I’m writing this as the breeze plays with the straps of my bag and the white sails of the Sydney Opera House glow amber and then blue as the clouds shift across the setting sun. Yes, it’s a dream sentence, inspired by a dream view, and it’s at moments like this that I’m pretty sure I have a dream job.
Forgotten are yesterday’s cares, the cramps, the dizziness and the unspeakable aspects of food-poisoning on the road. This morning’s brief loneliness has also disappeared, vanished with a sweep of today’s technology and the sight of a single harbour.
Those tilting shark fins, that jagged lotus flower…or apparently as the locals call it “nuns in a scrum.”
Whatever the description – and however many times you see it – there’s something so special about the Sydney Opera House. So very unusual, even if it does lie at the altar of the truly trodden beaten track.
As for the inside story, about its creation, its life history and its rather curious recent renovation work, it’s a tale with as much drama, intrigue and betrayal as one of the performances it hosts (Well, to a point. As far as I know, there’s no hint of incest or last-minute executions on the Opera House steps…)
Still, it’s a fascinating story. And one I’ll share another day…
For now, I’m just enjoying its shape. In photos as the sun goes down, in funky artistic modes as the files go up.