Sydney great for diets...

And I thought that Melbourne was unique with its Chocalholic walking tours! Sydney sets up quite a challenge by promoting it's 'chocolate bars'... that is cafes specialising in chocolates and chocolate beverages. Of course there is Max Brenner (one of my Melb faves), but they also offer a Guylian 'bar' in the Rocks and a Lindt 'bar' at Darling Harbour. What a pity that lap banding suits gooey melted hot chocolate drinks!

I would also like to visit that shop that was on Masterchef last week with the Belgian chocolates and expert chocolatier but my dear son didn't catch the guys name and I haven't googled Masterchef... I know I can and I probably will before I fly home for Tuesday!

(No nasty comments Melburnians but I am seriously toying with the idea of flying back on Thursday after supervision through until Saturday. My justification. The ASAL AGM is on Friday! Well that's the best I can do, if the cheap $48 virgin fares aren't enough justifucation, and I have a place to stay so no accommodation costs... There I've put it in writing... I think it is now confirmed.)

The only comfort is that Sydney needs lots of pavement pounding to get anywhere, if you are trying to see the sights, feel the vibe and avoid the ubiquitous underground stations, which I definitely am keen to miss. What's the point of sitting down all day in Uni rooms if I can't muster up enough energy to get out and about in the down times? As I have learned over the years I cannot absorb six or more papers a day. This is particularly true now when my entire waking consciousness is concerned with opening up my laptop and pounding out 30,000 words for my supervisor this week.

Yet, I am also aware of how perilously close I came to hospitalisation again days ago. I refuse to let stress drie me into feelings of worthlessness and clinical depression. I am here to enjoy living, even if that means the bloody PhD is delayed further. I want to be alive to rea the rewards, and they will come along... but just more slowly than the 'outsiders' want.

It is here I should thank my Sydney partner in crime, dearest N. Without you I would have forgotten that I am a person, a grown woman who can determine her own future no matter what happens at my Uni. I have a life to look forward to, an 'old' body being rediscovered and a sense that I do actually have intrinisc value as a human being.

Thus I can happily tuck in to the hot chocolate and champagne without guilt trips. How nice to be accepted by friends for what you are instead of judged by how you look. Why did I have to travel 800 ks to discover this? And why so late into the PhD journey?

So what does my Sunday's rebellion offer? The 17th Sydney biennale, of course. I have never been to Cockatoo Island, and have only glimpses sight of it from a ferry. So today with the sun peaking through for a warm day (17C... remember I am from Melbourne so this is mild winter weather), N and I have selected to brave the crowds and hope that the free entry doesn't bring Sydneysiders out in their thousands for the modern art installations. Of special interest to me is probably one that I am going to find discomforting, an Italian artist has literally hung a stuffed horse from the roof of one gallery. I am unsure what he is on about but will tell you after seeing Novacentro 'in the flesh', so to speak.

Speaking of artists penchant for hanging things from roofs, there is another artist who has dangling Ford motor vehicles from the roof, each pierced with some representations of light beams. And of course I want to see that warplane suspended as a crucifix... no explanation needed here.


Bring it on... and if the Island is too busy, the fall back plan is to go to the State Library to check out the winners from the world press photos for 2010, and then hopefully an evening performance of either Long Days Journey into Night, with William Hurt and Robyn Nevin, or god old Tony Warlow and Siggy Thornton in A Little Night Music. However, if these are sold out a trip to the fun Belvoir Street is on the table also.

Oh yeah, and I also have to do some writing today.

Happiness in Emerald City

I could never live here but each time I set foot on Sydney soil I feel liberated and transported into a fantasy world. One should never blog drunk, but tonight I am breaking this rule. I am "merry" and high on the whole sensuality of this City. It may be grey and winter, and already I am sick of the smart arse comments about 'Melbourne weather' but Sydney has a special place in my heart. It is gauche, her people parochial to the extreme, but the City has a charm that delights both Aussies and overseas visitors alike.

Sydney is more than the picture postcard vistas, despite me using a shot from the harbour looking back over Bennelong Point. For me it is the MOMA shop, the Opera House playhouse theatre, The Warf and the STC, Belvoir Street and Company B, the Cross and her seedy in your face night life, and the quiet of the Tea Rooms in Darling Harbour. Add to this the intensity of the hawkers in Chinatown, the tackiness of Paddy's Market (pticularly its one tram), and the stately buildings fronting the Domain. Above all I love that the Unis are all so central (UTS, Sydney University and Uni of NSW). It feels like an intellectual capital city.

The hotel rooms is exactly the same as elsewhere, clean, neat unoffensive ultra-modrn lines, ubiquitous abstract art and 'tasteful' bathroom cosmetics and fluffy white towels. I think I was born for at least four star environments and room service.... this is my version of doing it on a budget. As one ages, a certain amount of comfort is necessary (heated pools, fitness and business centres and 24 hour room service). But I really hate the fact that now the bar fridge is computerised so there is no chance of guiltily devouring a chocolate bar as the munchies hit and replacing it with a Safeway special. How much do I crave that chocolate? I admit I would prefer Belgium to Cadbury's with palm oil, but there is something about that fridge with its temptation and feeling of transgression.

Ah transgression, that is the magic of being away from home. I am suddenly free. Free to do what I like, when I like and no explanations to anyone and NO GUILT. I am 'me' unencumbered and living for the moment.

The sensible me says I should attend all Conference sessions and take copious notes yet the practical me says that I am only here for the networking. It's not cheap but I think it is a good investment. Also Conferences bring out the liberated youth in all participants, away from all 'normal' constraints and responsibilities. You get to meet people at their most honest, raw and open. I adore these moments. I guess I live for these moments of liberation. How many Conferences can I justify each year? And how do I justify to myself my need to get in early and just experience being here, in the moment, before the actual dates of the talk-fest? Why do I have to? Why do I feel guilty?

This is exactly what I need to feel re-charged and motivated after a period of self-doubt and uncertaincy. Here I can be manic without people judging me and fearing for my well being. I can live my life in colour at last. I need this. I will return home ready to tackle the hard stuff. I will have been 'me' for a few days without fearing people's judgement or treading carefully because they fear that I am 'mad'. I can just be. I love being away from home.