On the surface there’s nothing particularly spectacular about the Wilton Street, Surry Hills. It’s a pretty ordinary little street linking Belvoir Street and Cleveland Street. But when you look a little more deeply you see three distinct styles of architecture (I stand to be corrected as I’m not a architect). And you see three distinctive styles of housing: the old worker’s cottage, the 80s apartment block, and the modern town house.
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The day started with a visit to a jade factory. It was one of those scheduled tour stops, and while I usually approach such things with a bit of skepticism, I found the introduction to jade quite interesting. We learned a bit about its deep cultural significance, how it’s been revered for thousands of years in China, symbolizing everything from purity and good health to prosperity. The craftsmanship involved in carving it is also quite incredible. It was all quite fascinating to hear about, though I must admit, I had absolutely no interest in making any purchases – my focus on this trip is on the experiences, not accumulating souvenirs.
After the jade factory, it was time for the main event: the Great Wall. This wasn’t my first encounter with this incredible structure; I’d walked sections of the Great Wall twice previously. On those occasions, younger and with two good legs, the emphasis for me was all about pushing myself, seeing how far I could go, how many watchtowers I could reach. This time, of course, was very different.
Being there again, even with my changed abilities, the sheer scale and ancient aura of the Great Wall are still breathtaking. You can’t help but feel the weight of history, the centuries of human effort embedded in every stone of this monumental fortification snaking across the rugged mountains. It truly is one of the wonders of the world.
It was quite an emotional moment for me today when I started to walk up this section of the Great Wall. There was that sudden, sinking realisation that I couldn’t go very far, not like I had before. That was the first time the tears came. But then, a little later on, as I took in how far I had managed, a different feeling washed over me – a quiet sense of achievement. “Hey, I’ve actually made it this far!” I thought, and that was pretty cool. That brought on a few more tears, but the happy kind.
It was also there, on the Wall, that a young man approached me. He commented on how great it was that I’d made it as far as I had, given my prosthetic leg. We chatted for a moment, and I later learned he was from Tasmania. I simply smiled and told him, “You know, you actually see a lot more when you take things slowly.” And I truly believe that; this journey is teaching me that in many ways.
After the emotional and physical exertions at the Great Wall, it was definitely time for lunch. Our group stopped in at a local restaurant, and I was thrilled to see Peking Duck featured – an opportunity I wasn’t going to miss. This isn’t just any roast duck; it’s arguably Beijing’s most iconic dish, with a rich history that some say stretches back to imperial times when it was a closely guarded delicacy of the Emperor’s court. It’s often considered a celebratory meal, renowned worldwide for its incredibly crispy, lacquered skin and the traditional ceremony of the chef expertly carving it at your table. Enjoying it, wrapped in thin pancakes with spring onions and hoisin sauce, felt like a proper and delicious immersion into Beijing’s rich culinary heritage.
With the main event of the Great Wall and a memorable lunch behind me, the rest of the afternoon was more about gentle exploration and observation. Later in the day, I took a stroll down by the riverside. As I was walking along, I noticed a couple of people kind of look at my leg. It’s something I’m getting used to. Then one man, maybe in his forties, actually came up to me. He simply asked where I was from. I told him “Australia,” and then tried my best to pronounce it the Chinese way, something like “Aodaliya.” He then asked if I needed any help, but I assured him I was fine, thanking him for his kindness. I’ve had lots of lovely offers for assistance, which is always touching.
This afternoon, with a couple of hours to kill before the evening’s activities, I tried to find a little place to sit and just enjoy the atmosphere. There was a lovely breeze blowing by, which was inviting, but finding an actual spot to sit proved remarkably difficult. There’s a noticeable absence of public seating, especially if you’re someone like me who might particularly need it. Eventually, I found a spot where a number of other people were already gathered and managed to rest for a bit, just watching the world go by.
As evening approached, it was time for the food tour I’d been anticipating, the “Beijing Hutong Walking Food and Beer Tour at Hidden Restaurants” I’d seen listed on Tripadvisor. https://www.tripadvisor.com.au/AttractionProductReview-g294212-d11894570-Beijing_Hutong_Walking_Food_and_Beer_Tour_at_Hidden_Restaurants-Beijing.html Our little group for this culinary adventure was made up of 11 people in total. Besides myself, there was a friendly couple from Austria, and a lively bunch of eight others, all from Victoria, back in Australia. They were a younger crowd, mostly in their 20s and early 30s. To be honest, they often seemed more enthusiastic about the beer that was flowing than the intricacies of the food itself, but their energy was infectious, and they were great fun to be around, definitely adding to the atmosphere of the night! Our tour guide was excellent, expertly navigating us discover these ‘hidden’ local eateries and sharing insights along the way. It was a fantastic way to dive into the local food scene.
As we head into Mardi Gras season in Sydney, and in particular the fortieth anniversary (though strictly speaking, it’s half way through the year), I thought I’d re-share an earlier post from 2016.
I recently had an email from someone interested in the oral history project I had been involved in back in 1998, celebrating twenty years since the first Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. Although I have a copy somewhere in my extensive CD collection, I needed to touch base with my friends Glen and Greig who had been instrumental in putting the project together. They came up with the idea, they found the talent, and they made it happen. All I did was chat with a few people, and hopefully got them to tell their stories as well as they could, and create the audio. The premise for the project was simple: for Sydney Pride Centre, we would get together a bunch of people who had participated in the first Mardi Gras and ask them to tell their stories.
I remember at the time of doing the interviews of being in awe of these people who had quite simply participated in something quite amazing, but who hadn’t really thought of it in those terms at the time. The aim of the project was to document in some way the experience of the many “ordinary people” who had taken part in the first parade and protest.
Thankfully Glen and Greig were able to find the original audio files, and so to make these more widely, here they are, hopefully never to be lost again.
Over the years I’ve seen and read a fair bit about the Lucia Day celebrations in Sweden. Until today, however, I’ve never actually seen one in the flesh. It was a real draw-card for me today as I headed to the “Julmarknad” (“Christmas Market”) held at Sydney’s Lutheran Church in Goulburn Street.
Despite the name and decorations, the Martin-Luther-Kirche in Sydney is not only a German Church but also a Swedish Church. Regular church services in Swedish are held there. There’s also the nearby Café Svensson which has coffee and film nights, and which is where I have been learning Swedish. As well as catering to the Swedish expatriate and immigrant population, the Swedish Church in Sydney also has a strong outreach program to Swedish travellers.
Once a year they also host a Christmas Market where you can buy Swedish food, including sweets, as well as clothing, decorations, and many of the other kinds of things you might want/need to celebrate Christmas in the Swedish way whilst living in Sydney. I bought a lovely light blanket decorated with elk/alg which I thought would be great for my lounge room. The friends who I went with – one of them half-Swedish, the other two being “Swedophiles” – also sampled Julmust (a popular Christmas drink in Sydney), and I had korv med bröd (the Swedish equivalent to a hot-dog). It was a really fun thing to do, though of course, the highlight was the Lucia Day celebration.
The actual “proper” celebration will be held in Sydney, and around the world on December 13. Today’s was a smaller “30-minute version” of the bigger celebration which is held each year. I didn’t know this until I consulted Wikipedia, but apparently “Saint Lucy is one of the few saints celebrated by members of the Lutheran Church among the Scandinavian peoples, who take part in Saint Lucy’s Day celebrations that retain many elements of Germanic paganism.”
Wikipedia goes on to say…
Saint Lucy is one of seven women, aside from the Blessed Virgin Mary, commemorated by name in the Canon of the Mass. Hagiography tells us that Lucy was a Christian martyr during the Diocletian persecution. She consecrated her virginity to God through pious works refused to marry a pagan betrothed, and had her wedding dowry distributed to the poor. Her betrothed pagan groom denounced her as a Christian to the governor of Syracuse, Sicily. Miraculously unable to move her or burn her, the guards took out her eyes with a fork. In another version, Lucy’s betrothed admired her eyes, so she tore them out and gave them to him, saying, “Now let me live to God”.
As the name Lucia means “light”, the celebrations of her day have both a metaphorical – Christ bringing light to the world – as well as a literal interpretation. The young woman who plays the role of Lucia in these celebrations is decorated with a “crown of candles”.
It was lovely to watch the celebration today, and in particular to see the really young children brought into the activities. There was a little girl near us who also had a “crown of candles”, though we noted hers was battery-powered, thankfully.
Although it’s a little cold, wet and windy outside right now, it was a really beautiful day in Sydney. And so I set out mid-afternoon for what I’d planned as a brief walk to the nearby coffee shop to read the paper and have a bite to eat.
Somehow that brief walk morphed into an almost three hour stroll which took me around Surry Hills and over to Centennial Park where there were, literally, thousands of people enjoying the sunshine. For me, a walk around Centennial Park is about taking the time to look at nature and the people you pass, to take in the sights, sounds and smells, to think and to contemplate.
Although I concede I wouldn’t have this layer of fat around my tummy if I ate and drank sensibly and exercised regularly (running around the park instead of strolling), I concluded firmly in my mind this afternoon, that I’m not a “runner”. Much like the story of the tortoise and the hair, I’m one of those people who prefers the slow, steady approach to my exercise, rather than the intense burst of energy. It’s perhaps also analogous to my attitude towards life also? Walking, not running, has other advantages, as I noticed a few things on my afternoon walk that I hadn’t noted previously.
First and foremost, I discovered “Wimbo Park”. Well, I shouldn’t say “discovered”, as I’ve been living near “Wimbo Park” for about fifteen years now. It’s that curious little park on Bourke Street, opposite Bourke Street Bakery. Thousands who have queued for their bread on the weekends are probably in a similar position to me. They’ve noticed it. They might even have sat in it. But they probably have no idea that it’s a park with “history”. There’s a few plaques around the park which give a little of the background. According to a plaque on Bourke Street Wimbo Park was officially opened on 14th April 1982 by the Lord Mayor of Sydney, Alderman Douglas W Sutherland AM. There’s also a mural which tells you about the different uses the ground had prior to becoming “Wimbo Park”.
Curious to know more about the histoy of “Wimbo Paddock” and “Wimbo Park”, when I arrived home tonight, I went online but found very little. Surry Hills blogger, Neil, of course, has previously blogged about it. But beyond that, there’s very little. There’s a brief reference to a need for improved lighting in City of Sydney council minutes from 1997. There’s a few references to a rather obscure EP, only released in NZ, by a band called Dappled Cities. And there’s also a Wimbo Park in Cannock in England, apparently. Slightly less enlightening was discovering “Wimbo” in urban dictionary defined in these terms… “The combination of a whore and a bimbo. Usually unattractive and slutty”
Conscious that I sometimes share material on other platforms that never makes “the cut” here on my blog, here’s a few tweets, posts, and observations that still seem relevant from June. Lots of ephemera, but hopefully still quite entertaining.
June 6 : I remember when the “NSW Police FORCE” was called the “NSW Police SERVICE”. The name change occured in 2002.
June 10 : I could be wrong but… Why does it seem Big Brother is always made up of divisive CALD figures who get voted out early, while under the radar white boys sail through to the end? I could be wrong. No evidence.
June 25 : There’s been some commentary about the costs of running the ABC (and SBS’s) transmitters. Here’s the background to the government sell-off in 1998. https://aph.gov.au/Parliamentary_Business/Bills_Legislation/bd/bd9899/99bd062
June 25 : One of my favourite things of working from home today. A collegue and I on a video conference both revealed we have a blanket over our knees! “It would look pretty bad at work, but it’s great here”, she said.
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