A heart-breaking arrival into Sydney Harbour

From the very first time I set eyes on Sydney Harbour, back in 1982, I have always harboured (see what I did there?) a desire to sail between the heads of the entrance to Port Jackson.

I had never managed to achieve this in any of my previous four visits. I have no idea why. This was going to be a dream come true moment for me. Jane and I, up nice and early, headed for the Observation Lounge, very high up in the ship, so called because you can observe rather splendid vistas from there.

The slanted windows looked for’ard over the bow, pointy bit, of the ship, heading like an arrow, straight to the heart of the New South Wales capital. The height probably afforded us a better view of this magnificent natural beauty than enjoyed by the lookout in the crow’s nest of HMB Endeavour as it sailed past.

Captain Cook as we now know him, he was then a Lieutenant Commander, didn’t even bother to take a peek inside. Instead, he put ashore at Botany Bay and, following the advice of his onboard botanical expert, Joseph Banks, decided to make that the centre of the new colony. Banks, well esteemed by history, dropped one or two clangers in his time, the recommendation of Botany Bay, including its thin soil of poor quality, as an Ambrosian land was probably chief among them.

Eighteen years later, Arthur Phillip brought the legendary First Fleet, packed full of felons, to these shores. He and his team, including one or two horticultural convicts, were not that impressed with Banks’ recommendation. Having read Cook’s report he decided to take a ship’s longboat back up the coast and see what Port Jackson had to offer. It couldn’t be any worse than Botany Bay. The rest, as they say, is history.

I was the most excited I had been in months, if not years, but would the eyes fail me? Fail me they did! Jane espied the heads lifting themselves from the stygian gloom. I couldn’t see them at all and, or so it seemed anyway, could many of the other passengers gathered in the lounge for this momentous occasion. Maybe there was hope? Before, I knew it, though, Jane was pointing out landmarks to fellow tourists who had not been here before.

I had missed the transit through the heads and, indeed, couldn’t make out the sights of the harbour either. I know this sounds pathetic, my dreams dashed on the rocks as they were, but I could have cried. I managed to hold it together but I have never felt a pain like it in my heart. Nearly forty years in the making and for what? Nowtt! For once in my confident life I felt the true burden of my eyes. Honestly, I was devastated!

Serving staff came round with bottomless bottles of champagne and, another first for me, caviar. The fizz was endless so I took full advantage. The more celebration juice quaffed, the more maudlin I became. The sturgeon roe was fabulous and I promised myself that I wouldn’t leave it sixty years until I tried it again. I am now five years through the next sixty and, I am sorry to say, am still to experience my second taster. Never mind, plenty of time to go!

We continued on through this busy waterway, past some rocky islands, including Fort Denison. If you had been passing this way in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries you would have been greeted by human skeletons, bleached by the sun, hanging from their gibbets.

Not only were they taken to this penal island in this most beautiful of harbours to be hanged, they were left with the ignominy of swinging in the warm breezes, to serve as a warning to others that this was a fate that waited for you should you step out of line.

I was fully expecting us to turn left and park up at Circular Quay. We didn’t. We kept on going, under the bridge, and onto the new cruise terminal at Balmain. You would not believe how much angst this would cause some of our American buddies later in our two night stay. To be fair to them it was a fair old trug from our mooring point into the city, whereas all you need do from Circular Quay, pretty much, is stroll across the quayside and you are in the city.

There were huge complaints made about how when you are spending over $2,000 per day you expect better access to the city centre. It was explained to the complainants, in small words of no more than two syllables each that the port authorities had legislated for smaller ships to dock at Balmain and the huge ocean going liners to park up at Circular Quay. The cruise company had no say in the matter.

I am not really sure why these passengers were bitching so much, after all there were shuttle buses on a continuous loop taking us into the city. I have to say, though, it wasn’t that bad a walk to the main areas of interest, including the Opera House, the Harbour Bridge and The Rocks. It certainly kept our steps up. I have no idea which cabin you got for $2k a night, must have been substantially up from ours? Perhaps, during his first term, the Donald, had applied tariffs to foreign cruises? Who knows?

We had never before been on an open top bus tour of Sydney so first port of call, when we arrived at Darling Harbour, was to purchase a two day pass. First of all we toured around the city centre but, for some reason, the commentary was not working. That didn’t really bother us too much as we knew the city’s CBD pretty well.

At the end of the tour we realised we had run out of time so, for the first time in all of our visits we took a water taxi from Circular Quay, under the bridge, another method of seeing the Old Coat Hanger, to be dropped close to the terminal.

We were entertaining my cousin, Anne, and her husband, Reuben, on board. We had a wonderful evening and it was sad to say our goodbyes at the end. We haven’t seen them since.

The following day, the other bus route took us out to the coast. Bondi Beach is probably one of the most famous beaches in the entire world. In all my previous visits here I had never ever been to Bondi. It really is a splendid beach, acres and acres of golden white strand, even on a weekday, full of sun worshippers. Once again my eyes let me down. I know that it sounds a little voyeuristic, if not a little perverted, but Jane described the vista, toned bodies everywhere including, of course, many uncovered female chests. I could only imagine what I was missing!

The word Bondi, apparently, is from the local aboriginal tongue for breaking water. It really couldn’t be more apt. As we took the prom in a southerly direction, toward Coogee, the continuous surge of the Pacific Ocean kissing the strand was a constant accompaniment to our lovely stroll.

A paved promenade took us to the extremity of Bondi before we climbed up a rise for the most stunning view of the ocean and the path all the way to Coogee. Alas, we didn’t really have time to go any further as we knew we had to be back at the bus stop for the penultimate lift back to the city.

At least we had the contingency of the last bus. We didn’t need it as when we arrived at the hop-on point the second from last one was still at its station.

We got back into Darling Harbour, with time to spare before sailing, so took the last part of yesterday’s loop again. This time the commentary was working. It’s the little stories you miss. We were informed that the word, wharf, almost in everyday use in modern times started life off as an acronym, “Ware House At the River Front.” I fear that this might be a good old Australian apocrypha. I tried my best to carry out an etymological search but cannot find any reference to this origin. It appears that it was first used in a Germanic language to describe a sea house. Oh well, never mind. A nice story which I quite like.