Vaucluse House and Shark Beach

Our friends Michelle and Alex were off traveling in the U.S. and Europe for several weeks and only recently returned, so we booked a lazy Sunday to hang out with them. I was feeling a bit rough from a friend's buck's night so slept in and by the time we were all ready to take off it was early afternoon. Given the late start we didn't want to venture too far and the weather wasn't quite warm enough for the beach.

I declared that it would be an adventure day nonetheless and we'd go explore some part of Sydney none of us had seen. After a quick online search for walking trails in the city we decided on Vaucluse, an upscale neighborhood that juts out into the harbor just north of Bondi. Despite it being so close it's one of those places we never thought to explore. There was a 1.2km walk along the water that sounded nice.

En route to the starting point of the walk, Nielsen Park, we passed the welcoming entrance for Vaucluse House and decided to take a detour. Now a historic landmark, Vaucluse House was originally built in 1803 by Sir Henry Brown Hayes, who was "transported" (that's the polite term for the practice of sending convicts to Australia) to Sydney after kidnapping the daughter of a wealthy Irish banker. In Sydney he was considered a trouble maker, so to get him away from the city the governor allowed him to build a house in Vaucluse, which was a healthy distance away.

In 1812 Hayes was pardoned by the new governor and returned to Ireland. Some 15 years later the house and property were purchased by William Charles Wentworth, a successful lawyer and politician. His wife, the daughter of former convicts, ran the property and made several additions to it, and it took it's current shape under her direction. Despite their stature and wealth they were shut out of Sydney society due to two out-of-wedlock children they had prior to getting married.

Since 1920 the house has been a historic site open to the public. Walking the grounds is free, but a self-guided tour of the house costs $8. Depending on your taste for historic sites (my mom always read every single placard, which drove us kids insane), the house can be covered in 30 minutes or less.

After checking out the house we drove a few hundred meters further up the road to Nielsen Park, which sits on the harbor. We had intended to walk the trail along the harbor, but didn't make it any farther than our first stop, Shark Beach. Shark Beach is a small beach bookended on each side by small cliffs and trees. The vibe is totally different from Bondi, Tamarama, Bronte, or Coogee. It felt like a private beach and, since it was nearly 4:00pm at this point, was mostly empty. A net protects swimmers from the sharks that prowl the harbor. A small café overlooks the beach and is the perfect place for a drink. A trail meanders along the water to another tiny beach and historic property named Strickland House, which is not open to the public (still worth a walk, though).

Here are some photos:

Vaucluse House from the back.

Raiding the pantry.

Inside the courtyard.

Shark Beach from the side.

Alex with the city in the background.

Catching the fading light on Shark Beach.

Blue Mountains: Round 3

With our friends from New York, Luke and Mandy, visiting us for 10 days, we decided to take them to the Blue Mountains their first weekend.

The first time we went there, with Sharon's sister Dalia, it was so foggy we couldn't actually see anything. The second time, with my brother Andrew, we could actually see what was around us, but the day was overcast and we got rained on.

Both of these times we had gone to Katoomba, the main tourist spot; this time around we decided to hike a trail in Wentworth Falls to mix it up a bit. As we pulled into the parking lot, this attempt seemed destined to be a repeat of those earlier experiences: dark clouds were gathered up over the area, threatening rain at any moment.

Starting at the top of a plateau overlooking a  valley, we meandered down a very muddy path towards the falls. We walked across a short rock bridge across the stream at the top of the falls, just a few short hops from where it plunged hundreds of feet to the valley floor.  A very steep staircase winded its way down to the bottom. About halfway down the rain let loose, which was soon accompanied by some impressive thunder.

About to begin our descent down some very steep stairs. Mandy is freezing in the back.

Once at the bottom, I made us stop to consider whether to go back or press on given the very real possibility of being caught in a serious storm with no gear. No one was interested in going back up the stairs we just came down, though, and Sharon, whose middle name is "Damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead" wasn't about to entertain a retreat.

A wet shot at the bottom of the first waterfall.



Under the waterfall.



The main waterfall from a distance.



We decided to continue, which turned out to be a good decision; the view of the falls from various points of the trail was spectacular. And as we began our climb up another path something wonderful happened: the rain stopped, the clouds cleared, and the sun beat brightly upon us, drying out our soaked jeans and t-shirts.

Our trail, about halfway up the cliff face, wound past a few more waterfalls, though none were as impressive as the first. We even encountered some people in wetsuits rappelling down the ravine carved by one waterfall.

Unfortunately, what goes down must come up, and there were several hundred steps to reach the top of the plateau where we started. Mandy, who grew up in the flat country of Ohio,  told us the ascent was the hardest thing she'd ever done. As a reward for our efforts, we were treated to a stunning view of the valley and tablelands at a lookout point about three quarters of the way up. At the very top we collapsed at a café overlooking the area and ordered up some milkshakes and snacks.

The view from the top...with much improved weather.

We then took Luke and Mandy for a quick spin over to Katoomba so they could see the Three Sisters, the most famous rock formation in the Blue Mountains, and decided to head to the hotel to check in, get cleaned up, and find a restaurant for dinner.

We plugged the hotel address into the Garmin and begin following its recommended route. As we approached the destination, the pink line on the screen didn't deviate off the main highway like I expected it to. This meant the hotel was on the highway. We hadn't passed anything that looked promising on the way in. This can't be good, I thought.

We soon came to an enormous pink building called the Grand View Hotel. "This is it," Sharon confirmed. We parked around the back and entered the building through a large pub, walked through it and out into a hallway. We couldn't find the check-in desk. I wandered over to the bar and asked where it was.

"This is the check-in," the woman informed me. I knew it was going to be bad. We got our keys and walked up the stairs to the second floor, along a dingy hallway, and to our rooms, passing the shared men's and women's bathroom along the way. Sharon was first through the door of our room. "Oh, Adam," was all she said. Those two words made my heart sink: it was going to be very bad.

At one time in the 1900s, the room's carpet would have been pink. It was now brownish-pink, with a number of particularly high-profile stains throughout. The walls were scuffed and dirty. The room had a dresser, a bed, a chair, and a sink. The bed looked like a hand-me-down from the first Australian convicts. I've stayed in some awful places before (see Exhibit A: Hotel room with Hummer blanket), but even this place skeeved me out.

Exhibit A: Hotel room with Hummer blanket

"I'm not going to put my head on the pillow because I don't want to get the flesh eating virus," Sharon wailed.

Luke and Mandy were having a similar reaction in their room.

"I'll protect you." Luke offered.

"From what? Bed bugs?" Mandy replied.

Luke and I headed to the showers to wash off the dirt and sweat from the hike. The bathroom did have two separate shower stalls, separated by a wall. We shared shampoo and conditioner by throwing them over this wall.

From his side of the wall, Luke made a very good suggestion: "You know, we don't actually have to stay here; we're only an hour and a half from home."

"That's true," I replied. That it took someone from New York who had been in Sydney all of 36 hours to make this observation was somewhat embarrassing. But I wasn't going to let that stop us. I went back in the room and told Sharon to pack it up.

We went to the bar to check out. When the bartender asked for a reason more specific than "the rooms look much worse than on the website" I said they were so dirty looking I didn't want to touch anything. We didn't get a refund since the hotel claimed they advertised themselves as a "budget hotel" -- that is true, but budget doesn't necessarily mean disgusting. There's a little chain of places in the U.S. called Motel 8 that's capitalized on this reality. At $100 a pop, those showers turned out to be the most expensive of my life.

We drove back to Sydney and had dinner in a tiny, charming French restaurant in Elizabeth Bay called Café No. 9. Then we spent a beautiful Sunday chilling at the beach followed by ribs at Hurricanes. Despite the snafu at the Grand View, it was a great weekend and was great to have our friends in town.

The Browns' last night in Australia.

2 Summers and a year later…

It only took 2 summers and a year of living in Australia for Adam and I to finally do something that we have been saying we were going to do… SURF!!

It was a beautiful day in Bondi and a great day to learn to surf so we signed up for lessons through Lets Go Surfing in Bondi.

The waves were a bit rough but we had a great time. The instructor was really cool and we were even able to stand up! Round 2 the following week was also a success and we are ready to book in round 3!

Gone Fishin'

When my brother Andrew visited us before shipping out to Afghanistan, one of the things he wanted to do was deep sea fishing. Most of the fishing guides required you to charter an entire boat, but I was able to find one through www.Adrenalin.com.au that accepted singles.

So on a Saturday we roused ourselves at 5:30 am and caught a taxi to the Rose Bay wharf, where the boat would pick us up. There were about 20 other people hanging around too, and I assumed they were all on the same fishing trip. After about 15 minutes a beautiful power catamaran pulled up to the dock. Pretty swanky fishing boat, I thought. People started piling on; I asked the deckhand if this was the fishing boat. "No," he said, "This is for whale watching."

So that boat pulled away and set off without us. About half an hour later another nice looking boat pulled up. This boat had several fishing rods so I figured this had to be ours. A number of people started boarding; once again I asked if this was our fishing boat. "No," the captain replied, "This is a private charter. But I think we passed yours on the way here; it's a real wreck."



Brothers.



He was right. Ours finally arrived. It looked about 30 years past its prime. Andrew and I boarded; there were about ten of us in total.

The captain had a thick Scottish accent and was missing his front teeth. His first mate, Les, who was the only mate, rounded out the crew; he was also missing his front teeth.

After everyone boarded the captain came out of the steerhouse. "Here's your safety lesson, so listen up," he declared. "Toilet's in the back, fishing is on this side of the boat, and spewing is on that side of the boat. Don't spew in the toilet." And that was it…nothing about life jackets or what to do if you fell overboard.

We chugged out into a rolling, grey sea. Occasionally a light rain added to the merry weather. Once we arrived in a place the captain deemed good fishin', he stopped the engine and said we could start fishing. The boat violently rocked back and forth as the waves started hitting its sides rather than its bow. But it was a good spot and other people on the boat started pulling in fish quickly.

Andrew and I spent the first hour without a catch, though the fish seemed to be making off with our bait pretty well. We moved to a new spot a few hundred meters away and our luck turned -- we were catching fish...albeit ugly, exotic looking fish that looked they'd been exposed to industrial grade pollutants and radiation. Every time I pulled out a fish I asked Les what it was and if it was any good.  Les' standard response was "Oh, that one -- good eating." I was skeptical.

Andrew spent about half his time untangling his line from those of our companions. That's one of the disadvantages of having 10 people line one side of a boat all fishing. When someone asked about fishing on the other side, the captain responded that then there's a risk that lines become tangled from both sides, under the boat, and can screw up the propeller.

Andrew and I caught seven fish, but a couple were too small and were tossed back in the water. We took our five keepers back home where we planned on making them for dinner.

I took one out of the bag and put in on the cutting board, pulled a knife from the drawer, and attempted to fillet the fish (which were already dead). The knife didn't make a scratch. I tried all the other knives in the kitchen. Nothing. They were too dull to cut fish and we didn't have a sharpener.

Andrew suggested using a meat cleaver to chop the fish's head off and I gave him the honor of trying that out. He raised his hand with the cleaver in it and smashed it down on the fish. Besides some viscera that splattered around the kitchen, the fish remained intact.

We ended up throwing the fish out and going out for Mexican where Sharon reprimanded us for killing the fish for no reason.