New Years Eve Sydney
If you have to spend New Years Eve anywhere it might as well be Sydney Harbour. I am no fan of this night of revelling: too noisy, crowded and too many transport problems for my taste. In fact – to extend the Rust ‘be there or at home’ debate to New Years Eve – I suspect a great number of our contributors would like to be tucked in bed by 11 pm. Certainly me.
As ever the anticipation of the event surpassed the event itself.
A ship holding 200 with free alcohol and food has been commissioned. As we witnessed the first firework show at 9.00 pm and watched the lit Opera House and Bridge, not to mention other ships in the harbour, it was indeed a spectacular setting.
At midnight our Sir Ben Ainslie of a skipper had manoeuvred our boat into prime position in front of the bridge only for another boat to block totally our view!
We returned to port at 1.00 am but another boat got there first, its passengers disembarked slowly and we did not get off the boat until 1-40. So many streets were blocked off to stop the terrorist threat that our little group of seven succeeded in getting lost and having to cross a three-lane expressway or take a subway to reach our hotel.
It was 2-20 before I climbed into bed and it will be a much a longer time before I ever aim to be out on New Years Eve again.
The last time I was in Sydney was New Years Eve in 2006. I retired at 10.00 and the following morning got up at 6.00 for a walk around the rocks for a view of the bridge and opera house to welcome the new dawn and the new year. This time I merely had a headache from the rap music blasting out from the boat disco.
There was one amusing moment I will share with my reader.
I sat myself down and, as is my custom, did not move. An oriental lady of exquisite beauty sat down next to me, her boyfriend having been purloined by an American in order to explain in some detail the marketing advantages of Instagram to Facebook. I pointed out to my neighbour that her boyfriend might need rescuing, to which she answered “He enjoys this type of conversation”.
In fact I had a hidden motive. For some inexplicable reason I had a tea spoon in my hand. When she had sat down her bottom landed on my hand and said teaspoon. Fearing some charge of sexual harassment, I dared not move it. Eventually I yanked my hand clear and the girl saw the tea spoon underneath her, which both caused her considerable amusement and gave much needed blood to my paralyzed hand.
That is how I will remember New Years Eve on Sydney Harbour.