Posts tagged "Sydney"

The Top 5 Train Stations in City Circle

City Circle is the train route that services the Sydney CBD. It has six stations.

01. Wynyard
Wynyard is great. It has a Krispy Kreme a block away, and it’s right next to Martin Place, and I don’t care who you are, you have to love Martin Place. Wynyard is within walking distance of Pitt St. Mall and the QVB, but it’s also close to the harbour. I love Wynyard.

02. St. James
St. James is a dungeon buried a million miles beneath the city and it’s way over on the east side near Hyde Park. I pretty much have only used it when I went to the Homebake Festival in the Domain when I was in high school, but it’s a grim, gothic novelty, and also, Grinspoon filmed its "Just Ace" video there. Visiting “St. James” is like visiting a theme park.

03. Town Hall
It’s got a million entrances, and it’s right in the middle of everything. Not an exceptional station by any means, but it does its job and it’s always there for you when you need it.

04. Circular Quay
Going to Circular Quay is weird. Unless you have something going on in the Rocks or at the Opera House or something, you’ve got no reason to go there, and even if you do, it’s probably more fun to get off at Wynyard and just walk the few block north. But actually visiting Circular Quay station is sort of an adventure. There are so many tourists who have no idea what they’re doing there that it’s almost like you’ve left the country. But get on a train, and all of a sudden, you’re back in everyday Sydney. Not a station you’d want to use every day, but when you do, it’s a novelty.

05. Central
Central sucks, but you know, fuck Museum. What a fucking useless station Museum is.

EDIT: On closer analysis, it seems the Grinspoon video was actually shot at Museum, but still, fuck Museum.


This is the church up the street from me. Don’tgetit. I mean, shouldn’t they be pleased someone wants a bible bad enough to steal one?
And who steals a bible anyway? They give those things away.

This is the church up the street from me. Don’tgetit. I mean, shouldn’t they be pleased someone wants a bible bad enough to steal one?

And who steals a bible anyway? They give those things away.


The sad part is that this cartoon refers to shit going down at my school. Absent that uncomfortable fact, it’s magnificent.

The sad part is that this cartoon refers to shit going down at my school. Absent that uncomfortable fact, it’s magnificent.


In Washington, the first thing people tell you is what their job is. In Los Angeles you learn their star sign. In Houston you’re told how rich they are. And in New York they tell you what their rent is.

Simon Hoggart (via fuckyeahcities)

Nice. (Sydney is like New York.)


Sydney
Sydney is my home. Partly because there’s nowhere else I want to call my home, and partly because I live(d) here, but, if you want to know where I’m from, I’m from Sydney. And I’m leaving, for a little while at least, as of next Wednesday.
I’ve never reviewed a city before, but let’s give it a shot.
When I was younger and Sydney was not my home I dreamed about moving here, and by the time I did, I feared it was too late. Once charmed by its urbanity, its bustle, its cosmopolitanism and its hugeness, I had found better examples of the same elsewhere. Having seen Los Angeles and New York, I know longer saw Sydney as the center of everything the way it did when I was a high schooler. It was just a big island on a small island.
My first experiences with Sydney were when it was the biggest island of all, back when I measured my age in single digits and gaped open-jawed at a city of vast thoroughfares, cavernous shops, dizzying skyscrapers, and thickly-patched suburban streets sewn with houses and trees and stadia and cars. Visiting relatives in Sydney, there always seemed to be more Sydney. It was another country.
As I grew older and mapped out that Sydney, it became less alien and more seductive. My first visit alone was probably when I was fifteen or sixteen, to go to the Homebake music festival. I had in hand very specific instructions as to how to transfer between trains to get to the required station, and though I was confident, I’m sure my mother fretted terribly the entirety of the day.
I saw that day only a skyline, some bands, a crowd of people, and the vast stretch of parkland to the east of the CBD called The Domain, but now I knew I could do it, I was seduced, and I wanted more. I returned, more and more often. For shows, for shopping, for galleries, and events, and, when friends began moving there, to visit those friends. In my final year of high school, I longed to go to the University of Sydney, for its location, its prestige, and for its beautiful sandstone classic collegiate architecture. I had neither the grades nor the means to support myself there, so I did not, but I do retain a small amount of satisfaction that I am now a USyd student, and I have had classes in that old quad building I saw in brochures and in movies [1].
Sydney is, of course, a different place as a home rather than a place to visit. There’s a lot more to dislike about it, for a start: Its wretched public transport, its expensive housing, its traffic, the way its older streets seem to run in a direction specifically designed to prevent you from getting where you want to go, its parochial enthusiasm for the slightest trivial event, its developers disregard for liveability, its resident’s kneejerk hostility to any development whatsoever [2].
But I like Sydney. I like the scruffy but gentrified Inner West, where I live and work and study. I like not having to drive my car anywhere much at all, even if the buses are torturous and my neighbors are absurdly hostile to rail proposals. I like all the cafes and restaurants in my neighborhood, and the way I can go meet my friends for pub trivia down the end of the street, and then, on the way home, at midnight, get offered a joint by the old European[3] hippie who only talks to me when he’s high and I’m drunk.
I like the Bridge, though I can’t drive on it anymore because I don’t have an electronic tag on my car. I like Glebe Point Bridge because when I drive over it and see the Harbour and the city skyline yawn to the east, I feel awed by the majesty of it all, just the way I was when I was not a local. I don’t like the Eastern Suburbs because they’re weird and have strange architecture and people with, y’know, jobs. I don’t like Bondi, because it looks like Australia on a film set, and the only people around speak with British or Kiwi accents. But I like Surry Hills and Darlington and Paddington, and, oh, I am sounding a lot like a detestable urban liberal saying that.
One thing about this town, though, that isn’t really a part of its consciousness but seemed incredibly apparent to me from the start was just how much of an immigrant’s city it is. And I don’t just mean international immigrants, though we have those as well. Of all the friends I’ve made here, only a handful were born and raised within the city. The rest of them are from other state capitals or other regional centers — Brisbane, Wollongong, Melbourne, Canberra, the Central Coast — or even farther afield: the Philippines, Chicago, Colombia. In Australia, we really do all converge on Sydney, even if it isn’t actually the center of everything.
And now I’m leaving.
——
[1] Well, one movie: Looking for Alibrandi 
[2] People complain about its vapidity. I neither notice nor mind.
[3] I can’t describe his origins with any more specificity than that.

Sydney

Sydney is my home. Partly because there’s nowhere else I want to call my home, and partly because I live(d) here, but, if you want to know where I’m from, I’m from Sydney. And I’m leaving, for a little while at least, as of next Wednesday.

I’ve never reviewed a city before, but let’s give it a shot.

When I was younger and Sydney was not my home I dreamed about moving here, and by the time I did, I feared it was too late. Once charmed by its urbanity, its bustle, its cosmopolitanism and its hugeness, I had found better examples of the same elsewhere. Having seen Los Angeles and New York, I know longer saw Sydney as the center of everything the way it did when I was a high schooler. It was just a big island on a small island.

My first experiences with Sydney were when it was the biggest island of all, back when I measured my age in single digits and gaped open-jawed at a city of vast thoroughfares, cavernous shops, dizzying skyscrapers, and thickly-patched suburban streets sewn with houses and trees and stadia and cars. Visiting relatives in Sydney, there always seemed to be more Sydney. It was another country.

As I grew older and mapped out that Sydney, it became less alien and more seductive. My first visit alone was probably when I was fifteen or sixteen, to go to the Homebake music festival. I had in hand very specific instructions as to how to transfer between trains to get to the required station, and though I was confident, I’m sure my mother fretted terribly the entirety of the day.

I saw that day only a skyline, some bands, a crowd of people, and the vast stretch of parkland to the east of the CBD called The Domain, but now I knew I could do it, I was seduced, and I wanted more. I returned, more and more often. For shows, for shopping, for galleries, and events, and, when friends began moving there, to visit those friends. In my final year of high school, I longed to go to the University of Sydney, for its location, its prestige, and for its beautiful sandstone classic collegiate architecture. I had neither the grades nor the means to support myself there, so I did not, but I do retain a small amount of satisfaction that I am now a USyd student, and I have had classes in that old quad building I saw in brochures and in movies [1].

Sydney is, of course, a different place as a home rather than a place to visit. There’s a lot more to dislike about it, for a start: Its wretched public transport, its expensive housing, its traffic, the way its older streets seem to run in a direction specifically designed to prevent you from getting where you want to go, its parochial enthusiasm for the slightest trivial event, its developers disregard for liveability, its resident’s kneejerk hostility to any development whatsoever [2].

But I like Sydney. I like the scruffy but gentrified Inner West, where I live and work and study. I like not having to drive my car anywhere much at all, even if the buses are torturous and my neighbors are absurdly hostile to rail proposals. I like all the cafes and restaurants in my neighborhood, and the way I can go meet my friends for pub trivia down the end of the street, and then, on the way home, at midnight, get offered a joint by the old European[3] hippie who only talks to me when he’s high and I’m drunk.

I like the Bridge, though I can’t drive on it anymore because I don’t have an electronic tag on my car. I like Glebe Point Bridge because when I drive over it and see the Harbour and the city skyline yawn to the east, I feel awed by the majesty of it all, just the way I was when I was not a local. I don’t like the Eastern Suburbs because they’re weird and have strange architecture and people with, y’know, jobs. I don’t like Bondi, because it looks like Australia on a film set, and the only people around speak with British or Kiwi accents. But I like Surry Hills and Darlington and Paddington, and, oh, I am sounding a lot like a detestable urban liberal saying that.

One thing about this town, though, that isn’t really a part of its consciousness but seemed incredibly apparent to me from the start was just how much of an immigrant’s city it is. And I don’t just mean international immigrants, though we have those as well. Of all the friends I’ve made here, only a handful were born and raised within the city. The rest of them are from other state capitals or other regional centers — Brisbane, Wollongong, Melbourne, Canberra, the Central Coast — or even farther afield: the Philippines, Chicago, Colombia. In Australia, we really do all converge on Sydney, even if it isn’t actually the center of everything.

And now I’m leaving.

——

[1] Well, one movie: Looking for Alibrandi

[2] People complain about its vapidity. I neither notice nor mind.

[3] I can’t describe his origins with any more specificity than that.


A 10-YEAR fall in the percentage of migrants settling in NSW and the lowest rate of economic growth of all mainland states has Melbourne on track to overtake Sydney as Australia’s biggest city, a report predicts.

The Going Nowhere report, produced by the economic forecasters BIS Shrapnel for a property developer lobby group, says lower developer levies on new housing land in Melbourne have allowed construction of homes at twice the rate of Sydney. This is fuelling a population and economic growth in the Victorian capital that means it will become the country’s biggest city by 2037.

Matthew Moore, “Melbourne set to overtake as biggest metropolis,” Sydney Morning Herald, April 27, 2010

This is some ridiculous reporting. A bunch of lobbyists cajole some economists into releasing a report saying their crystal ball has figured out Melbourne will be bigger than Sydney in 27 years time, and the Herald reports this as news? And regurgitates the assertion that the only way to avoid a fate Sydneysiders would understandably be horrified by is to implement the tax policies the lobbyists want? Thumbs fucking up, Matthew Moore; you’re all over this one.

I particularly like the way Moore inserts this at the end of the piece:

While the NSW Department of Planning has recently upgraded its population forecasts, predicting Sydney will reach 6 million by 2036, [Lobbyist] Mr Gadiel dismissed those projections and said they ”won’t happen” without radical changes to the planning system to make it easier and cheaper for developers to build more homes.

Thank god we’ve got experts like Aaron Gadiel there to offer incisive critiques of Department of Planning projections like “won’t happen.” And thank god we’ve got Matthew Moore, who’s willing to regurgitate facts like this —

The report, commissioned by the Urban Taskforce, says NSW’s share of national migration has fallen from about 42 per cent 10 years ago to about 30 per cent due to the ”extremely challenging conditions” in the residential property market when prices leapt after the Olympics.

— without considering that Sydney’s share of migration has reduced not because of Melbourne or the local housing market, but because of the booming resource economies in Western Australia and Queensland. In this case, growth is dependent on demand, not supply.


douglasmartini:

(via samanthalynnn)

That’s my hood!
Well, one of my hoods. I think I told y’all before: I rep Sydney, D.C., and Seattle.

douglasmartini:

(via samanthalynnn)

That’s my hood!

Well, one of my hoods. I think I told y’all before: I rep Sydney, D.C., and Seattle.


naysayersspeak:

The light in the city today was beautiful.

I felt sure Erin was driving north here, but the light’s coming from the left, so this must be going back toward the city? Unless she’s driving in morning. I don’t understand morning.
Anyways, I love driving north over the Harbour Bridge. To get on it you have to enter through some little byways in the western edge of the city, and then, after going through a couple tunnels, you emerge on a gleaming thoroughfare soaring above ground level in the midst of the towers of Circular Quay. Accelerating, you catapult on to the bridge, seven lanes of speed with nothing separating you from the southbound traffic from the north. In your rear-view is the spiring CBD, and on either side lies the vast steely expanse of Port Jackson barred-off by the grim grey-iron of the bridge.
It feels like flying.

naysayersspeak:

The light in the city today was beautiful.

I felt sure Erin was driving north here, but the light’s coming from the left, so this must be going back toward the city? Unless she’s driving in morning. I don’t understand morning.

Anyways, I love driving north over the Harbour Bridge. To get on it you have to enter through some little byways in the western edge of the city, and then, after going through a couple tunnels, you emerge on a gleaming thoroughfare soaring above ground level in the midst of the towers of Circular Quay. Accelerating, you catapult on to the bridge, seven lanes of speed with nothing separating you from the southbound traffic from the north. In your rear-view is the spiring CBD, and on either side lies the vast steely expanse of Port Jackson barred-off by the grim grey-iron of the bridge.

It feels like flying.


douglasmartini:

aarbearrawr:

for douglasmartini

There are no black people in this commercial. Just sayin’. MARTIN DOUGLAS TIRELESSLY PROMOTES EQUAL OPPORTUNITY FOR MINORITY HIPSTERS.

Honda didn’t actually cast this commercial; they just rolled up on King St. and pulled aside the first couple dozen people who walked past. And everyone knows that the only black person in Newtown is the one on the MLK mural.


Angry publicans have accused City of Sydney council of declaring war by red tape with its latest moves to reduce the number of late-night drinking spots.

The council proposes changes that will increase its powers to close bars at midnight.

But bar owners and restaurateurs argue it is an attempt to ”shut down the city” at midnight and hobble their businesses through a lack of certainty over trading hours which will cost them millions.

[…]

The changes will ensure the nightspots are kept on a short leash because almost all will be on ”trial periods” and any infraction will mean their hours will be cut.

If the plan was passed, the council would have the power to order a bar to close at midnight if its management was found to be unsatisfactory.

Vanda Carson, “Push to close bars at midnight,” Sydney Morning Herald, September 29, 2010

You’re kidding me, Sydney.

Remember last week how I was bitching out country folks who want government money to support their lifestyle? The same applies to urban residents who want governments to regulate away their neighborhood’s urbanity. When you live downtown in the biggest city in the country, expect some bar noise. If you don’t like it, move to Broken Hill.



1 2 3 4 5 6 7