I have just spent nine days in Sydney with Jik, having the bestest time of my life, and now that I am on my way home, the only thing on my mind is getting through my own front door and slathering myself in the tons of skincare I bought at Sephora on Black Friday. After two years of skipping my annual Sydney trip, thanks to Covid, this one didn’t feel like a holiday so much as a recharging treat.
The Sydney girls’ trip is one of the constants of my life. 2013, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2019, and now this one. Practically every year except 2014 and the Covid years. It has never once been the same trip twice, and I think that is the whole point. We enable each other. We say yes to things without checking in with the sensible part of our brains first, and somehow it always comes out nourishing rather than reckless.
I am tired, though. I have told you that already; I know. I was awake before my alarm every single morning, and Sydney was hot in the way that flattens a body trained on Melbourne weather.
A quick public service announcement before I go any further. If you are ever stranded at Sydney Domestic Airport, take refuge at Watermark Bookstore. You can browse the books, rest, recharge yourself and your electronics, and sit in the adjoining cafe with a glass of wine and the bare minimum cake selection. Bare minimum, but it counts. How I wish Melbourne Domestic had something similar.
Something I noticed while I was in there with my Fujifilm: why do you almost never see anyone with a camera at an airport? Everyone shoots on their phone, which I understand, and I am the last person to argue with the line that the best camera is the one already in your hand. Still. An airport is such a liminal space. All that waiting, all those faces, and nobody is photographing any of it.
I do not usually eat on domestic Qantas flights, but I said yes this time because the food on the way up was good, and it was good again. So if you have landed on this post because you typed “Qantas Sydney Melbourne” into a search bar, let me tell you the flights are worth taking for the food alone. And a shout-out to Zanthe and Melanie, the crew on this one. Impeccable service. You both deserve a promotion, a raise, and a generous stretch of paid leave.
I have been listening to Bad Table Manners for most of the flight. There are only ten episodes, and I have worked through every one of them, so I need to check whether anything new has dropped.
I have never understood why I don’t write about the people sitting beside me, as though they aren’t interesting enough. They are. Today it was the woman with the far-too-long fake nails, who tried and failed several times to photograph the view out of the window (yes, I judged), and the woman on my other side in cargo pants, very pretty, watching the Kardashians and ordering a soda. Also judged, and I am fully aware of what that says about me.
A couple in the food court were curious about me. Properly curious, the sort who ask questions and then actually listen to the answers. They also had extraordinary stories of their own. When I told Jik about them, she said she thinks it works the other way around: they have had an amazing life because they are curious. Curious about strangers, curious about the world in general, curious enough to ask. And so life keeps handing them material. I kind of understand her point.
Hello from Qantas flight QF212, Sydney to Melbourne
Random thought at cruising altitude: it is a privilege, and something worth celebrating, to walk out of the house confidently without a single item of make-up on your face. It took me a long time to get comfortable being bare-faced in public, and I know that comfort is not something everyone has been handed. I am grateful for it. None of which stops me from wanting to be scrubbed, plucked and massaged the second I land.
I have the house to myself for the next few days, which means the options are pretty much limitless. I am going to start with tteokbokki tonight, assuming I can muster the energy for it. After that, all I want to do is watch Sex and the City and shamelessly recreate one episode at a time for my culture and food writing posts.
Also, a question I cannot put down: does becoming vegetarian mean you actually end up eating more vegetables? Because that is a fairly inviting proposition at the moment.
I am aware this entry has gone everywhere. That is what happens when I am this tired and this far off a straight line. Focus is a value I claim to hold dear. Clearly not at 30,000 feet.
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