So that’s Hot Christmas number two over with. There’s an Australian children’s book that tells the story of Santa delivering all the presents around Australia from his beach hut in Darwin. Living so far north, he sacrifices his woolly clothes for Speedos and sunnies and drives a flying Ute rather than a sleigh. One would presume that Santa has to change – after covering the other Pacific Islands and New Zealand as well – into the traditional red woolly garb before his journey into winter. Australia is so far away from the rest of the world, at least the world we’re used to, that it requires a different Christmas story.

 

But Christmas is a winter thing. A little treat in the middle of (or near the beginning of) a dark cold winter. A time for warm clothes, log fires, hot whiskeys and Trivial Pursuit. A time ofcosy.  Down here it’s summer and it just isn’t – well I was going to say it just isn’t Christmas but the truth is it just isn’t necessary. In fact Christmas here, at least for those without children, just feels like a build-up to the new year celebrations and summer-time beer-garden drinking.  Everybody might be better off if they just moved it to the middle of winter. I’m sure Jesus wouldn’t mind.

 

On Christmas day, we went to meal with 10 other legal-aliens-in-Sydney generously cooked by our friend Andy who spent two solid days in the kitchen. We ate turkey (with from-scratch Jamie Oliver gravy – made with the help of a little Bisto), drank wine and taught our friend from Thailand the words to “Fairytale of New York”. We gazed at the cityscape from the 13th floor of the building near the CBD, put on Christmas hats, discussed Shamrock Rovers’ fortunes in Europe with an Aussie who was surprisingly knowledgeable, drank Little Creatures and Jameson, took our party hats off because it was too hot, ate mince pies, put the party hats back on again because “fuck it, it’s Christmas!” and ambled drunkenly home via the train. Good night for all.

 

Marie asked a friend in work if they serve the traditional turkey and ham at Christmas. “Of course we do”, they said, “turkey and ham, barramundi, prawns, fish burgers, beef sausages, a few salads, you know, traditional.” Incidentally, the Christmas ham is odd here too- they serve it baked so it tastes similar to sandwich-sliced ham. When I told two ladies in work that we boil our ham they looked at me like it was a little barbaric which, I suppose, it is.

 

Sydney only starts warming up at Christmas for the summer festivities. New Year is the big event, and they say that Sydney is the best place to be in the world to experience it. They say that in Sydney, at least. The fireworks around the harbor are the most grandiose in the world, but the crowds are too. Some friends went into the city at 8am to get a spot for the fireworks at midnight. They got a spot between two trees. There was about four feet of ground with a full view of the harbor, and by the time 9pm arrived there were so many people there that they had to stand up in the exact same spot for 3 hours in order to retain a view. I do not have the patience for this malarkey.
So the solution, if you don’t want to stand there like a postbox all day is to get tickets for one of the private viewing areas. These range from $50 to $500 and were either booked out or bad value. When there’s no ground space available in Sydney, you get a boat.

 

We arrived in Darling Harbor at 5pm for our 7pm sailing and, after our bags were checked and we managed to get through with a hip-flask of Irish whiskey, we went for a quick pint and then walked towards the jetties- passing hoards of families already holding their ground. When we first boarded the boat, half an hour before sailing, all the seats were already taken and people were guarding them with their lives. We found a spot to starboard, (quickly adopting the lingo), and grabbed a Champagne from the open bar as the ship started moving. Thankfully, the boat wasn’t too busy so as soon as we sailed everybody relaxed their grip on the seats and started to enjoy themselves. The city glistened as we sailed out under the always impressive Harbor Bridge. A stunt plane made loops in the sky and then flew circles around the bridge. We chatted with a gay couple from Switzerland and an English couple on their honeymoon as some Jesus-freaks in an airplane filled the sky with messages about being saved by the Lord. The Lord wasted no time in blowing the messages away. I mean, seriously, you had Christmas for that, people, leave New Year alone. A few hours later and the fireworks were spectacular. The best I’ve ever seen. The sky lit up with frantic bursts of colour, the city lights reflected in the water all around us like some ghostly anti-Sydeny. Our ship was part of the “Parade of Lights” and we sailed between other illuminated ships, everybody on board feeling rather pleased with themselves.

 

And then it was 2012. We made a few drunken calls home- all treated with considerable patience considering it was lunchtime in Dublin – and walked home from Darling Harbour through the heaving sea of slowly shuffling, swaying, happy people.

 

The only thing that could have made it better was a few friends & family. Thankfully we won’t have to wait too long as Ann and Alan are coming from Ireland in a few weeks, Jason is over for a couple of nights from Canada, and in April we’re off to visit Manoj and Lillian in India. Thank God for aeroplanes, even the ones writing religious messages in the sky.