Nelson Boags Esq. – Sommelier, taxidermist, lives in Canberra, AU.
Cheetah Grrrl – Le Tigre’s sister, Boags’ wife, CIA operative and knives expert.
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Nelson Boags Esq. – 14 February 2009, 8:00 a.m.
A Perfect Day, Callipeaux Style:
My wife, Cheetah Grrrl, and I met Edmund and LeTigre Callipeaux for lunch in Sydney at the famous Doyles seafood restaurant on the Wharf a year ago this past December. It was LeTigre’s birthday and the Callipeaux’s were in town, visiting from America. We live in Canberra, Australia, and Edmund and LeTigre had stayed with us for a week prior to catching a train to stay in Sydney for a few days.
We decided on Doyles as our meeting place because it lies near the location of their hotel in The Rocks area of Sydney. The Rocks is an historic part of Sydney’s first settlement. It’s a beautifully preserved part of the city whose European influences can be seen in the winding cobblestone streets and cramped architecture of its masonry buildings. The area is located right at the water’s edge of Sydney Harbor, on Circular Quay, sandwiched between the Sydney Harbor Bridge and the Opera House. Our plans for the day consisted of lunch at Doyles followed by a walking tour of The Rocks neighborhood, where Cheetah Grrrl and I could show the Callipeaux’s some of our favorite places in Sydney.
Doyles is situated on a pier overlooking the harbor. As Cheetah Grrrl and I had correctly anticipated a warm, sunny December afternoon, we had the considerable foresight to reserve a table on the outdoor patio of the restaurant. The timing of our arrival at the restaurant coincided perfectly with that of the Callipeaux’s. We greeted each other at the restaurant’s busy entrance and waited as the host confirmed that our table was prepared. The layout of Doyles consists of a main dining level with a large cocktail bar section and a lofted balcony dining room, all of which offer tremendous views of the harbor through their glass walls. Our host led us to our table, and after we each took our seats, we paused silently to take in the grand view of the Sydney Opera House, which sat directly across the bay from where we sat.
“Wow!” Proclaimed Edmund, “this is perfect.” After which, he and LeTigre began to tell us about the adventures they had found in Sydney that previous day. They said that it too was “A Perfect Day.”
Edmund and LeTigre had had a few days to themselves in Sydney before we met them at Doyles. Our waiter moved about the table, committing to memory our drink orders while the Callipeaux’s tale began to unfold. Sitting at Doyles with the promise of an excellent meal, on a warm and sunny December afternoon, watching Edmund and LeTigre parry back and forth through the details of their amazing day, reaffirmed in my mind that despite the fact that my in-laws had previously invaded and destroyed my house, eating seafood and laughing over their wacky stories made it all quite worthwhile.
Their story began with a description of their successful partaking in the complementary breakfast their hotel had to offer. In their travels, they had typically slept through the free breakfast services. This day, however, they had managed to drag themselves out of bed before noon and they considered that to be an omen portending the inevitable magic that the rest of the day held.
Their hotel sat in the heart of The Rocks neighborhood, in an old building composed of a maze of narrow corridors and rickety staircases. On the main floor there was a restaurant that the hotel used to serve breakfast each morning to its patrons. They dined briskly there that morning on strong coffee and eggs and set their plans for the day.
Sydney is a city that hugs a large sound that stretches inland from the east and the open waters of the South Pacific Ocean. At its mouth, facing the ocean, sits Manly Beach. Manly is a popular destination with tourists (and also with local Australians) and can easily be accessed by riding the network of ferryboats that service the entire bay. One of the main ferry terminals is located in next to the Opera House, in The Rocks, at Circular Quay (pronounced “key”).
LeTigre suggested a trip to Manly Beach and Edmund agreed saying that he was eager to ride the ferry because any water taxi always reminded him of his love of pirates and pirate travel.
Edmund’s fascination with pirates is somewhat of an obsession for him. Over the many years that I have known him, he has never failed to incorporate the word “swag” into each and every conversation I have enjoyed with him (concerning any topic). It doesn’t seem to matter if we are talking about what he had eaten for breakfast that day, or the nature of national politics. I think he spends a great deal of his brainpower seeking opportunities to color the conversation up with the mention of his prized descriptor – swag. I had to remind him that cutthroats probably didn’t queue up for a five-dollar shuttle ride. And they probably didn’t use the ferryboats to harass the British Navy or search for buried treasure.
Regardless, Edmund and LeTigre managed to catch the mid-morning launch to Manly Beach directly after their triumphant breakfasting. They described the voyage with great enthusiasm as the boat brought them right along side the Opera house; offering seaside views of its famous architecture.
Edmund gestured toward the Opera House across the bay from where we currently sat, “I didn’t realize that that thing is covered in ceramic tile…and it’s not even close to being white, but more of a tan color. All the photographs they use for promotion or whatever must be over-exposed, because that thing is way darker than I thought it would be.” He took a sip of ice-water as LeTigre continued with their story.
They had taken a seat at the bow of the ferry and from that vantage point they marveled at the massive Sydney Harbor as it sprawled out before them. The iconic Sydney Harbor Bridge spanning The Rocks to Sydney’s northern neighborhoods loomed in the background as the boat tilted slightly back and forth through the choppy waters.
Approaching the eastern most portion of the inlet, the giant North Head Rock rose into view, sharply out of the ocean. Beyond lay the South Pacific Ocean, and Edmund remarked that he didn’t want to think about how many sharks were swimming around under the cover of the steely-blue ocean depths.
As our drink orders were placed at each of our sides, LeTigre explained that Edmund was so afraid of sharks that he refused to take baths at home. He could only take showers as he is convinced that any volume of water large enough the hold a shark or an alligator most definitely holds at least one shark or alligator, or several of both species.
As the Callipeaux’s continued to paint a picture of their morning adventure, I glanced periodically at the lunch menu. Presently, I asked our waiter to bring the floor manager at Doyles over to our table so that we may better inquire about ordering appetizers. “Monsieur Boags, on a fine day, such as this, I feel that I must recommend the Chilled Seafood Appetizer for four. It is a lovely assemblage of all the rich and varied seafood delights that the area waters have to offer.”
I agreed and commanded that whilst we awaited our appetizers, Edmund and I would each enjoy a liter of Grolsch beer. I find that when I am dining at Doyles, Grolsch is the one and only beer that can satisfy my palate. (Curiously, I do not drink Grolsch unless I am dining at Doyles. It contains the body and subtlety that matches the exuberance of the restaurant’s environment. It is as if the brewers are able to bottle a mixture of the sublime ocean view with the crisp blue sky while imbuing the liquid with a light carbonation and fruity bouquet.)
I held my hand up to cut short Edmund’s inquisitive gesture toward our maitre de regarding whether or not Foster’s Lager was on tap at the bar. Australians, contrary to American beliefs, do not generally consider Foster’s to be a decent beer fit for consumption. We have many fine breweries throughout the continent and also many exemplary imports from nearby New Zealand and Tasmania. Most bottle shops do not carry the Foster brand, and if they do, it is expressly for American tourists whom ask for it by name.
Additionally, I explained to Edmund when he first arrived at our home, Australia is not known for its beef. There are no Outback Steakhouses in Australia. That malignant cafeteria of would-be Australian schlock is entirely an American corporate invention. If you’d like, you can get a superb steak in Australia, but if you truly want to eat well while you’re down under, you’ll order lamb from your butcher. Australian lamb is extraordinary, and I would argue that none better can be found at any other locale on the planet.
As an aside, I was also careful to explain to Edmund that Australians do not use phrases such as throw another shrimp on the barbie, or, a dingo ate my baby! And contrary to the irrefutable knowledge of primary school children throughout the world, kangaroos do not wear boxing gloves OR sunglasses, and they are not known to be excellent fighters. Despite Edmund’s repeated citing of media and daytime television sources pertaining to the nature of Australian culture, I insisted that he accept the fact that everyday Australians generally don’t wrestle crocodiles, nor do they carry gigantic Jim Bowie knives around, and you rarely hear someone say G’day, mate. Furthermore, not every dog in Australia is a dingo!
But, yes, water does form a whirlpool that swirls counter-clockwise and the constellation Orion is upside down in our night sky (that is to say, it’s upside down if you believe that it is the Universe which rotates around the Earth). Amidst all these ridiculous questions regarding the differences and stereotypes between our two countries, Edmund told my 12-year-old son that in America, they call the knee a leg-elbow – and we all thought that was pretty funny.
“Speaking of beverages that you can find in America, but not down here, we had a hell of a time trying to order Bloody Marys yesterday once we reached Manly.” LeTigre motioned toward Edmund to pick up on this chapter of their day’s journey as the Chilled Seafood Appetizer for four was placed in the center of our table.
Looking at the heaping platter of lobsters, crab legs, Smoked Tasmanian Salmon, freshly shucked (raw) Rock Oysters, and King Prawns - Edmund was momentarily struck speechless. After taking some time to compose his thoughts, he resumed his tale of the previous day. He said that once the ferry reached Manly beach, he and LeTigre were feeling a bit parched, so they made their way to the nearest watering hole.
“It was just about lunch time, so we decided that we’d better fuel up.” Edmund exclaimed.
The ferry landing at Manly is located just south of a small, meager looking beach that has a large tourist bistro adjacent to the sand.
“We walked in as the place was just opening for the day.” A hostess greeted them and delivered them through the empty dining room to a table with a mediocre view of the ferry docks and the strange little beach. “So, this is Manly Beach? I thought that it’d be a bit more than this.”
A waiter came over and they ordered drinks. Edmund said that the guy looked a little confused when LeTigre asked for a Bloody Mary. After the waiter departed their company, they sat back into their chairs and wondered if they had made the right decision in first, the trip to Manly, and second, the abysmal bistro on the beach.
Both seemed a little less than how they were written up in the travel guides. “I don’t think we should order food here.” The look on Edmund’s face agreed with LeTigre’s statement as he glanced around the vacant dimly lit dining area. Fifteen to twenty staff members were busying themselves around the fifty odd picnic tables lined up in long rows across the length of the building’s interior. “It looks like they’re preparing for a feeding frenzy.”
“This doesn’t make sense to me. According to this book, this place has three stars!” replied LeTigre.
Sitting in the bistro at the Manly docks, Edmund continued to look to his left and right, and across the shadowy dining room. Locating a long, horseshoe shaped bar, he observed six or seven bartenders moving bottles around, shifting glasses, looking through drawers, and paging through books.
“I don’t think they know how to make a Bloody.”
LeTigre looked at him and then over at the cadre of bar maids, bar men, bar backs, bar masters, assistant managers, and other confused looking people and said, “I don’t know about this…you better go over there.”
I tilted my bottle of Grolsch to top off my beer glass as I imagined Edmund walking over to the bar and gingerly inquire about their Bloody Mary drinks. Edmund is the kind of guy that knows that when you’re overseas, and on someone else’s turf, you can’t go around telling people The American Way of doing things.
He said that as he approached, several of the workers were saying that they each knew different ways to mix a Bloody Mary, while two confounded looking kids were riffling through books and pieces of paper, murmuring to the group that a few key ingredient were missing. Edmund said that he stood at the bar, directly across from this committee of employees for several minutes.
“It was like I was invisible. But I didn’t dare say anything.” he said.
Finally, a manager emerged in a huff from the kitchen and began to reprimand his employees as he himself mixed the drinks…without referring to a recipe card.
It was at this point that Edmund changed his order and requested a beer instead of the cocktail. He also asked for a beer chaser to accompany LeTigre’s drink without implying that the snit of beer is the correct Midwestern USA way to serve up a Bloody Mary.
Edmund was curtly told to return to his seat and that the drinks would be presently delivered by their waiter. Sitting down once again at the table beside LeTigre, Edmund whispered, “Those guys are having a rough time over there. That manager was pretty pissed off. I don’t know what you’re going to get…although I did see one guy with a bottle of Worcestershire in his hand. So, there may be hope. I didn’t want to say anything…they may have one of those fighting kangaroos in the back room.”
The drinks were brought to their table along with concurrent feigned apologies for the time, and the Evil Eye for manager’s inconvenience. Upon the departure of the surly waiter, Edmund and LeTigre settled back in their chairs with their hard won drinks to consider their next course of action.
Sitting in the late-morning sunshine, and beginning to worry that the day could soon be lost to misadventure, LeTigre pulled out her guidebooks and began to pour over them.
“There has to be more to this Manly Beach than what we see here. The books say it’s a great place and a lot of locals come out here to sunbathe and stuff. This little beach and restaurant doesn’t match the description.”
Edmund sipped his beer and looked down the scraggly beachfront. “Well, the ride over was cool. How’s your Bloody?”
LeTigre replied that her drink was almost adequate but that she wouldn’t order another.
“I agree, let’s get out of here and explore a little. You have to be right, there has to be more to this place than what we have here. The ferry was packed with people…and there’s only one mom and a few mangy-looking kids running around over there on that beach. Where did everyone go?” Finishing their drinks, they called the waiter over to settle their tab: $25.00 for a pint of beer and a poorly made Bloody Mary, Yikes!
Walking out of the restaurant and into the bright sunlight, Edmund and LeTigre looked to where a new ferryboat was maneuvering into position. The moment its lines were secured to the docks, a stream of people filed out of the boat and across the street. The crowd made a beeline that was perpendicular to the small beach at which the Callipeaux’s stood. “There must be something over there. This is all very mysterious.” Edmund and LeTigre followed the crowd across the street and into a mall, or Pedestrian Street lined with little shops. “This is interesting…shops, beach shops, surfing shops…there must be a surfing beach around here somewhere!” Another one hundred meters walk with the crowd, and Edmund’s acute detective work was rewarded: They discovered the vast Manly Beach.
“The beach had to be a mile long, with tons of people, and surfers, and a whole army of lifeguards.” LeTigre took a crab leg off our appetizer plate while Edmund reached for his second raw oyster. “Oh man, OYSTERS. These things are where flavor meets satisfaction. Can you imagine that I used to not be able to eat these babies? The first time I had a raw oyster was when we were in New Orleans…I thought I was going to barf. Slimy little bastards. Now, I can’t get enough of them. Man, that’s good!” Edmund sat back in his chair, his eyes rolling back into their sockets. Our waiter placed fresh bottles of Grolsch next to his and my empty glasses and proceeded to ask the table how the appetizers were. He walked clockwise around our table to fill Cheetah Grrrl and LeTigre’s wine glasses as he observed our nods of approval. He then said that he would return shortly to take the order for our main courses. “Speaking of great seafood, we had an amazing lunch yesterday on Manly.” Edmund then reached out for one of the lobster tails on the Cold Appetizer Plate. “Anyone want to split this prehistoric monster with me?”
“Yeah, our lunch yesterday was nearly as good as today’s.” LeTigre explained, “We got to the main beach of Manly and started walking south.” She told us how the beach was very crowded with sunbathers, so they walked along a path through a strip of wooded parkland running adjacent to the sand. “People were everywhere. And lifeguards…we’ve never seen lifeguards like these…they were working out in formations, like they were in the military.” LeTigre paused as my wife, Cheetah Grrrl said, “They take their life-guarding very seriously at the beaches. It’s remarkable what they do…and it’s all volunteer.” The Callipeaux’s described how they walked slowly along the path to the southern part of Manly Beach. “The view of the ocean was spectacular! Massive waves were breaking a hundred yards off shore and there were a lot of surfers out there working the waves. Some of them seemed to be doing pretty well too.” At the end of the sandy beach, the trail led them onto a rocky outcropping along a shear rock wall extending a few hundred meters upward.
“We followed the path across the rocks with the big waves breaking just below. The trail worked its way along the curve of the mountain and around to the south. There were a lot of people strolling along under the warm midday sun. Midway along the walkway, we came upon a public swimming pool that looked to have been carved right into the rocky ledge of the shore. It was very cool looking. Silly us though…we didn’t bring our bathing suits.” Edmund paused to inspect the smoked salmon filet he had placed on his plate. “Beyond this pool, maybe a quarter-mile, sat a smaller, hidden beach within a little cove formed by the rocky curve of the small mountain.”
I know this cove and beach well, as Cheetah Grrrl and myself had been there several times, the cove is called Shelly Beach. The main area of Manly Beach stretches out to the north and south. At its southern edge, the mountainous terrain that forms the greater peninsula of Manly comes down to the ocean and had blocked easy passage to Shelly Beach at the far south. The Sydney park service carved into the rock a walking path, thereby connecting the two beaches with a wide, well maintained path.
“It was really cool, there was some sort of Scuba diving class going on at the small beach…so there were all these people flopping around in their full gear, with big air tanks and flippers. They didn’t look too comfortable in those bulky get-ups.” Edmund laughed as he motioned with his hands trying to imitate how a person wearing flippers makes their way across a beach littered with sunbathers.
“We followed the path as it hugged the boarder between the sandy part of the beach and large grassy areas beyond. As we walked along, we came across a restaurant sitting in the shade of these big trees – directly facing the beach!” Edmund set down his beer glass, and rising up slightly from his seat while extending his arms outward to either side, he said, “So, I’m like, ‘What do you know, a perfect beach with a perfect little bistro…Oh, and look, they even have outdoor seating with a perfect little table for two with a perfect view of all the perfectitude!’”
LeTigre described the scene, saying that the restaurant (which I also know well, it’s called Le Kiosk) was busy serving a crowded lunch, but there was the one empty table. A company of Christmas partiers were occupying several of the tables. People adorned in little festive hats and “crackers” which are traditional party favors at Australia Christmas celebrations. Edmund said that the place was pretty much packed and they thought that they had no chance of acquiring a table without a reservation. However, inquiring at the hostess stand, they were immediately brought back outside and seated at the one and only free table. Now, almost standing upright in the shadow of the Opera House, at Doyles, Edmund clenched his fists and whispered, “It was PERFECT!”
Edmund flopped back down into his chair a moment before LeTigre could tell him to stop making a scene on our restaurant’s patio. Our waiter appeared beside me and asked if we had decided on our main courses. Looking around the table, and at the mostly eaten Cold Seafood Appetizer plate, we asked for a moment to look once more at the lunch menu. LeTigre said, “I wouldn’t mind getting more of those oysters. I think we had a similar type yesterday at Le Kiosk. We had oysters and calamari for our starters along with a couple of cold beers. The calamari was incredible!” Sitting beside Shelly Beach, the Callipeaux’s had proceeded to order a three-course, five-beer lunch sitting next to their perfect beach. Edmund said that his main consisted of octopus and shark filet and LeTigre had seared scallops. For desert they split an order of the Christmas Truffle Pudding.
“Yeah, the calamari and the scallops were probably my favorite part of lunch yesterday.” LeTigre mused. Cheetah Grrrl, looking up from her menu said, “I could see sharing another dozen or so oysters…that appetizer plate was a lot of food.” Everyone at the table agreed so I asked the waiter to bring over another two-dozen oysters and another round of drinks in lieu of main courses. Edmund, handing his menu to our waiter, proceeded with his story, “After lunch we found a little path behind the restaurant that led away from the beach and up into a wooded area. We decided to follow it for a bit, to see where it might lead.”
Sipping on his beer he described how the trail led them up a hill and toward the interior of the peninsula. The walk became quite steep as the trail zigzagged through the trees. Soon, they found themselves high up above Shelly Beach within the rocks of the mountain. “The trail had been worn between crevices and gaps in the large boulders. We followed it as it stepped up through a winding series of smaller rocks. It was a well-worn trail, but eventually, we were climbing up and over the rocks as the path led more steeply to the summit of the mountain. It wasn’t a big mountain, maybe a thousand feet high at the most. But still, I felt like we were pretty far up.”
Edmund finally set his empty beer glass down and LeTigre picked up on the story. “Edmund was very excited. I told him to settle down before he hurt himself…and sure enough, as we reached the top of the climb, he lost his footing and I saw him shift to the right and drop down a few inches. He bent down, and then I hear , ‘Ouch! My leg-elbow!’ But I knew it was nothing; he’s always making a big deal out of minor scratches…or complaining about how his ski-pole thumbs hurt.”
Looking over at Edmund, with an empty oyster shell in his hand and a sheepish grin on his face, I asked, “Are you still complaining about those ski-pole thumbs?” Edmund quietly nodded as he averted his gaze and tried to look innocent while attempting to conceal the smile cracking across his face. Edmund’s ski-pole thumbs: We were all in Minnesota, on the North Shore of Lake Superior for a week in December of 1995. Whilst enjoying the snowy terrain, we took in a little downhill skiing during which Edmund hyper-extended both of his thumbs because a) he didn’t know how to ski, b) he fell constantly, and c) he held his ski poles incorrectly. Sitting at Doyles, on this sunny December afternoon, I said to Edmund, “That was thirteen years ago, man! Are you still working the pity angle on those ski pole thumbs?” Edmund looked around the table. Finding only cross looks, and no sympathizers to support him, he pointed at his knee through the white clothe covering our table and said, “I think my leg-elbow still hurts a little from yesterday.”
The midday sun was beginning its descent from its highest point in the sky as we polished off the last of our raw oysters at Doyles. LeTigre continued to describe to us the spectacular views they had enjoyed at the top of Manly Peninsula (the South Pacific Ocean to the east and Sydney’s Harbor to the west). “You could see for miles. But, I couldn’t stand up there for too long. The vertigo was freaking me out and I thought that if one of us really did get hurt, they’d have to airlift us out.”
Making their way down from the rocks, LeTigre discover a trail that led north. She managed to locate where they were on one of her guidebook maps and explained to us that the trail led to a park nature center. They walked as the trial brought them along the crest of the mountain and into a broader area of land. “The trail followed right along the top of the peninsula. It was great. However, we were totally in the wild now and there was no one else around. At one point, we stopped walking and Eddie and I had to decide whether or not to keep following the trail, or head back the way we came.” Edmund continued, “We were at the point of no return as far as I saw it. I thought that the trail had to lead to somewhere. There was nowhere else it could go.”
Cheetah Grrrl broke into the dialogue as Edmund paused to take a sip from his ice water, “That form of reasoning doesn’t quite make sense, Edmund…. Although, I suppose every path leads to somewhere.” LeTigre followed by saying, “Now you know what it’s like traveling with this guy. However, I had the map. So, I could kind of see where we were and where the trail led too. It was just hard to tell by the map how long the hike would take.”
They followed the trail for some time before it led them into an historic area of ruined old battlements from the Second World War. “And we found a lake up there too. How often do you come across a small lake on top of a mountain? Eddie walked up to the edge of the water, but he soon got freaked out thinking that there might be crocodiles in there, so he ran back to where I was.” LeTigre went on to explain that they were now in an area that was managed by the Sydney Park Service and there were signs posted that gave them historic details about the area. The battlements had been used to safeguard the entrance to the harbor. “And there was a map of the surrounding areas too.” They were able to confirm by the park service map that the trail would indeed lead them ultimately to a visitor center as they had hoped. So, they continued to travel north, along the marked path.
“Eventually, we came along a few other hikers.” LeTigre paused as Cheetah Grrrl commented, “That’s always comforting when you’re worried about being lost.”
Edmund said, “Yes, I agree, whenever you’re far from civilization, it’s always good to know that there are other people around who look like they know what they’re doing. And besides, if dinosaurs were to have attacked us up there, we would have had better odds of survival with more people around!” Edmund went on to explain that the terrain had changed from a savannah-like, tree cover, to an immense field of tall grass. “It was like Land of the Lost. The scene was positively prehistoric looking! We crossed a gravel road and then onto a steel-grated walkway that the park service had built through the tall grass.” LeTigre interrupted Edmund to elaborate, “Tall grass is putting it mildly…I’d guess that the grass was twelve, thirteen feet high! It was as if we were little ants walking along a path through someone’s lawn. It was like we were in an episode of Doctor Shrinker or something!” Edmund was nodding in approval and holding hands high above his head. “If a pack of Velociraptors had come out of that grass, we would have been screwed! I was hoping that one of the guys we had met back on the trial was a lawyer. ‘Cause, in the movies, don’t the dinosaurs always go for the lawyers first?”
Sitting in my chair, under the shade of the awning at Doyles, I understood why Edmund and LeTigre imagined the landscape at Manly Peninsula to be prehistoric looking. Australia it thought to be the first continent to emerge as the waters receded and Pangaea was ultimately formed (about 4,300 million years ago). The landscape has a wind-blown, rounded appearance due to its eons of exposure to the elements. And it is easy to imagine dinosaurs lumbering around as you can almost feel how old the hills are.
As our empty plates were cleared from the table, we ordered coffee after deciding that we would save desert for later that afternoon at an ice cream shop in The Rocks. Our waiter left us to prepare our coffee, and I imagined in my mind’s eye, Edmund and LeTigre walking along the path through the prehistoric-looking, Australian bush country. Given that they each were presently sitting, unmolested at Doyles, I was fairly confident that dinosaurs hadn’t attacked Edmund, LeTigre, and their hiking party of would-be lawyers, that previous afternoon. However, I did ask if they had been caught in the tremendous rainstorm that had drenched Sydney, that very time of day, as they hiked toward the park visitor center. “They don’t get storms of that intensity very often in Sydney.” Cheetah Grrrl added.
“Yeah, the thunderstorm. That was intense!” LeTigre nodded in thanks as our waiter filled her empty glass with ice water. “I still can’t believe we didn’t get caught in the storm! As the skies were beginning to become a little threatening, we emerged from the tall grass and into a wide-open park. It sloped down to a road far off in the distance and in the middle of the park sat the visitor center we were looking for.” LeTigre explained. “The wind was beginning to pick a little as we walked up to the building’s main entrance. A staff member who was in the process of locking the doors greeted us. The woman said, ‘Oh, hello. I was just locking up…but come on in. I’ll show you around!’ I thought, ‘Boy, these people sure are friendly!’”
LeTigre poured a measure of cream into the coffee that was placed in front of her. She continued by saying that the woman took them through all the displays of the center and told them all about the history of the area. They bought a few souvenirs and inquired about getting back to the ferry terminal. The woman explained that a bus route ran along the road at the bottom of the hill, and this bus would take them directly to the ferry terminal. She added that they had better hurry, because it was forecasted that a big storm was moving into the area. “Walking out the door of the visitor center, I looked at the sky and started to worry. The storm was moving quickly and the sky was now black and green. We began to walk at a brisk pace down the long driveway that led to the road, when all of a sudden the shuttle we needed to catch appeared from around a corner, heading our way! Eddie started running and shouting and waving his arms in the air as the bus started to pick up speed going down the hill. Just as it was passing us (and we were still a hundred yards from the street) the driver looked over, and seeing Eddie, he promptly brought the bus to a complete stop right in the middle of the road!” They ran down to the open doors of the bus where the smiling driver welcomed them aboard. “G’day, mates,” said their amiable captain.
“I tipped the guy five bucks for stopping for us!” Exclaimed Edmund, “As we sat down, the bus driver confirmed that there was indeed a big storm on its way and he said that our timing was lucky, because the next bus wasn’t due that way for another hour.”
Edmund paused as our waiter had come to the table inquiring if we would need anything further. Leaving us with the bill, LeTigre continued with the Tale of the Magical Bus Ride: “The streets were deserted because the oncoming storm looked so threatening. So, the bus hardly made any stops as it cruised down the mountain and dropped us off at the entrance to the ferry terminal. We thanked our valiant driver and walked into the terminal and onto the awaiting boat. Two seconds after we stepped aboard, they pulled anchor and left the docks! Our timing could not have been more perfect!”
Aboard the ferry, they found a few seats on the deck and watched the blackened skies and choppy seawater. “It started to rain a few minutes after we had launched. We were outdoors, on the starboard side of the boat, and under a bit of cover from the upper decks. So, we didn’t get wet at first. However, as we reached the halfway point between Manly and Circular Quay, the rain started blowing hard, and everyone outside was forced to move into the cabins. As we took seats on the main level, the boat began to rock in the swells of the ocean and it really started to pour down rain. Low clouds swiftly overcame the boat and the distant shorelines of the bay disappeared…there was nothing but white to seen in any direction. Then the wind and rain really picked up and the boat really started rock’n.” LeTigre made a gesture of the boat going up and down and side to side.
Edmund said, “I started to look around at all those round, doughnut life raft things hanging on the walls of the boat’s cabin. And I saw that a number of other passengers were doing the same thing. Then I started to freak myself out by thinking that it didn’t look like there were enough doughnut things for everyone and so then I started to freak out even more about drowning or being eaten by sharks. I thought either of those horrible fates might be preferable to being stranded on some deserted island with all the other people aboard the ferry, only to have some sort of Lord of the Flies thing go down.”
At this point, I felt compelled to comfort Edmund by saying that there are no deserted islands in Sydney harbor, and that the coast guard would have gotten to any sinking ferryboat well before the crew could resort to cannibalism. However, I also took the opportunity to have a little fun with Edmund’s phobia, and added, “And besides, Edmund, the sharks would have been on top of you the moment you were in the water.” His eye’s bulged and he grabbed for the safety of his nearby cup of coffee.
“Well, the boat docked safely at Circular Quay despite the rough weather.” LeTigre said.
Not having any rain gear, they ran for the hotel through the storm. “It was the kind of rain that the second you step into it, you’re soaked down to your bones!” LeTigre proclaimed. Arriving shortly thereafter at their nearby hotel, they got themselves cleaned up and dry in their room. “As Eddie was getting out of the shower, I looked out the window of our room and saw that the rain had completely stopped and the sky was already starting to clear up!”
They made their way down to the street to get a better idea of what the storm was doing. “By the time we got downstairs, the skies were pretty much clear and the sun was shining again. So, we went into the bar next to the hotel - The Fortune of War Hotel. There we made our plans for the evening.” Edmund sat back in his chair.
The Fortune of War Hotel claims to be the oldest tavern in Sydney (in Australia, taverns or pubs are called Hotels, and Hotels are call Inns). However, several establishments in Sydney make this exact same claim (so, there’s no way of really knowing the truth to which is the eldest establishment). Inside The Fortune of War, Edmund made the mistake of asking for a Foster’s Lager and was derided by all the other patrons within earshot of his request. A crew of New Zealander partiers set him straight by ordering him a James Squire Pilsner – a very good Australian beer.
“Those New Zealander’s were wild guys.” Edmund added, as our waiter thanked us for being his lunch guests. We all, in turn, thanked him for his wonderful service that afternoon.
Having paid our bill at Doyles, we gathered up our belongings and made our way to the exit. As we walked out and around to the Circular Quay side of the restaurant, LeTigre continued with their story.
She told us how they had enjoyed a few beers with their new friends from New Zealand, after which, Edmund and LeTigre decided to try a German restaurant for dinner. “The Lowenbrau Brewery has a restaurant in The Rocks, and we thought we’d try how the Australians do German food.” LeTigre went on to add, “But, it was around six o’clock on a Friday night and I thought we’d never get a table anywhere in The Rocks without a reservation. The streets were starting to fill up with people and there where crowds forming outside every café we walked past. But, as luck would have it, everything worked out. Giving our names at the Lowenbrau hostess stand, we were seated straight away! There must have been fifty people waiting behind us, but the hostess said that they were all larger parties and she had one table for two that was free. It was amazing…and the food was Wunderbar!”
“Yeah,” said Edmund, “The place was packed and it was huge…there must have been four or five massive dining rooms. And the locals were definitely getting a good start to their Friday night. I could see why it was so packed…the food was great!”
We stood at the Circular Quay, next to Doyles, and took in the view of the Opera House directly across the bay. Cheetah Grrrl recommended a route we could take during our stroll through The Rocks that would lead us past a few shops and on into the open-air market that is held have every Saturday afternoon. Walking through the streets, we stopped as a group, here and there, and generally enjoyed the festive atmosphere. The Rocks is a great place because not only is it a tourist destination, but local Sydneyites make their way down to the area’s shops and restaurants on weekends. The streets are lined with restaurants, art galleries, shops, cafes, and all manor of interesting and fun places – all set within historic buildings and views of the harbor, the Opera House, and the looming Sydney Harbor Bridge.
We browsed amongst the carts and kiosks of the street market and bought ice cream from a corner shop. Edmund commented that there was some nice “swag” at one of the booths selling knick-knacks. Leaving the market with its colorful awnings and jazzy street musicians, we soon reaching the base of the Harbor Bridge. Walking beneath a portion of the bridge, and through a cavernous tunnel, I explained to Edmund and LeTigre that several scenes from the movie, The Matrix, were filmed nearby. After a steep incline through the tunnel, we emerged directly beneath the bridge and within its gargantuan supports of steel columns. There, we paused to look back down upon Sydney Harbor and Opera house in the distance.
Moving beyond the shelter of the bridge, we wound our way through the tree and cottage-lined neighborhood streets where we soon arrived at our next destination: The Lord Nelson Brewery Hotel. It too claims to be the oldest pub in Sydney, and it is one of my favorite places to bring friends when visiting Sydney. Wandering into the bar, Edmund said, “This place reminds me of the Blacksmith Bar on Bourbon Street, in New Orleans.” The dimly lit tavern stretched back along a narrow bar with stools and a few small tables. The four of us ordered beers from the Tasmanian, James Boags Brewery. Excellent beer, if I may say so. Taking our seats around a table, the Callipeaux’s finished the story of their Perfect Day.
“We wrapped up our German dinner and walked back out onto the street.” LeTigre explained that they were somewhat bemused by their good fortune in dining, hiking, and boating throughout the day.
She continued by saying, “The sun was beginning to set and we thought we’d walk down to the Opera House. We hadn’t explored that part of Circular Quay since arriving in town and we wanted to get a closer look at the building. We walked back around, past our hotel, past the ferry terminal, and up to where the grounds of the Opera House begin. Approaching, we saw that they had erected all these crowd control barriers and there were a ton of security guards milling around. I thought, ‘Oh, they must be having some sort of event or performance tonight.’ There weren’t many people around though, and so we decided to check out what was going on. I told Eddie that if we had a chance to see an opera, or something, we should to jump on the opportunity…however, we feared that it would be crazy expensive.”
As the four of us sipped on our delicious James Boags Pilsners in the shadowy Lord Nelson pub, LeTigre went on to explain that as they approached the gates, a security officer greeted them. “Are you here to see the ballet?” The man asked, followed closely by the command, “Hold out your left arm.” They explained to the officer that they were without tickets and asked if any could be purchased. “Nope. Tonight’s performance is sold-out.” Despite having made this statement, the officer proceeded to wrap a plastic yellow band around Edmund’s left wrist, securing if firmly. “But you can watch a simulcast of the performance on the Opera House steps for free.”
At this point, both Edmund and LeTigre were yelling in the Lord Nelson Brewery Hotel: “It was awesome! It was AWESOME!” Ordering a few more schooners from our bartender, Edmund exclaimed, “They were putting on a free show at the Opera House and we just wandered on in and sat down on the steps. And by steps, I mean, it was a huge mess of stairs forming an outdoor amphitheater. They had built a gigantic movie screen down below and effectively turned the grounds of the Opera House into massive movie theater!”
“Yeah,” replied LeTigre, “and because of the rain earlier, not many people showed up. Judging from the security, it looked like they were expecting several thousand people…and there were maybe a few hundred, at most.”
Edmund and LeTigre then proceeded to expand upon the description of the scene. The Australian Ballet was putting on a performance of the Nutcracker Ballet within the Opera House. A full-sized, digital movie theater screen had been erected on scaffolding to bring the performance, in high definition, to the audience assembled on the Opera House steps. The first act of the ballet began shortly after the Callipeaux’s found their place on the steps and LeTigre had secured them glasses of red wine from a vendor at the base of the screen. Tall stacks of amplifiers and speakers boldly brought the music of the orchestra out to the audience, as the impressive screen showed the dancers’ movements with crystal clear precision.
“Sipping on our wine and watching The Rat King dance around under the upside down Australian sky was about as good as it gets, I imagine.” Edmund mussed. “The other cool thing was that as the performance was being filmed, and shown on our screen, it was also being broadcasted throughout Australia as a live-simulcast event! So, when the ballet took intermission at a few points, film crews would emerge outdoors, at the base of the screen, and conduct interviews with the cast and crew of the ballet company. The amount of organization and effort put into this performance must have been incredible!”
Commenting on the wonderful nature of the Australian Ballet, Cheetah Grrrl added that the Opera House puts on free performances throughout the year. Given that it would soon be Christmas, last night’s performances of the Nutcracker was tied in with a larger, ongoing holiday celebration at the Opera House’s neighboring Sydney Botanical Gardens.
After the performance ended, and The Rat King subdued, the Callipeaux’s walked up toward the Opera House as everyone else filed past and away through the security gates. They explained that they wanted to explore the grounds more and see if the Opera House Restaurant was open. As it turned out, the restaurant was closing. So, they turned to take in the view of the harbor and the Harbor Bridge. Resting against a handrail, they watched as the last remaining patrons of the ballet milled about, also enjoying the beauty of the harbor.
“Then, without warning, FIREWORKS!” LeTigre exclaimed. “Lot’s of fireworks…a whole show actually. And really good ones too, as good as I ever seen at any Fourth of July celebration at home!”
“Do they have the fourth of July in Australia?” Ignoring Edmund’s question, Cheetah Grrrl said that from time to time, especially in December, fireworks companies conduct practice shows at the harbor. They do this in preparation for the spectacular New Year’s Eve celebration, during which the entire Harbor Bridge is lit up with millions of dollars worth of fireworks. Because New Year’s was not far off, I could see them putting on a particularly great practice show for the Callipeaux’s, as they stood that night, alone, alongside the Opera House.
“When the fireworks were over, and they must have lasted for thirty minutes or more, we went and got some ice cream in Circular Quay." LeTigre wondered what might be next, a marching band and parade in their honor? “Finishing our cones, we walked back to the hotel. It was early still, only around eleven o’clock, but we figured that we’d finish on a high note.”
“And when we woke up this morning, we walked down and met you two at Doyles!” Edmund added. “And that’s the story of The Perfect Day!”
Finishing our drinks at the Lord Nelson Brewery Hotel, we realized that we too were at the end of our day. Cheetah Grrrl and I were staying with my sister in Sydney, and driving back to Canberra the following day. Whereas, Edmund and LeTigre were to return at their hotel and then ride the train to Canberra to meet us at our home tomorrow afternoon. We planned to carry their luggage back with us in our car. This way, the Callipeaux’s could travel light, with only small backpacks on the train.
We made our way, back through The Rocks, and to the hotel, where Edmund gathered up their luggage while we waited with LeTigre on the street. Stowing their things safely within the boot of our Subaru, we bid them farewell for the night. “Boot. You guys have crazy words for everything down here.” Edmund said. “Boot – trunk, I guess it works.” We waved goodbye, and as we pulled away from the curb, I overheard LeTigre scolding Edmund, “Boot? You better watch it…or I’ll boot you in your leg-elbow!”
Postscript:
The following morning, we awoke early at my sister’s home and made the two-hour drive back to Canberra before noon. The Callipeaux’s called from the Canberra train station later that afternoon. Cheetah Grrrl left to pick up Edmund and LeTigre with our car. Arriving shortly back to our home, Cheetah Grrrl was laughing at the new story LeTigre was extrapolating upon…a story pertaining to the Grand Misadventure of Edmund that morning, whist they were still yet to depart Sydney.
LeTigre: “We woke up this morning with plenty of time to catch our train. But when I got out of the shower, Edmund was standing in the room saying that he had accidentally given you all our travel documents and train tickets with our luggage last night! We didn’t even have your phone number because it was written on the folder that he had thrown into his suitcase and put into the boot of your car when you left The Rocks!!” LeTigre flopped down, and into a chair, at our kitchen table while Edmund remained standing, shaking his head and waving his hands in front of his chest.
“Whoa. Whoa. Everything worked out…I figured it all out. We’re here, aren’t we?” Edmund replied in his defense.
I sat down at the kitchen table across from LeTigre as a symbolic gesture denoting my allegiance to her. Cheetah Grrrl did the same as Edmund remained standing and told his side of the story.
“Yes. Yes. Everything she’s saying is true. But I figured it out and everything is fine.” Edmund set his backpack on the floor at his feet.
“LeTigre was in the shower and I got up and started to go through our stuff and organize our packs. It didn’t take me long to realize that all our travel stuff was in our other bags, with you two, on it’s way to Canberra. At first, I started to freak out, and I searched the room several times just to make sure the folder wasn’t hiding somewhere. Seeing that it was nowhere to be found in the room. I went into full-blown freak-out mode because I knew that LeTigre was going to kill me.
“I thought to myself, ‘Think, Ed, think! Think, Think, Think! You’ve got limited time to figure this out! She’ll be out of the shower soon. THEN YOU’RE DEAD.' - Then: Didn’t we book the train tickets on-line? Yes. They’re e-tickets! The train station’ll have records of that! Then: How the hell will we contact Nelson and Cheetah Grrrl when we reach Canberra? I have no idea where they live, or what their phone number is…. Wait! Didn’t LeTigre call Cheetah Grrrl from the hotel room? Yes! Yes, she did! And the hotel’s charging us an arm and a leg for those calls…they must be able to itemize the calls from each room to figure out the bill. I wonder? They probably have the Canberra phone number listed on our bill!!
“I ran downstairs to the front desk, and sure enough, your phone number, here in Canberra, was listed on our room tab. Then, I ran back upstairs and quickly found the number for the Sydney train station and called as I heard LeTigre finishing up in the shower. I got through right away, and the manager, or train conductor, or whoever assured me that our tickets were still valid, and we could pick up new paper tickets at the Will Call desk once we reached the station!
“So, when LeTigre walked into the room I had it all figured out! It was record timing!” Edmund rested his case.
But then he added, “However, when I began to recount the whole story to LeTigre, I screwed up by saying first, ‘Don’t worry, everything’s alright.’ She’s too smart to be fooled by a line like that. After all these years, I should know better. The look on her face while I was telling her everything, and how I had fixed everything…I thought fire was going to shoot out of her eyes. But look! Everything worked out fine. We’re here and there’s no worries, right?”
So in the end, Edmund and LeTigre’s Perfect Day, on Manly Beach and at the Opera House, was followed by second Perfect Day with Cheetah Grrrl and myself, at Doyles and in The Rocks, and that day was followed by a third, Not-So-Perfect Day, that still worked in the Callipeaux’s favor despite it’s challenges. As we sat around laughing over Edmund’s missteps, I pointed out that there are less desirable places in the world than Sydney to be stranded without train tickets. “Come on, you’re in Sydney! What more do you want?” - NB
Edmund Callipeaux waiting at the Sydney train station.
