15 minutes we were subject to a barrage of questions about “why the hell would anyone want to do that… that… Kite Surfing? It looks so dangerous!” You should have seen their faces when I told them I was planning a skydive in three weeks time!

After a brief stop for some of the best fish and chips in the whole of the Northern Beaches area we were back on the Pacific Highway cruising through moderate city traffic to our flat. After ditching the car – which incidently we named The Silver Surfer since it was silver and had been the sight of much heated kite surfing debate – we put the olds into a taxi as they were due to spend the rest of their time in a hotel in the centre of the city instead of staying with us on the North Shore. Much as it was good to see them, I think 2 weeks in out confined apartment would have ended in bloodshed – probably during a hand of Bridge.

That said, we did spend an absolutely sufficient amount of time together, however the only things worth mentioning here are the new and therefore 365 Challenge related items so I’m afraid you’ll not hear about the time we went out for dinner and then had a game of cards after too much wine that almost ended in a divorce, a possible strangling, and a near miss concussion…