A Sydney Reunion

Jenny and I had only twice stayed apart during our 30 years of married life together. Each time it was because of me being sent overseas for 4-6 months’ long training attachments that were required of my job. The first time was in 1990 at Belfast, Northern Ireland and the second was through the winter of 1996 in Ottawa, the capital of Canada. Instead of patiently waiting for my eventual return, the wanderlust in her would send her packing her luggage too, just so she could also be immersed and taste living abroad with me. On both occasions she took extended leave from work, joining me after I had settled in. And of course, she would bring the kids along.

I can never forget our tearful reunion at the Belfast airport, after 3 months of “enforced” separation with precious few opportunities for us to correspond. Back then in 1990,  unlike today, communication options were limited and expensive.  At the airport arrivals, Jenny and I embraced, locking arms for the longest time, with our boy then just turning two, sandwiched and suffocating in between.

Several years later, during my second training attachment in December 1996, we reunited again after a two month spell of living by myself in a freezing apartment in Ottawa. This time, her baggage was upsized, with two children in tow. Jenny was in fact in her second trimester of pregnancy, bearing our third child and her gynaecologist had certified her fit for travel. But then again, she had to brave through a 30-hour long haul flight and a Canadian winter at sub-zero frigidity.  Jenny was totally unfazed, so we spent Christmas together as a family that year, walking in our winter wonderland.

Last Thursday I flew to Sydney for another sort of reunion, this time with my daughter C.  She has been away from home residing in this sprawling down-under city on a semestral long student exchange programme. It was the first time she has stayed abroad on her own and the natural-born worrier in me was gnawing my insides out. How was she coping with her studies and hostel residential life? I needed to visit and check on her well-being.  But my anxieties were quite needless. She had settled very well in her hostel apartment, managing her school work and staying in good shape, preparing healthy meals for herself to save on eating out.

Sydney is bustling and vibrant as one would expect of any cosmopolitan city.  We visited the Darling harbour and strolled through the preposterously pristine parkways outside the famous Opera House. In the evening hours we took in the stunning Vivid Light display that was on show at the edge of the Rocks. So did tens of thousands others – Aussies and visitors alike, compacting and choking the parks in the dark of that Thursday evening. Most enrapturing was the light display against the shelled rooves of the Opera House, painting the building with a dazzling palette of moving patterns and shifting colours.



Sydney's building facade given a colourful makeover

Sydney's Opera House all "coloured" up
 

Several years back, Jenny and I have visited Sydney on one of our annual family holidays. Like any first time visitor to this famed Aussie city, we stopped over at the Opera House, snapping truckloads of photos of the iconic building for keepsake. But wouldn’t Jenny have been thrilled to watch the light display that coloured up the building in such enthralling fashion? It is hard for me to enjoy the light show without wishing she was there too, by my side holding my hands so we do not lose each other in the crowds. She would want to savour and enjoy this travel experience too.

On Saturday I rented a car and drove my daughter to Katoomba, the main town situated in the heart of the Blue Mountains. Answering the voluble call of Mother Nature again, as you can say.  Again, it was a kind of déjà vu experience for us because we had visited Katoomba before during our last Sydney odyssey. But that time the visit to the Blue Mountains was more a touch and go affair. We had driven through various vista points to take in the sights of the Three Sisters and the Blue Mountain valley which was about all, hardly breaking a sweat. This was quite a pity as the natural forested park has surely more to offer. This time round, my daughter and I would venture further and make more of our visit. We would take on the more difficult walking trails that bring us down and into the depths of the Blue Mountain valley.
 

View of the valley from atop the Blue Mountains

My daughter taking snapshots of the forested landscape.

Starting at Echo Point in Katoomba, we climbed down the very steep Giant’s Staircase.  The walk down is not for the faint-hearted, not least for me with my giddy-prone head for heights.  The Staircase is a series of steep metal stairways that zig-zag down to the valley below, 900 steps in all.  We made it down after about twenty minutes of gingerly taken footsteps and clinging on hand-rail supports. Then along the Federal Pass walking track we trekked through the valley, passing picturesque waterfalls and luxuriant rain forest. After more than an hour walking at a leisurely pace we reached the foot of the Furber Steps.  The Furber Steps comprise more than 1000 steps cut against the mountain slopes to get us back to higher ground, and along the way would take us past plunging waterfalls and gigantic overhanging rocks. It was a taxing climb, though slightly easier for me given my conditioning through regular exercises.  The sight of the valley that unfolded as we ascend the steps filled us with a mix of grandiosity and humility. My less-fit daughter was panting vigorously but keeping her smile in between each gasp. Obviously like me, she was fully exhilarated by the entire experience.

“It is a pity Mum isn’t here to see this splendid view of the forest. But it is most unlikely that Mum would be game enough for a walk like this. It would be too tough for her”, I could not help sharing my thoughts with C.

“Yes, Mum would be complaining all the way if we put her through this”, she chuckled, amid heavy gasping to catch her breath.

Indeed, now that I do not have Jenny as my main travel companion, I can add a new twist in the itinerary. As long as my feeble legs can still carry me, I will see more of the world on foot instead of whisking down the highways on travel coaches or rented cars. I will rekindle my love for nature by getting up close and personal and include trekking into the travel itinerary instead of endless walks along shopping mauls.