Sydney-Fling

Oh, fine little internet. Isn't it funny how you can just log on and fall in and doodle about for a seemingly unlimited amount of time and then something happens like a bird flying into a screen glass door and you're snapped back into reality, suddenly asking yourself, "Now what did I get on here to do?" Wretched little cybersnare.

At any rate, I will try at this present point in time to inform the general population of the universe about my recent trip to Sydney and the various and sundry things that happen there. Hopefully I can manage not to be too long winded, since I kind of hoped to do about 1/2 my research for my exegesis paper this afternoon and have only read one commentary (again, I blame the internet). Well, we spent just about all of Friday on the train, but then on Saturday we got up and managed to get out of our hosel (such as it was) fairly quickly and headed right for the Harbor. Most of that morning was spent at that indomitable edifice, the Sydney Opera House. I have to say, I have seen a fair number of famous buildings in my time, but I think from here on out I will have a very special corner of my heart reserved for the soaring lines and vaulted spaces of the SOH. It seems funny to most of us now to think of the controversy that surrounded the planning of this building, as well as the public scorn it was met with initially, before becoming the emblem not only of Sydney, but of all things Australian. It is, obviously, a very unorthodox design, but brilliantly executed and so sensible when you learn more about it. The design for those large and characteristic arches are drawn from a perfect geometric sphere, so the ceiling can be made almost entirely from concrete (great for accoustics) and yet not need any interior supports that would obscure the view of an audience. The curved ceilings of the concert hall, the intimate spaces of the playhouse, the Australian hardwood paneling, all of this was engineered for the purpose for which the SOH was built. Even the multitude of stairs, based of the idea of stepped Mayan temples, were fully intentional, indending to carry the idea of ascending away from the common world into the fantastic world of the theater.

And for me, that is the heart of the Opera House, not just a great feat of engineering, but a truly beautiful building. It sits out on it's own platform over the sparkling water of the harbor, admired from both sides and all angles (I should know, we saw pretty much all of them). The clean white lines hover over the waters, resting serenly as a gull on a rock. Yet the hard-edges and dramatic curves give it a sense of power, of calmly suspended motion, and if it ever springs back into the action from which it seems to be resting, the city better watch out. I love the way in which the building draws together the ancient and modern, curves and angles, movement and stillness, land and sea. There is something quite magical for me about a space entirely devoted to creation, to splendid music, the soundtracks of humanity, and to the creation of fantasy worlds, to the telling of our stories (because Medea, Twelfth Night, The Dollhouse, Death of a Salesman, and 6 Characters in Search of an Author are as much my stories as they are anyone's). Perhaps part of the design is meant to capture that wild and unearthly spirit of the Arts, the participation in the creative process, both grueling and divine.

We spent a great deal of time that day in and around the SOH; it rapidly becomes very difficult to tear yourself away. The rest of the day was spent happily exploring The Rocks district arts market, clambering over the harbor bridge, trying to dodge the crowds of brides that infest the area, having their pictures snapped. That evening we met up with a friend of Katie's at her college, they were having a fall party. It was a nice party, lots of food and the girls who planned it spent a lot of time coming up with games and entertainment for everybody. It was nice, but a little disconcerting since it was an entire party full of people that I didn't know, and I'm not the kind of person who likes to invest time and energy and risk my fragile self-esteem putting myself out there to make friends if I'm only in town for one night. But still, nice party.

The next day we were up and out bright and early to attend the much famed and controversial Hillsong Church! It was an interesting experience, just to see how my response to the whole idea has changed since my time in London. It was in fact, completely identical to the Hillsong church I attended while I was in London, as all Hillsong churches are entirely identical to each other. They are good for what they are, but I have more problems with the whole idea than I did a couple years ago. The worship is nice, but it really honestly is awfully concert-like, and sometimes I do feel like I'm being manipulated. Why is this the case when I'm on their turf, and not true when we sing Hillsong music at my home church or at school? I don't know. Also, I thought it was really funny that in a city that is as multi-cultural as Sydney, everyone on the worship team was Caucasian. The message was interesting too. A woman spoke on Psalm 103, about all the benefits that we have as Christians, about how we don't need to live in fear that life will be awful because God doesn't really love us or want us to have good things. A good message, but I was kind of nervous because the whole framework in which she put her message was our entitlement as the people of God, our right of access to the blessings of God. I don't really believe that the Christian life is a kind where we go around with our hands out all the time, demanding things from God on the basis of his promise. God knows that most Christians do not need their sense of entitlement to be further inflated. I don't want to be overly critical, because the individual points were excellent and well made and passionately supported, but I felt like the framework of the whole message was one that was so theologically unstable.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at the beaches. I could write a whole other entry on Australian beaches, let me just say, this isn't your average American day out. The weather was beautiful, though not quite hot enough to make braving the icy water altogether worth it, so we didn't spend much time swimming. The beaches themselves were gorgeous as well though, and it felt good to lay out in the sun and just not have to think about anything for awhile, except maybe what our friends were doing in drizzly Melbourne or frigid Houghton. :-)

That night was one of paramount hilarity, but I think I could not possible make it make sense here, since we were so jagged from eating almost nothing but pancakes and candy for the past couple of days, so we generally staggered around laughing like drunkards and everything struck us as funny. We spent a great deal of time stumbling around in the dark of the Royal Botanic Gardens, looking for the fabled "Mrs. Maquarie's Chair." We may or may not have found it in the end, it was honestly too dark to be altogether sure. But we did come to a chair shaped bunch of rocks that had the name Maquarie carved in the back, so our reaction to the semi-failure of our little quest is best summed up by Misty's immortal words: "This looks like a frickin' chair. I'm sitting in it!"

Our last day in Sydney we took a train out to the Blue Mountains. The Blue Mountains do, in actual point of fact, manage to look respectably blue. Something about a gas that's emitted from the gum trees that cover everything and hangs over the valley and horizons, giving a blue cast to every particle of light that ventures into the valleys. I love the Blue Mountains. The horizons are hazy and full of alluring and beckoning possibilities. The trees form a thick carpet over everything that can be see from the lookouts, displaying a myriad of green shades and textures. White cockatoos can be seen winging their way somewhere far, far below you. The Blue Mountains would be a place that I can see myself returning to, getting lost in those mists for a few years and discovering every nook and cranny of, eventually coming to fully own it and allow it to own some bits of me as well.

After we returned from the Blue Mountains, after stopping for a 60 cent soft-serve cone from Hungry Jack's (aka Burger King, for those of you who are stateside) we were back on the train for the 11 hour overnight push to Melbourne. And tomorrow morning...we turn right around again and leave for our weekend field trip to the Great Ocean Road. Yeah, it's a rough life, I can tell ya...