I've been having some serious problems with my eyes and head and neck. I can't remember if that was mentioned in my previous blog. I can't check because my telecommunications are on a world war ration in order to save money. So this morning, a little panicked, I rang up Specsavers in the city and booked the earliest appointment. Thankfully, the Aussie chap on the phone was very considerate when I told him it was fairly urgent. I had less than an hour before I had to leave so I quickly threw my things on and packed a bag heading out towards Central Station quite stupidly without much of an idea how I was going to get to the place.
I bought my return ticket and ran through the barrier and down the escalator in a true self important business man way, but when I reached the platform, I realised I'd gone onto the wrong line. And so sheepishly, I had to go back to the main part of the station, losing my return ticket through the barrier and getting more and more worked up as the time until my appointment was quickly narrowing. I asked a lady who worked at the ticket desk which train I would need to get in order to arrive at Hunter Street and she shrugged, staring blankly at the perspex screen between us. After she assured me that she was completely useless, I thanked her with exceptional sarcasm and tried to find a map of all the various stations. I ended up ringing Specsavers and asking them the easiest way to get to them and thankfully they were most helpful and I was able to get on a train pretty quickly.
When I arrived at Martins Place (the station, not a man), I walked around for a bit and asked a few people for directions until I found the shop, which uncharacteristically was hiding amongst all the high rises. The optician was very kind and upbeat and ran several tests on my eyes to make sure there was nothing wrong. And there wasn't. He advised me to see if the headaches get a little better, but if not I should probably consult a GP so they can run some more tests. Of course, this is out of the question as even with my travel insurance, I'd still have to front the medical costs until I got back to the UK. So it's a case of crossing fingers and just getting on with it.
I thought I'd make the most of my time in the city centre (not the hostel is more than a five minute walk to the action anyway), and started off in a McDonalds with a big frozen Fanta. I thought I'd try and head to the Australian Museum as I had a coupon for twenty percent off, but I ended up at St Mary's Cathedral. The architecture of course was no match for the historic medieval beauties of Blighty, but it was still impressive, standing on the grass and surrounded by hotels and restaurants in 'Hyde Park'. The door was open so I thought I'd go in and have a look. The inside was so very peaceful and settling. I walked around the walls of the building looking at the colourful stained glass windows and the detailed paintings and the yellow tinted vaulted ceiling and I lit a candle before taking a seat right at the back and surrounding myself in the tranquility. There were lots of other people sat, looking, kneeling, praying and others getting chased out after taking a picture and the flash giving their position away. As I contemplated leaving, afternoon mass began and so I decided to stay and listen. I didn't join in with any of the kneeling and I didn't know how you were supposed to respond to words and prayers so I just sat and listened intently to the story of Moses and the prayers for those around in the world in conflict and disaster.
I was thankful that the whole thing didn't go on for too long as I'd suspected it might. I left and headed again towards the museum but was distracted by the Anzac memorial. Anzac, from what I read, it the collective name for the Australian and New Zealand armies who fought from World War one until the present. It was a scaled down version of the Shrine of Remembrance that I'd visited with Mikey in Melbourne, with a small exhibition of war memorabilia telling a snippet of people's stories, and then up to a large round tower with stone scriptures and a torch that would never go out in memory of those who had died. I took a few pictures but then carried on my search for the museum.
I finally found it and went inside. There was an exhibition on the Aboriginal people, on wildlife native to Australia working back to extinct animals and eventually ending up with a big dinosaur display. There were lots of fossils and a lot of very detailed pieces on various spiders which I spent time looking over with a very morbid curiosity. The only thing that I can really recall from the top of my head is that boomerangs are generally not meant to return. They are used for hunting, and the ones that do return are either for use in games, or to scare birds out of the trees. That, and Australia is really trying to promote the work and craftsmanship of the Aboriginal tribes, and if what you buy is authentic and actually created by and Aboriginal, it should come with a photo and a story of the person who made it.
I stayed at the museum until closing, at which point the rain decided to fall, and it fell hard. I didn't have the motivation to run and become entangled in the bodies and their protective covers, so I sauntered, stopping at WoolworthsMcDonalds for my dinner because I was drenched and not really in the mood to walk about looking for something nutritious and cheap and from there I walked to the subway station, Town Hall, shivering and looking miserable as the traffic lights had no cover and were very very slow to change. By the time I got back to the hostel, I was completely soaked.
So, I've been sewing this evening. Sewing and getting my things ready for the Blue Mountains tomorrow and charging up all my electronic appliances. Fingers and toes crossed the weather will get better for tomorrow or I can already predict that I shall spend the day in a foul mood...
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