A Week in vivid Sydney – Part 2

Universities and their campuses have always inspired me, and the UNSW campus was no different. Tall, serious buildings and a green campus with a central avenue that climbs up as you walk into the heart of the campus reminded me of my alma mater in Mumbai.

UNSW central avenue

Funnily, we identified fellow visitors from the ubiquitous Singapore umbrella they carried. The 7-Eleven stores in Singapore sell a foldable navy-blue umbrella with red and white flowers. We saw our respective umbrellas and broke into broad smiles, “From Singapore?” It was a happy coincidence to meet them there.

We were on a campus tour conducted by two students, and their perky narrations cheered us all up despite the cold, rainy weather. I was too overwhelmed to ask the guides any intelligent questions, but fortunately, the kids in our group had their lists ready.

My favourite part of the tour was seeing Gandhiji’s bust on the library lawn. On reading up, I found out that it was unveiled in 2010 by the then Consul General of India and was a gift from India to the university. It is the only University in New South Wales to display a bust of Mahatma Gandhi. They commemorate Gandhiji’s birth and death anniversary every year.

Gandhiji’s bust at the UNSW Library lawn

After being suitably impressed by the university’s focus on research in various fields, we decided to explore the city ourselves. It helped that our cousin had flown down from Melbourne to give us company. He had hoped for warmer weather but was surprised by colder-than-usual Sydney, a testament to abnormal weather patterns this year.

The light rail or the Sydney tram system took us into the central business district, where we got down at the first stop, which struck our fancy. QVB, or Queen Victoria Building, proved to be the opposite of what we thought it might be. I was expecting a historical landmark because it was built in 1898. Even the mention of something built in the 1900s makes my daughter gape at the antiquity of the structure. It does not matter if it was the early 20th century or later and whether it was edifices or people. (‘You both were born in the same century as the two World Wars. Yikes!’)

QVB turned out to be just a modern marketplace with five levels, and it was always meant to be a marketplace, whereas I was hoping for a transformation story. Nevertheless, there were some quaint features, like the elegant name boards hung outside every shop and the dainty ‘Ladies Powder Room’ sign outside the restrooms.

Inside QVB

The shops belonged to the brands that you see in any major mall in this world, nothing extraordinary. The stained glass was beautiful as was the suspended clock tower in the centre.

Inside QVB

If time and hunger did not protest, I would have spent some time loafing in one of the corridors where, bang in the middle of the building, was a piano. Several pianists hung around patiently waiting their turn to let their fingers frolic on the keys. We listened until our tummies reminded us that we hadn’t eaten anything after the morning brunch at a local café near our apartment. Unlike my family, I had opted for a vegan bowl, which I did not finish. Of course, I packed it for home. It did not taste any better the next day.

A cursory glance at the restaurant menus in QVB did not motivate us. We were mightily hungry, cold, and we all dreamed of something spicy.

We decided to find an Indian restaurant at Surry Hills, where the streets are lined with restaurants giving off heady smells of masalas. I found a dish to my liking. It was called the Madras Chicken Curry, and although I have not had something like that in Madras, the tangy and spicy flavour was perfect for the cold and dark evening. Unfortunately, we ordered twice from the same restaurant during the week, but they failed to replicate that genius of a dish. Their inconsistency made me agree with their tagline, ‘home-style Indian cooking.’ It doesn’t matter what you ask for; what you get from the home kitchen is the dish of the day, whether you like it or not.

The next day, we headed to the Australian Museum precisely as scheduled. And what a weather it was. It was perfect for walking with no rain and the wind not so bitingly cold. We strolled through Hyde Park, happy to recognise the hibiscus flower among various unfamiliar plants and trees.

Australian White Ibis at Hyde Park

The Australian Museum is a treasure trove of archaeological, natural, and human history artifacts.

The First Nations people have a special wing in the museum where their rich traditions and heritage are displayed along with lessons from their Indigenous wisdom. Most of their beliefs resonate with the challenges we face today. A solution might not lie in their ancient lifestyle but in the principles that guided how they lived and interacted with the world around them.

Indigenous wisdom

It was heartening to note that the Indigenous people are being respected and appreciated for what they are, however late the appreciation might seem. Throughout Sydney, there are notes of gratitude for the original community to whom the land belonged and on which the modern edifices were built. Better late than never.

The natural world exhibits were special because they gave a sneak peek into Australia’s diverse and unique species, like the Dingo and the Tasmanian Devil. As with any museum, the few hours we spent were insufficient to assimilate and absorb everything they offered.

It is a terrific place for children to learn about the culture of the land, its people, and the local flora and fauna. The prehistoric wing looms large with its neatly labelled exhibits and the giant dinosaur skeletons grazing the roof. We found hordes of kids enjoying the display and unwilling to leave the place.

On our walk back from the museum, we peeped into St. Mary’s Cathedral and were pulled inside by the silence and calm. It was so peaceful that we might have spent the entire evening there had it not been for the darkness falling swiftly outside.

St. Mary’s Cathedral

Before I end the post, I must mention that the lunch at the casual dining restaurant, Bistro Gadi, at the top of the museum and overlooking Hyde Park, was one of the best I had in Sydney. Though limited in scope, it was healthy and flavourful. Looking at their fare, I felt the restaurants back home should update their menus to put meat and vegetables under the Mains and rice, noodles, or any starchy items under the Sides. It makes a big difference to the nutritional balance of the plate.

We ended the day with splendid cups of coffee and hot chocolate at The Rocks Market, a place, which according to my teen, gives ‘proper Sydney vibes.’ I would agree after having the coffee and gaping at street stalls selling kangaroo and crocodile meat snacks.

Stalls at The Rocks Market

On our way to The Rocks, we got a distant view of the Sydney Opera House, one of the must-visit places we had on our list.

P.S. You can read part 1 of this travel series here. And part 3 here.

Palms folded, head bowed, at the museum…

Even before I came to London, I had decided that I should visit the museums in the city. For one, I love museums and secondly, the country is known to be very passionate about history and also to take great pains to preserve artifacts and historical documents. My first visit was to the Museum of London which is at a walking distance from St. Paul’s Cathedral. I had my handy map on my phone which helped me find the way to the museum. As I approached it, I could see the huge bold letters etched on the top. The wall of London extended towards the right. The edifice looked inviting as I imagined the treasure trove of information that I would find inside. However, there was one small problem. Try as I might, I couldn’t find the entrance to the museum. I looked at my map, walked to the left, walked to the right, looked up to see people walking high above, apparently, inside, unlike me who was gawking at them from below, outside. To make things worse it started raining. I was about to give up but I felt so stupid, like a monkey who knew that scaling the walls of his cage might get him to the bananas hanging outside but who just didn’t know how to climb the wall. I asked a girl who appeared to be an employee of a shop nearby. She was quite friendly but completely oblivious about the entrance to the museum. ‘I guess you have to climb some sort of stairs to get there. I can see people walking,’ she said helpfully, pointing upwards. ‘Well, gee, thanks for the idea! I was just thinking of scaling up the wall with the rope…’ 

Dejected, I traced back my steps, by now holding an umbrella, almost sure that I will be walking back home. As I passed by a tower like structure to my left, I spied a small sign pointing upwards inside the tower, ‘The Museum of London’. I heaved a sigh of relief. To think that I would have missed it. I went up the escalator inside and began my perambulations. 

The museum, indeed as the name suggests, chronicles the history of London along with key events that matter in British history. Needless to say, because of the intricate connections between Indian and British history, some key events from the history of India too found their place in the chronicle. One thing that was a revelation to me, personally, was that cursive writing was not of British origin but was introduced by the Romans. I was thinking of the millions of Indian parents who force their wards to go through excruciating practice sessions to learn the art of cursive writing, without the knowledge of this little nugget of historical fact. My visit ended with few purchases from the museum shop. The museum doesn’t charge for admission quite like several other museums in London. 

The second trip to a museum was when I visited the British Museum. This time I decided to catch the tube and made my way quickly enough, following, all the right directions, to the museum. There was too much of information to digest in a single visit, to be honest. However, some of the sections like Africa were amazing. I was wandering about from one section to another, when I reached the South Asian and South East Asian section. There was an unmistakable atmosphere of peace and spirituality creating a space fit for meditation. Visitors too moved at a languid pace as if to soak in as much spiritual vapours as possible. Soon after I had finished admiring the Tibetan Bodhisattva figurines that looked so much similar to The Hindu God Siva, I stepped into what seemed like a temple space to me. There were idols of Siva, Brahma (something I had never seen before), statues depicting Yashodha and Krishna. I almost felt guilty of not removing my shoes. 

Suddenly, I felt my palms join and my head bow, as I came face to face with Lord Ganesha. While I had peered through the glass to look closely at Bodhisattva, I could not bring myself to turn away from Ganesha without doing a clock-wise perambulation around the statue. I felt foolish enough when another man (presumably Indian) told his friend – ‘he is our God, whom we carry around on our streets with great celebrations, as if carrying our own child… It seems strange to see him in a glass case inside a museum.’ I tip-toed away making sure that I do not peer into any more glass cases. Who knows? Someone else from some other part of the world may be feeling equally strange…!