Beaching around Sydney in a ’50s swimsuit
January 11, 2004 | 12:00am
I created history for myself when I finally flew out of town last Christmas with hubby and son, and without bringing a yaya. I am too embarrassed to say how old my son is because it will show my skills – or rather my metamorphosis – as a mom. But bringing a yaya or not is subject to debate at times. Those in favor say that you need a yaya so you can relax or what is a vacation for if you can’t relax? Those who say don’t bring a yaya feel that it would be a great time for bonding between parents and children. And those who are uprightly against bringing a yaya are the generation of mothers who took care of 10 kids all by themselves. "You should be ashamed of yourself. You have only one..."
Believe it or not, I managed without a yaya. Of course, it helped that Sydney is a child-friendly city. Not only are there wide sidewalks, beautiful parks and fascinating museums that kids will love (steam locomotives at the Powerhouse Museum at Darling Harbour and dinosaur bones at the Australian Museum), but there are burgers, fries, pizza and milkshakes galore. We stayed at an apartment hotel and it also helped that they provided free coffee, milk, bread, butter and jam, and cereal every morning so we didn’t have to bother with buying food or going to a coffee shop for breakfast. It was my husband who prepared breakfast every morning (surprise! – he was making up for his sins throughout 2003) while I was in charge of the yelling part to get my son off the TV and jump into the shower.
What helped even more was that the chambermaid turned out to be an immigrant from China. I attempted to speak to her in my broken Mandarin just to practice what I learned 25 years ago at the Immaculate Conception Academy. Lo and behold, the chambermaid was so happy to have found someone who could speak her language that she gave us extra pints of milk every morning for free. Anyone who has tasted milk from Australia knows how good it is. My son gulped them down like a Russian would finish off his vodka. As long as my son has his milk, he’s like a contented cow and that keeps him quiet for the next two hours.
Many a guidebook on Australia would tell you that the first white settlers in the country were British convicts and their families and they arrived in the 18th century. A Pinoy friend of ours who migrated to Sydney three years ago told us that Aussies don’t like hearing that story when it comes from the mouth of non-Aussies, but they can joke about it among themselves. I suppose the feeling is the same with all of us. For example, Chinoys don’t like to be called "Instik" by non-Chinoys, but you can hear Chinoys telling each other, "You are too Instik!" or "You are no longer Instik!"
Convicts or no convicts, Sydney has become a bustling, cosmopolitan, efficient and super clean city of various cultures. If you compare Sydney to Metro Manila, you’d think that it is our city that is run by convicts, what with our garbage and potholes and everyone trying to make a fast buck. There are many Pinoys in Sydney, like there are many Pinoys in every corner of the globe. In one of the travel guides I read on Sydney, there is a section on the different cultures in this city, and the portion on Filipinos says, "Over 60 percent of this rapidly expanding migrant group arrive as brides of Australian men." I wish the book could’ve said something else, but reality is reality. Speaking of marriage, they say that the best combination in a marriage is a Caucasian male and a Pinay. The Pinay is generally not into women’s rights, which can irk some men, and will do everything to have a nice home and make her husband happy. On the other hand, the Caucasian male will not just sit around and wait for his wife to serve him; he will help with the household chores. I do not know where I belong. The last time I handled a bread toaster was in college.
Our night receptionist at the apartment hotel was – I told you they’re everywhere – a Pinay. Because of her, I was able to get an extra share of daily newspapers. The Sydney Morning Herald came free every morning but then you had to pay to get The Australian, Daily Telegraph or Financial Review, which were for sale at the reception desk. The Pinay receptionist would give me whatever was left of the papers every evening when I would get back to the hotel. That’s what’s nice about the Pinoys in the service industry abroad. You get that extra service.
It was in one of the issues of the Financial Review that I learned that thongs (otherwise known as rubber slippers) and board shorts were flying off the shelves in stores. December is summer in Australia and the weather is extremely pleasant. Everyone heads to the beach. Last December, sales of beachwear were at their strongest, and in fact no one was wearing closed shoes anymore in Australia. The biggest brands were Billabong, Quiksilver and Rip Curl in that order. My husband insisted that I get myself a Billabong swimsuit as he said that the swimsuit I wore made me look like a diver in the ‘50s. I think he forgot that his wife was already in her 40s and was totally unfit to get into a sexy swimsuit.
We swam in the waters of Terrigal beach, which is situated north of Sydney. While my husband and son got themselves a nice Australian tan, I literally froze to death in the chilly waters and got out after only 15 minutes.
Aside from checking out the museums and the beaches and reading free newspapers, my husband and I made what we considered a supreme sacrifice by watching a 45-minute cartoon in 3D at the Imax Theatre at the Darling Harbour. The cartoon, entitled Santa Claus vs. Snowman, showed the elves making toys at Santa’s factory in the North Pole. With 75 percent of the world’s toy exports manufactured now in China (unless I have my figures wrong), Santa will soon be Chinese with a long thin beard like Fu Manchu and the reindeer will be Chinese dragons. Not to forget the Chinese elves.
We also decided to walk through Hyde Park, located right at the city center, where people have picnics or just go sunbathing. There was a giant chessboard that the public could use for free. My son watched intently as a game was played and sat on a bench beside a drunk who probably came from Eastern Europe. My son, who doesn’t play chess and who didn’t have the slightest idea that he was sitting beside a drunk, asked him, "Who’s winning?"
The drunk said, "The bleyck, the bleyck."
My son said, "What’s bleyck?"
The drunk answered, "Bleyck, bleyck, don’t you know what bleyck is?!"
"He means black," I whispered to my son, making sure I didn’t pronounce it as "block."
The second game came up and the drunk asked my son, "Where do you come from?"
"The Philippines," my son replied.
The game ended and my son asked the drunk again who won this round.
"You see that guy in white?" the drunk said. "He won. He’s Filipino. Of course he’ll win. He’s been playing here for four years. He doesn’t have to work. His wife is working at a bank and he plays chess all day."
What can I say?
After talking to drunks, we decided to move to the other side of Hyde Park and talk to God at the imposing St. Mary’s Cathedral. In front of the cathedral is this special tree. We thought it was just an ordinary tree until we saw the marker on the sidewalk, which read, "This tree commemorates the visit to the city of Sydney in October 1981 by His Eminence Cardinal Jaime L. Sin, Archbishop of Manila."
At least it made a visit by a Filipino important, and that a permanent marker was made instead of a graffiti carving on the tree trunk that would say, "Cardinal Sin was here."
Believe it or not, I managed without a yaya. Of course, it helped that Sydney is a child-friendly city. Not only are there wide sidewalks, beautiful parks and fascinating museums that kids will love (steam locomotives at the Powerhouse Museum at Darling Harbour and dinosaur bones at the Australian Museum), but there are burgers, fries, pizza and milkshakes galore. We stayed at an apartment hotel and it also helped that they provided free coffee, milk, bread, butter and jam, and cereal every morning so we didn’t have to bother with buying food or going to a coffee shop for breakfast. It was my husband who prepared breakfast every morning (surprise! – he was making up for his sins throughout 2003) while I was in charge of the yelling part to get my son off the TV and jump into the shower.
What helped even more was that the chambermaid turned out to be an immigrant from China. I attempted to speak to her in my broken Mandarin just to practice what I learned 25 years ago at the Immaculate Conception Academy. Lo and behold, the chambermaid was so happy to have found someone who could speak her language that she gave us extra pints of milk every morning for free. Anyone who has tasted milk from Australia knows how good it is. My son gulped them down like a Russian would finish off his vodka. As long as my son has his milk, he’s like a contented cow and that keeps him quiet for the next two hours.
Many a guidebook on Australia would tell you that the first white settlers in the country were British convicts and their families and they arrived in the 18th century. A Pinoy friend of ours who migrated to Sydney three years ago told us that Aussies don’t like hearing that story when it comes from the mouth of non-Aussies, but they can joke about it among themselves. I suppose the feeling is the same with all of us. For example, Chinoys don’t like to be called "Instik" by non-Chinoys, but you can hear Chinoys telling each other, "You are too Instik!" or "You are no longer Instik!"
Convicts or no convicts, Sydney has become a bustling, cosmopolitan, efficient and super clean city of various cultures. If you compare Sydney to Metro Manila, you’d think that it is our city that is run by convicts, what with our garbage and potholes and everyone trying to make a fast buck. There are many Pinoys in Sydney, like there are many Pinoys in every corner of the globe. In one of the travel guides I read on Sydney, there is a section on the different cultures in this city, and the portion on Filipinos says, "Over 60 percent of this rapidly expanding migrant group arrive as brides of Australian men." I wish the book could’ve said something else, but reality is reality. Speaking of marriage, they say that the best combination in a marriage is a Caucasian male and a Pinay. The Pinay is generally not into women’s rights, which can irk some men, and will do everything to have a nice home and make her husband happy. On the other hand, the Caucasian male will not just sit around and wait for his wife to serve him; he will help with the household chores. I do not know where I belong. The last time I handled a bread toaster was in college.
Our night receptionist at the apartment hotel was – I told you they’re everywhere – a Pinay. Because of her, I was able to get an extra share of daily newspapers. The Sydney Morning Herald came free every morning but then you had to pay to get The Australian, Daily Telegraph or Financial Review, which were for sale at the reception desk. The Pinay receptionist would give me whatever was left of the papers every evening when I would get back to the hotel. That’s what’s nice about the Pinoys in the service industry abroad. You get that extra service.
It was in one of the issues of the Financial Review that I learned that thongs (otherwise known as rubber slippers) and board shorts were flying off the shelves in stores. December is summer in Australia and the weather is extremely pleasant. Everyone heads to the beach. Last December, sales of beachwear were at their strongest, and in fact no one was wearing closed shoes anymore in Australia. The biggest brands were Billabong, Quiksilver and Rip Curl in that order. My husband insisted that I get myself a Billabong swimsuit as he said that the swimsuit I wore made me look like a diver in the ‘50s. I think he forgot that his wife was already in her 40s and was totally unfit to get into a sexy swimsuit.
We swam in the waters of Terrigal beach, which is situated north of Sydney. While my husband and son got themselves a nice Australian tan, I literally froze to death in the chilly waters and got out after only 15 minutes.
Aside from checking out the museums and the beaches and reading free newspapers, my husband and I made what we considered a supreme sacrifice by watching a 45-minute cartoon in 3D at the Imax Theatre at the Darling Harbour. The cartoon, entitled Santa Claus vs. Snowman, showed the elves making toys at Santa’s factory in the North Pole. With 75 percent of the world’s toy exports manufactured now in China (unless I have my figures wrong), Santa will soon be Chinese with a long thin beard like Fu Manchu and the reindeer will be Chinese dragons. Not to forget the Chinese elves.
We also decided to walk through Hyde Park, located right at the city center, where people have picnics or just go sunbathing. There was a giant chessboard that the public could use for free. My son watched intently as a game was played and sat on a bench beside a drunk who probably came from Eastern Europe. My son, who doesn’t play chess and who didn’t have the slightest idea that he was sitting beside a drunk, asked him, "Who’s winning?"
The drunk said, "The bleyck, the bleyck."
My son said, "What’s bleyck?"
The drunk answered, "Bleyck, bleyck, don’t you know what bleyck is?!"
"He means black," I whispered to my son, making sure I didn’t pronounce it as "block."
The second game came up and the drunk asked my son, "Where do you come from?"
"The Philippines," my son replied.
The game ended and my son asked the drunk again who won this round.
"You see that guy in white?" the drunk said. "He won. He’s Filipino. Of course he’ll win. He’s been playing here for four years. He doesn’t have to work. His wife is working at a bank and he plays chess all day."
What can I say?
After talking to drunks, we decided to move to the other side of Hyde Park and talk to God at the imposing St. Mary’s Cathedral. In front of the cathedral is this special tree. We thought it was just an ordinary tree until we saw the marker on the sidewalk, which read, "This tree commemorates the visit to the city of Sydney in October 1981 by His Eminence Cardinal Jaime L. Sin, Archbishop of Manila."
At least it made a visit by a Filipino important, and that a permanent marker was made instead of a graffiti carving on the tree trunk that would say, "Cardinal Sin was here."
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