A sort of homecoming: Part 2

So, let’s get back to the story. With our arrival back home, the craziness really began.

And then there were three!

I was the 24 hour milk bar for Sam, opening every 3-4 hours, around the clock. I had two young toddlers to feed, water, clothe, clean and entertain. I had lists to compile, one for what we had to do in Sydney before we left, another for what we had to do before we arrived in Hobart and another for what we had to do once we arrived there. I had the house to keep clean for prospective tenants to inspect. With a newborn. And two young toddlers who messed everything up the moment my back was turned. Enough said. Several times, I had to clean the house with 15 minutes’ notice, load Sam into the pram and take the three of them down the road to the park while the inspections took place. Often just when Sam needed a feed.

Our spotless kitchen, just before an inspection

Yes, you can probably sense it was a little bit stressful. There was so much planning ahead which my sleep-deprived brain didn’t want or need. Mr PB worked right up to the end. On the Sunday, we threw a party for our friends as a. it was my 39th birthday, b. they wanted to meet Sam and c. they wanted to say goodbye to us after 11 years in Sydney. It was fabulous but an emotional rollercoaster.

Mr PB giving a speech to our friends at the party

Look how tiny Sam's feet are! You can't even see his little head, tucked inside the Baby Bjorn. I held it together until the end, when my best friend and I looked into each other’s eyes and cried. They were intense tears, followed by a long hug which neither one of us wanted to end. It was the end of a sweet, challenging, intense, jam-packed, stressful, glorious time in our lives. Exhausted, we left the detritus of the party on the floor, a mess of wrapping paper and balloons.

The packers arrived the next morning. We whisked the pixies off to daycare and started supervising the packing. Seeing our lives packed up in boxes was confronting. Our privacy disappeared. I had to steal away to the car to give Sam breastfeeds, you know, the newborn ones which can last up to an hour. I had to make sure they didn’t pack our clothes for the next two days. We had to pack up perishable food and flammable products which couldn’t be transported and give them to friends. One couple was the proud beneficiary of our beloved potted frangipanis which we had tended lovingly for 11 years. Another received our two glossy, potted Ficus trees. We had to empty the sandpit of its sand. Much scrubbing of tiled floors was undertaken as the furniture was removed, piece by piece.

The packers left. We looked at our lives, all packed up in boxes to the ceiling. We gave the children a bath, salvaging some beach towels which hadn’t been packed away to dry them. We ordered a pizza as we had given all our food away. We ate off a stray plastic plate which had escaped the packing. Fortunately our beds were still erected. And then we slept. For a little while, on and off, in between six week old Sam’s feeds. The anticipation and anxiety mounted.

We woke, crammed the pixies and all the necessary PB paraphernalia in the car and bid our little home farewell. We knew that we had spent our last night ever there. I glanced in the mirror and shed a tear. We then spent the day at our friends’ house, packing and repacking our luggage for the plane flight, trying to anticipate the pixies’ needs for the flight.

The next morning, we bid our sad farewell to our dear friends and drove to the airport. Parting Sydney was a bittersweet moment as we thought how we had arrived all those years ago, bright young things with high hopes. We were leaving with mixed feelings, worrying that the time wasn’t right and that we could have succeeded raising our little family on our own, whilst also realising in our heart of hearts that it probably would have been too hard and at too great a cost to our health and happiness. There was no one there to farewell us – it was a strange departure after all those years.

After endless waiting in the queue, juggling the three pixies and their requests for food, drink and toilet breaks, we hopped on the plane to Hobart, ready to start the next chapter in our lives. We survived the flight, survival being the operative word as we juggled Sam’s breastfeeds in the cramped seat, toilet stops for Joshua and India and entertaining, feeding and watering them all.

Our plane touched down in Hobart. The next chapter had begun. We descended the steps to the tarmac, clutching hands and PB paraphernalia. We breathed the sweet, fresh Tasmanian air. We trudged over to the terminal where my parents were waiting in great anticipation. Yes, it was a sort of homecoming, a return to the fold. This time, however, we weren’t the newlyweds who had left 11 years before. We were the parents-of-three with a lot of life experience behind us and dreams for a full and contented life ahead with the pixies.

So, there you have it, a little bit more colour about our arrival in Hobart. That was a year ago this week and what a year it has been. Next, I'll fill you in on the surprise which awaited us.

Jane

A sort of homecoming: Part 1

Okay, my lovely followers, all 46 of you (and thank you to those who joined over the weekend). Six weeks into this blogging caper and I’m really enjoying it. I mean really, to the point where I have to keep an eye on myself to make sure it doesn’t become an obsession (I’m just a wee bit tired, this morning)! It’s such a delight to meet like-minded souls like yourselves with similar tastes and interests. After nearly five years on PB, I feel like I’m bursting with inspiration, as if Pandora’s Box has been opened and a thousand butterflies are taking wing. Ah, loveliness!

  

However, I feel that before I can really find my stride, I need to fill you in a little more about my back-story. I’m partial to understanding things in chronological order so here’s a quick thumbnail sketch. We can fill in the gaps later but here’s a start. Settle back – this will be a longer post than normal.

Card of Tasmania by the talented Lisa Kingston of Little and Big K 

Right. I was born and raised in Hobart, the capital city of Tasmania which is the smallest Australian state. It’s an island which means you grow up with a particular island mentality I think only other islanders can really relate to. To me, being a Tasmanian means a complex sense of identity which is a mixture of ‘us and them’ (or the ‘Mainlanders’ – note the capital M – as ‘we’ call ‘them’!), fierce pride, uniqueness, independence, resilience, resourcefulness, sometimes a feeling of being the country cousin or little sibling and a naturalness which I find endearing. Having lived overseas and interstate, I’ve loved this place from afar, mostly passionately but sometimes with a touch of frustration. Being a smaller place brings with it the usual small-town politics and rivalries you find anywhere. In the main, however, Tasmania is a wondrous place, rich in history, blessed with nature and people with a sunny, laconic outlook on life.

I am the eldest of three children born to wonderful parents who worked very hard from humble beginnings to put us all through private school and see us off to university (the first in our families to have done so). They now have three children who are university educated, married with young families, working in good professions and own their own homes. I owe them and their sacrifices a huge debt.

Another Little K creation depicting my hometown of Hobart

Growing up in the 1970s in Hobart was a charmed existence, filled with happy-go-lucky days and freedom, glorious freedom. We would head out on our bikes to the local school playground, build cubby houses, play tennis and invent imaginary worlds, only to return home once it got dark. Today’s ‘helicopter parents’ who hover over their children’s every move didn’t seem to exist back then. Our parents let us make our own way, only assisting when someone fell over and hurt themself or needed some food or drink. Independence was encouraged and we relished it.

Hobart by night

Once school and university days were past, it was almost a rite of passage for us to move to the ‘Mainland’ for work and to experience life in a big city. Ian and I left Hobart for Sydney the week after we married as we had jobs lined up. The day we left, I remember looking at a photo montage I had made of school and university friends. It struck me that of the 60 people in the photos, only one would be left in Hobart once we departed. Extraordinary, isn’t it? Most went to Melbourne, handfuls to Sydney, Brisbane and Perth and quite a few to London to live the expat life.

So I’ve chatted to you before about our decade or so in Sydney. You probably have a feel of how much we enjoyed it. Then, one day, with Sam’s birth imminent, Ian was offered a job in Hobart. It was the job he’d longed for and about the only one which would suit his qualifications in Hobart. He’d worked with multinational companies in a particular field in Sydney and Hobart only had one company which filled the bill. So when the opportunity arose, he wanted to grab it. He saw the opportunity to move our little family back to our hometown where we could raise them in the carefree fashion we had enjoyed. Our parents were growing older with health concerns and it was becoming harder for them to travel to visit us and more expensive for us to see them (given we had to pay adults’ fares for flights once the pixies turned two).

Life in Sydney without family support was becoming harder and more stressful. We couldn’t see how we would be able to afford to upgrade from our two bedroom apartment to a four bedroom house with garden in a pleasant area. Even if I returned to work, it would be tight on two incomes and there would be the stress of finding appropriate childcare and schooling. Life in Sydney on PB was looking rather daunting.

So, two hours before I gave birth to Sam, Ian had another phone interview with the company. It was the kind of phone call which could change your life.

Come on, answer me!

They were determined to encourage him to accept their offer. Strangely, I was ‘not quite’ into the required headspace to enable us to have a rational and considered discussion about the concept of moving back to Hobart. We had always known the time would come when we would have to have ‘that conversation’ but why, I wondered, did it have to be now? Couldn’t it be in six months’ time, when the bleary early days of sleepless nights and baby mayhem had passed? No, was the answer, we need Ian now.

We drove to the hospital, strangely quiet as a. the children were at daycare, b. I was just so ‘slightly’ preoccupied with giving birth, c. we were running late (of all days!) and d. Ian was trying to work out how he was going to support me and the baby in hospital for five days after my caesarean section, look after the children on his own AND in the middle of all that, have another interview for the job. Oh, and he was also in the running for a job with a company only 10 minutes away from home. With a larger salary than the Hobart proposition.

Sam was born later that evening. He was a delightful little fellow and the birth went well. Ian rushed back to the children and the crazy week started. It was a blur of expressing milk around the clock as I waited for Sam to start breastfeeding properly, hormones racing, recovering from my surgery, the pixies visiting (aged only 3 ½ and 1 ½ at the time), worrying that India had come down with swine flu (she hadn’t), rushed visits from Ian when we avoided the ‘job’ topic and my adapting to the reality of being a mother of three under four.

A day after we returned home, Ian flew to Hobart for a third interview. The company was so impressed with him, they offered to pay all our relocation and moving expenses. That clinched it. We had ‘that conversation’. It was hard. There were tears. We made the decision. Hobart-bound we were.

India meeting Sam for the first time

I think it's time to take a little break, my friends. I promise I'll be back to finish tonight!

Jane

Seven things about me

So, how is your weekend going?  It was a real red letter day for me, despite Hobart's steady, ceaseless rain. I had the most unexpected and absolute thrill of being passed the Kreativ Blogger Award by the delightful Ashleigh at Mm is for me. I am so flattered that Ash thought of my little blog. She was one of my first bloggy friends and is the very talented creator of beautiful personalised children's clothing and wall stickers which use phonics. Sam has some of her gorgeous little slippers - I highly recommend her.

This is the first time I have ever participated in a meme but here goes! Here are seven things that you may not know about me.

1. I spent 1989 living in (the then) West Germany as a Rotary Exchange Student. It was a thrilling year to be in Europe as the Soviet Empire started to crumble. I was in both East and West Berlin twice in the months leading up to the opening up of the Berlin Wall on 9 November 1989. I stayed up all night watching the television as history unfolded in front of me, scarcely believing what I was seeing. Extraordinary.

That magical night at the Berlin Wall

2. I am a water girl. Of the 'drink two litres a day' variety. Strictly no coffee. It makes me feel very ill. The same goes for anything mocha flavoured or coffee liqueur chocolates. No tea either, unless it's peppermint or rosehip. And that's very rarely.

3. I am a stickler for good grammar. A pedant, actually. I've read Lynne Truss's 'Eats, Shoots and Leaves' cover to cover. Twice. And made mental notes. Don't torment me with typos. Especially on menus. Oh, and don't get me started on greengrocers' apostrophes! 

4. I still use the Bambi sewing basket my godmother gave me for my 10th birthday. You can tell I'm a child of the 1970s! I think I'll give it to India when she's a little older and buy myself a grownup version.

5. We have an old family story which may be apocryphal - I'm not sure. Apparently one of my forebears owned a substantial amount of real estate in the Melbourne CBD in the 1850s. He then raced off to the goldfields around Ballarat to make his fortune, effectively abandoning his claim to the land. I'm not sure whether he found gold but our family is no longer sitting on a goldmine of land in Melbourne!

6. I have several convict ancestors. Announcing that fact used to be a most embarrassing thing in Australia in the not too distant past. Now people almost hope they had such an interesting heritage! My forebear, Maria Briant, was transported for seven years from England to Van Diemen's Land in 1832 for 'feloniously stealing from her father's dwelling house at Minchinhampton two counterpanes, a shawl and apron, a cap and a pair of stockings, his property'. At least she wasn't a murderer, I suppose!

7. I used to go dragonboat racing in Sydney with the DSA Club. Have you ever heard of that sport? Gee, it's a challenging one. It is an adrenalin-pumping water sport with origins stemming back over 2000 years to the rivers of China. Teams consist of 20 paddlers plus a sweep and a drummer who work together to propel the boat forward for race distances of 200 m, 500 m and 1000 m. The feeling of driving a two tonne boat to the finish line at speeds of over 18 kmh is awesome!

There's me, up the back with the blonde hair and the paddle raised

So, there you go - now you know a little more about me!

Tonight I'm passing on the meme to:

1. My friend Ann at My Villa Life, a delightful insight into life as an expat, journalist mother of two young boys in Auckland and what inspires her. Her crisp writing and amusing insights are a joy to read.

2. The lovely A-M at The House that A-M Built who has provided sweet encouragement to me. She writes beautifully about her life as a mum and wife and indulges in 'realestalking' (her word!).

3. The talented Janette at My Sweet Prints, a mum and graphic designer who creates adorable prints like the Bed Time Bus Roll I wrote about here.

4. The inspirational Corrie at Retro Mummy, a fabulously talented mum to three young children (including twins) with another on the way. Somehow she manages to raise her family, run a fabric shop, teach craft at Notebook Magazine's The Craft Room and blog. She's also managed to find the time to pass on some helpful blogging tips to me.

5. The delightful Sonia at Sunday's Child, a Hobart mum who makes adorable children's clothes and accessories. The pixies all wear her divine creations. She provided me with so much encouragement when I started blogging - thanks, Son!

So, eek! It's late. Time for bed!

Jane

In praise of jacarandas

I can't help myself. So many people are blogging about Spring today. It's got me thinking. With Spring in the air, jacaranda time is approaching in Sydney again. Sadly, it's too cold for them in Hobart so I'll miss the daily joy they bring. They last for months before their pretty petals fade away. I'll have to satisfy myself vicariously by surfing Flickr. A tad obsessively, even.

North Shore jacaranda

I miss the way they carpet the footpath in a lovely mauve haze. Mind you, that also makes the footpath slippery (that's the public liability lawyer in me having a say) but that's a price I'm willing to pay. Even if I had to broom the footpath every day, I would still have one in my garden if I could. Really. Brownie's honour.

Prettying up suburbia

They make the ordinary just that much lovelier, don't you think? They add a zing and zest to everyday sights, just when you don't expect it.

A burst of glorious colour

They take over places, asserting their glorious right to exist, to add joy to the every-dayness of life. They make places their own so we can't imagine life without them there. In that perfect spot. In the corner.

The University of Sydney quadrangle beauty

They fan their lacy loveliness over country laneways, arching here and there. Artfully.

Country loveliness

And then, when they're done, they fall, soundlessly, to the ground, resting there in all their softness. Quite the loveliest litter you've ever seen.

The softest carpet

Ah, jacarandas, how I miss you!

Jane

You know you live in Sydney when...

Approaching Luna Park on the ferry

Just following up on my week of Sydney posts, here's something to chuckle over this weekend. An e-mail on this topic did the rounds some years ago which I've updated and altered, based on our experiences. Some of it is my promised 'what I don't miss about Sydney' list but there are also some things I do miss. Enjoy!

You know you live in Sydney when:

1.    You make over $100,000 a year and still can't afford a house.

2.   You never bother looking at the train timetable because you know the drivers haven't seen it.

3.    You spend more money on your coffee machine than on your washing machine. 

4.    If you stay in a job for more than two years, you're considered unambitious or lazy.

5.    You contemplate calling a taxi from your home to where you managed to park the car the night before.

6.    You slip over on the jacaranda flowers littering the footpath in summer.

A common summer sight

7.    You spend 30 minutes in a traffic jam next to a car with more power to its speakers than its wheels.

8.    You smell the sweet scent of jasmine and know that summer has arrived.

9.    Your taxi driver was a micro-surgeon before he moved to Australia.

10.   A really great parking space in the city can move you to tears.

11.   'Going to the shops' means a 30 minute drive and that seems close.

12.   You have to arrange a 'casual' catchup with friends two months in advance (because they're booked out until then).

13.   You spend $50 on a bunch of flowers which only lasts two days due to the humidity.

14.   Your 13 km bus trip in the 'bus lane' to get to work in the city can take 1 ½ hours.

What a misnomer - it's filled with four wheel drives carrying only the driver. Oh, and the occasional bus.

15.    It costs $26 to park for one hour in a city carpark.

16.    You go to Centennial Park on Mother's Day for a spontaneous picnic and find half of Sydney has had the same idea.

17.    Letting your friends into the queue in front of you can result in threats to your person by the person behind you. Repeated ones.

18.   You wonder why so many people have dead trees in their gardens and then when summer arrives, you realise they are actually frangipani trees.

Just glorious

19.   You attend an auction and the house is sold for at least $100,000 more than the advertised reserve price. On a good day.

20.   Enrolling your newly conceived child at daycare (under 'Name: to be advised') still doesn't guarantee them a place.  By the time they turn two.

21.   You arrive to collect your child at daycare at 6.05 pm and have to pay $10 before your child will be released to you.

22.   Only after paying a non-refundable fee of at least $3,000 can your child be guaranteed a place at a private school. In 2018.

23.   Once your child starts at that private school in 2018, it will cost you at least $20,000 a year (in today's dollars). That's before you add the cost of uniforms and other activities. Per child. In after tax dollars. Don't forget to make a donation to the building fund, either.

St Ignatius College, Riverview

24.   You overhear a mother on the Lane Cove bus telling someone that her son attends boarding school in the next suburb (see Riverview above) and enjoys his visits 'home' on the weekend (here I was thinking that boarding houses were for country children).

25.   You actually consider converting to Catholicism to get a place at a good school for your child.

26.    You rent in the catchment area of a school in order to get your child a place there.

27.    Buying your own house is only possible if you have won Lotto, inherited family money, are a 'colourful Sydney identity' or work at Macquarie Bank.

A Hunters Hill waterfront mansion. What's not to like?

28.    Announcing you are having a third child results in people saying a. "You've very brave. We couldn't afford it." or b. "Haven't you heard about contraception?".

29.    You decide to go away for a holiday on the long weekend and spend one day getting there, one day there and one day returning.

30.     Your return trip home on the Pacific Highway includes a 20 km traffic jam starting at Bulahdelah. With small children and no food or drink. Or clean nappies.

31.     Your elective caesarean date moves according to the obstetrician's children's school holidays or golfing commitments.

32.     Your parking fine costs as much as a week's groceries.

33.     Buying an unrenovated three bedroom house on a small block in an insalubrious area and near a major arterial road costs at least $750,000 - if you're really lucky.

34.     You get honked at for waiting at the traffic lights when the light only turned green a fraction of a second ago.

I swear, it only turned green half a second ago!

 35.     You realise that 'water glimpses of Sydney Harbour' in a real estate advertisement really means that if you stand on the toilet seat in high heels, you'll see a flash of blue in the distance.

36.     You can't believe a government announcement about a new infrastructure project as a. it's already been announced three times before or b. the government never fulfils its promises so it probably won't happen.

37.    You have girlfriends who are in their 30s, attractive, have lots of life experience, have travelled, earn at least $100,000 a year and still can't find boyfriends.

38.     Your only unmarried friends who could be possible partners for those girlfriends are gay.

39.     You have to make 19 phone calls before you can find a private obstetrician to deliver your first child. It happened to a friend of mine. Really.    

40.     A train breakdown on the Sydney Harbour Bridge causes a five hour public transport meltdown across the whole network as the trains grind to a halt. With the passengers trapped inside.

Just pray you're never in the train which breaks down on the Harbour Bridge

41.      The next day the responsible Minister blames the breakdown on a possum getting into a fuse box. And doesn't apologise to the public for the inconvenience.

42.       You decide to drive down to the Eastern Suburbs to watch the start of the Sydney-Hobart yacht race and by the time you arrive, 'Nokia' is crossing the finish line in Hobart. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration but it is likely that you'll be stuck in traffic when the starting gun fires.

43.       You realise that the car parked with hazard lights doesn't require assistance - the owner has just ducked into the shop to buy some milk.

44.       You sit under Mrs Macquarie's Chair at the Open Air Cinema on a balmy summer evening to watch a film and thank your lucky stars you live in Sydney.

The ultimate summer thrill

45.       You take a long cut via the North Shore and the Gladesville Bridge rather than pay the $4 Harbour Bridge toll.

46.       The only time Sydneysiders seem to notice the presence of the Sydney Swans is if they're playing in the Grand Final. Then everyone's an expert.

The famous 2005 victory

47.       The first question you're asked when people meet you is "Where do you live?". Based on that information, they will probably make quick assumptions about your income level, political leanings and whether it's worth getting to know you.

48.       You find out more about your friends on Facebook status updates than you do in real life as you're too busy to meet up with each other that often.

49.      You forget to ask the waiter for tap water and end up being charged $20 for a bottle of French still water. That really happened to us once.

50.      You have to move interstate to buy a reasonable house, find places at inexpensive private schools and babysitters who don't charge $20 an hour. Okay, well, that was just us!

I'm sure there are plenty more you could think up. Why don't you join in the fun and add some as comments? Let's see who can come up with the funniest one!

* Rewound on Weekend Rewind  at Life in a Pink Fibro on 26 November 2010.

Life in Sydney in the noughties: Part 4

Okay, let's wrap up this little meander through our 11 years in Sydney by looking at how we spent our free time once the pixies arrived and we moved to Planet Baby. Our whole compass shifted in both the metaphorical and literal senses. As any parent would tell you, your life is never quite the same. Or same, but different. Suddenly our relationship with time altered. Spontaneity all but disappeared. Planning was essential (often many anticipatory steps ahead). Organisation was required (including stocking the nappy bag with bottles of cooled, boiled water, formula, nappies, wipes, nappy bags, dummies, changes of clothes, toys and snacks). Our trusty Peg Perégo pram lived in the car boot, ready to go. Routines ruled and once pixie number two arrived, the endless juggling game started (let alone with number three!).

The pram loaded up with precious cargo at Balmoral Beach

Our radius of travel from home shortened significantly to fit in around the pixies' sleeping and eating requirements. Instead of venturing out of the weekend for a two hour drive down to picturesque Bowral, Mittagong or Berrima (do visit The Gumnut Patisserie there for their delectable cupcakes and  lamb and rosemary pies), we found ourselves discovering our local area a lot more. 

Travelling on the ferries became a favourite pastime for the pixies from a young age (what a surprise!). It was fun catching it from Woolwich and over to Balmain to play at the park at the end of the peninsula, right next to the ferry terminal, and then back.

One year old India outside on the ferry

Joshie at Thornton Park, Balmain

A rare shot with Mummy at Balmain

Playgrounds became our favourite haunts. We road tested them for safety, variety, whether they had activities for all the pixies with their differing ages and most importantly, whether there was a nearby cafe for Mummy and Daddy! We were thrilled when the Council built a new playground at Ryde Park, right near our home. And, yes, it has a café too!

Joshua and India having fun at Ryde Park

We joined the fabulous Canada Bay Library (do check it out if you live nearby - we were able to join, even although we lived in the adjacent Council area) and whiled away many lazy Saturday afternoons with the pixies, searching for the week's latest finds.

India enjoying the library

We hunted out child friendly cafés with enough room for the pixies to run (or crawl) about safely. We picnicked in the glorious Royal Botanic Gardens and fed the hungry ducks after reading the delightful 'Alexander's Outing' by Pamela Allen.

"Now, which one is Alexander, Mummy?"

We introduced the pixies to Cremorne Point's delights.

With three week old India at Cremorne Point

Joshua at Cremorne Point

All up, we found Sydney great for getting around with the pixies, as long as we didn't plan too much for the one day. I'd love to hear about your favourite haunts with littlies - let's compare notes!

Jane

Rewound on 30 January 2011 at Allison's Life in a Pink Fibro

Living in Sydney in the noughties: Part 3

Some of you have told me that this made you feel nostalgic, remembering the Olympic glory days when Sydney actually seemed to work properly!  I agree, in the past decade or so, Sydney has sadly slipped down the 'liveability' scale (note to self: do a post about 'The things I don't miss about Sydney'). That said, in the main, we generally loved our time there. It neatly divided into two halves - pre-Planet Baby as DINKs (double income, no kids) and on Planet Baby as SITKs (I made that one up for single income, three kids. Someone needs to think up a snappier acronym!).

So when I wasn't doing this, what did we get up to as DINKs in Sydney? Well, we spent many hours relaxing beachside. Sydney has a plethora of beaches, given its position hugging the coast. Bondi and Manly are probably the best known but we found them too big and crowded for our liking. Finding parking on the weekends, particularly at the eastern suburbs beaches, was also a trial as they were so popular.

Walking the promenade past Bathers

We preferred the charming Balmoral, near Mosman, with its famed Bathers Pavilion (one of our favourite haunts), soft white sand and long promenade which was perfect for strolling along, admiring the view. We kayaked there from The Spit, pulling up onto the sheltered beach and eating scrummy fish and chips from the Bottom of the Harbour on the grass or the sand, the water lapping at our feet. Priceless. Picnicking on the grass under the shady Moreton Bay figs was also a highlight, watching the brightly coloured sails of yachts and ferries pass through into Sydney Harbour.

Dining out with friends was a favourite pastime. Sydneysiders are spoilt for choice with the vast array of cuisines on offer.  Given our penchant for all things French, one of our preferred haunts was the delightful Tabou in the famed Crown Street, Surry Hills.

Isn't it just divine?

The service was always impeccable and discreet and the food delectable, without fail. I rarely strayed from my favourite choices - a Kir Royale to start (champagne and créme de cassis), the twice baked gruyère and goat's cheese soufflé, the sirloin steak with café de Paris sauce, frites and salad and the crème brulée. Heaven!

We also adored whiling away lazy afternoons, picnicking at picturesque Cremorne Point on the North Shore of the Harbour, just opposite the striking Sydney Opera House and the towering Sydney Harbour Bridge. We'd stop under one of these trees, spread out our picnic rug, savour a glass of riesling and just gaze for hours at the loveliness in front of us.

Our vantage spot from Cremorne Point

Tucked below, directly on the water's edge, was MacCallum Pool, surrounded by a timber deck. According to North Sydney Council, it was originally just a rock pool created by local residents to form a safe harbour swimming hole. In my opinion, it's one of the prettiest harbourside pools in Sydney.

Simply stunning MacCallum Pool at Cremorne Point

Ian enjoyed having a dip there in summer but I never did. I know they clean it regularly but the water looked a little, er, green for me! So, life as DINKs in Sydney in the noughties was fun. Tomorrow, I'll wrap up this little yarn about Sydney by having a chat about our life there whilst on Planet Baby. Good night!

Jane

Living in Sydney in the noughties: Part 2

Right, so back to the 2000 Sydney Olympics. I was so delighted to be chosen to be a volunteer. My grandfather had represented Australia in the rowing at the 1948 London Olympics - this was the closest I'd get to having an Olympic experience! As the preparations started, my excitement mounted. I was fitted for my fetching uniform (now safely stored away for the children to have a giggle over and the jacket not worn since, which is more than I can say for some volunteers), had TAFE training and was given a free travel pass. Here I am, resplendent in all my (ahem!) glory.

All kitted out (and in yellow, no less, my least favourite colour)

Remember the thrill of watching the Opening Ceremony? I'm sure most of you could remember where you watched it. Having missed out in the ballot for tickets, like so many others, we attended an Olympic dress-up party with friends and cheered on Cathy Freeman lustily. Who could ever forget this moment?

Lighting the cauldron

Then the fun started. I was assigned to work in 'Spectator Services' at the Sydney Convention Centre at Darling Harbour where the boxing, weightlifting, fencing, judo and taekwondo took place. Each day, we were assigned different tasks such as assisting with the security checks (so basic in those pre-September 11 days), collecting tickets at the doors, roving around Tumbalong Park directing people to the venues, checking media accreditation before journalists entered the media hub and manning entrances to the competition areas.

I found the latter most challenging and even confronting. You see, I am a shorty (only 155 cm). When I was looking at the navel of a sweaty boxer with bloodied bandages on his hands who was yelling at me in Turkmen (I only knew because of his accreditation) and wanted to enter a forbidden zone with all his burly entourage, then being short suddenly seemed a problem. Not talking Turkmen was as well! Anyway, using international sign language (my hand held out in a stop sign and much head shaking) did the trick but it was stressful!

They got the message, eventually

They were long, tiring but exhilarating days. I really felt part of something big. Towards the end, some of the volunteers dropped out and the State government used paid State employees as 'volunteers' - it didn't go down well with all those who had donated paid leave to volunteer. Anyway, that minor issue aside, volunteering was a blast. Going to work in between shifts (we had 7 am starts and 3.30 pm finishes) and attending Olympic events, not to mention having my two siblings to stay and entertain, made for a crazy and memorable fortnight.

Enjoying the Closing Ceremony

It was capped off by our being given free tickets for the brilliant Closing Ceremony and the fabulous tickertape parade through the city streets. The latter was absolutely thrilling as we marched through the streets with Sydneysiders waving thank you posters and yelling out praise as the tickertape rained down on us from the offices above.

Yes, that's me!

The crowd was so warm and welcoming that I had goosebumps.

And thank you back!

There's not much left in the city of Sydney to remind us of the Games now. Most of the painted electric blue marathon line has been painted over as cyclists were slipping on it in the rain. The three striking wire mascots atop the Centrepoint Tower have been moved to Sydney Olympic Park. There's a sculpture at Darling Harbour and that's about it, which is a great shame, not to mention that the trains no longer run on time. Of course, Sydney Olympic Park has many permanent reminders including poles with the volunteers' names. It's fun to show my name to the pixies!

Next, I'll conclude this little series of musings on life in Sydney in the noughties.

Jane