The Sydney Adventure – Part IV
The German Arrives
Tired from two very early mornings and a long walksome adventure around a
new city, I found myself groggy from a 40 minute hotel room slumber. They say 15 to 20 minutes is the right amount of time for a re-energizing nap and anything over that leaves you more tired then when you first slept. This was yet again the case for me, however being a recurring member of insomniacs anonymous I’m not one to complain over any amount of sleep that comes my way. After some desperate freshening up I take my enemy elevators to the ground floor and embark on a much more terrifying adventure than a new city….new friends.
Plopping myself down on the vinier sofa I sat cross legged and prissy in all of the anti post-nap demeanour I could muster up with cautious anticipation of the girls The German was about to introduce me to. I have known The German for about 6 months now and upon my first meeting determined he was a man I could never trust because of his “scheming devils eyes”. Typical me, he has become one of my best mates and here I was face to face with my new brother and friend from Munich who is as much of a refuge and outcast with his country as I am with mine. We are pegs that don’t fit in their proper places of any country we visit and have both found ourselves shipwrecked on the forsaken shores of Australia.
Whatever, there in the lobby was my friend with two lovely girls, one from New Zealand and the other from Korea and here we go again with more social awkwardness.
If there is one thing that anyone that has ever met “Heir Deutschland” will say, this guy is a fan of the ladies and they are a fan of him. I don’t for a second deny that when the two combustible elements of the flammable female heart and the kerosene charm of a European man instantly kindles and combusts into something this American observes from afar with his mental long lens Cannon camera like a National Geographic documentionalist. And when this magic happens and the fiery embers of love, lust, or whatever you want to label it jump a few feet away from the fire they have ignited and land a few centimetres from my canvas covered toes, I recognize that I am just happy to be out and about with a girl or girls that have no idea of whatever it is that I am and smiles and talks to me laughing and not fully understanding what foolish things intentionally or unintentionally come out of my mouth. I’m still trying to figure out which is which myself and the sooner it is we part ways with the “oh it was so nice to meet you” side kiss goodbyes the sooner we can both escape unscathed to the rest of our lives.
Anyway, back to Sydney. After friendly introductions The Kiwi (A New Zealander) leads us through the city in a zig zag fashion back towards The Orient Hotel that I was at earlier. I felt like such the Sydney aficionado in my recounting of my extremely fast tracked knowledge of the city. “Oh yes, I had a pot of beer there earlier, a charming place” or with a monocle in my eye, cane in hand, and top hat on my head, “Oh yes, I had a snifter of Heineken there as well, it was swellegant!” They never question how on earth I managed to hit up that many pubs in such a short amount in a city I had never been to in a country I am still a foreigner to. My answer? I’m thorough.
Whether it had been the hunger in her belly, the thirst in her throat or the affection and hope of impression on the heart of our mutual Bavarian friend, the Kiwi led us to a German restaurant just up the street from The Orient on Argyle St, called The Lowenbrau Keller, where we went through an awkward song and dance with the bouncer who refused The German and I saying they were closed but allowed The Kiwi and Korean saying they were open. There was a genital conspiracy taking place and after a while of our acting confused, foreign and in the company two lovely felines we all found ourselves at a long table in front of a lederhosen band of traditional Bavarian songsters, sausages and giant steins of Lowenbrau from Munich. (Well The German and I did anyhow, he had it waiting for me bless his heart) I found I had been pronouncing this beer wrong for years. It’s not “Low en Brow” but “Loo en Broy” and means “Lions Brew”. Now you know too.
Now the girls played a dirty trick on us and said that The Korean didn’t speak English. This resulted in me speaking slow and loud so that she could understand me. That works right? If I were more of an observant man I would have realized that when they were walking they were giggling and TALKING to each other but I was having sensory overload with everything and missed that bit of detail. So it turned out The Korean spoke English which upset The German who from then on addressed her as “Hey Korea”. (They reconciled a few days later) I thought it was pretty funny and something I would try to pull if I knew another language.
After our food, steins, and the most critical of all evening events, the two girls going to the bathroom together, Der Ladiesman and I found ourselves locked in the eyes and everlasting judgement that two girls emerging from a bathroom together cast that only heaven or perhaps the Free Masons know the secret of what exactly takes place. We were off to the Opera House for further critical feline evaluation and study. Boys will be boys and girls will be girls. And the observer becomes the observed.
The Opera House at night is beautiful. Seagulls fly around its top lights and young lovers and tourist’s alike gaze out to the harbour and its many sites. The German and I had to relieve some of the stein we consumed and afterwards found rehydration through a fellow foreigner by named Jose Cuervo whilst out of site of our two accompanists. It was a lovely night with new and lovely friends and it’s exactly how I want to remember my first night in Sydney. I had been growing increasingly negative and cynical over the past few months and Sydney had proven to be a balm to subdue any inflammation of the heart that had been steadily growing. Don’t worry, I’m still a Melbournian all the way. Melbourne is home.
After friendly goodbyes we left our friends at Central Station and I can’t remember what the reason was, perhaps I needed to use the loo, but we ended up back at Jackson’s for an unsaid amount of time and accidentally slipped into a gin and tonic or two. It was Christmas Eve and people were wearing their Santa hats and would stumble around smiling at you. After that we accidently found ourselves at a place that I think was called The Pub where more gin and tonics somehow found their ways down our throats. Gin keeps the mozzies away (mosquitoes) which Sydney didn’t have, but you never know right?
