This just so not Australia! It is pouring with rain, and the wind is horrible.
|View from restaurant|
This week I’m in Sydney, which, contrary to popular opinion, is not the capital of Australia. That honour goes to Canberrra. We arrived last night, so this morning we climbed aboard the 9.39 train from Berowra into the city, which takes about an hour because it stops at every station along the way – all nineteen of them, with wonderful names like Warrawee, Mount Kuring-gai, Turramurra and Pymble. The trains here are double-deckers, and have seats that face forward or backward depending on your choice. Thunder clouds followed us all the way south into Sydney but it was still fine when we rolled into Wynyard underground station, we headed for George Street and out into the heart of Sydney.
We had business to conduct, and my new shoes had given me blisters so that had to be taken care of (Bought a box of Bandaids) before we found our way to the spanking new Westfield Centre where Gucci and Prada inhabit the ground floor. We went upstairs and found the food hall on floor five, then searched for the Cloudy Bay Fish Restaurant. Took some time, but find it we did and thoroughly enjoyed our Fishcakes with home cooked potato chips and salad. Anyone who loves Cloudy Bay wines must seek out this place, for all the Cloudy Bay wines are available – a glass of Sauvignon Blanc 2012 for thirteen Australian dollars.
Then it was off to David Jones – one of my favourite stores. Two floors - and they are huge floors – of men’s fashions. All colours, all styles, including one horrendously trashy Elton John type jacket with sequins flashing. Next to it was a black and white checked suit which – surely - only a chef would wear. Then on to the three, or is it four? Floors of womenswear. I restrained myself, I swear it.