Sydney 1993: Getting over dining alone

Ross Karavis

I’m preparing to depart Sydney, where I have lived for the last four years since I arrived one Saturday morning in February 1993. I pack away my Sony WM-FX Walkman and my cassettes, my collection of brightly coloured Mambo tops and my black suede-topped Globe skating shoes and look around for a carton into which I can pile the tumble of Kangols, Hanes Beefy Tees and 501s.

As I cast my eye around the mess of the room I see a pile of black moleskin journals partially hidden behind the scattered CDs. I pick up one of the journals, sit on the wooden floor and read about a time when Sydney was a new and uncharted adventure.

27 February 1993

There is no stranger experience than arriving at an airport and not having anybody to greet you. The terminal was busy and I was forced to shift left and right and to walk faster and slower to make sure that I didn’t bump into people.

The weather was muggy as I stepped outside of the terminal to catch a cab to Pyrmont. I was drenched in an uncomfortable sweat as the humidity clung to my skin. The heat was insufferable although it was only thirty degrees.

Sydney looks so different to Adelaide. The housing and the shops look dense and small. It took us fifteen minutes to get through the traffic in Newtown. The cars were bumper to bumper and the footpaths were full of punks and ferals and hippies.

The house is nice though.

Jenny was there to meet me and she gave me the keys and instructions for where everything was. She couldn’t stay long but arranged to catch up once Darren comes back from his consulting work interstate.

I went for a walk and found a local deli just around the corner on Harris Street where I bought myself a loaf of bread, butter and packs of sliced ham and cheddar. Upon my return home I made myself a couple of sandwiches and a cup of tea and sat on the balcony and enjoyed the cool afternoon breeze.

Tuesday 15 June 1993

Jody didn’t call me tonight. I left several messages on her voicemail and I am disappointed she hasn’t returned my calls.

I felt hungry and restless so I grabbed my Walkman and a new Frankie Knuckles mix tape and walked to Chinatown.

None of the Chinese food halls were open so I ended up at a small noodle joint in the courtyard of the Burlington Centre on Sussex Street.

I didn’t recognise any of the dishes on the menu so I ordered the dishes that the people next to me are were eating.

The spicy handmade noodles with lamb and capsicum were oily, slippery and the capsicum gave the meatiness of the lamb a bitter contrast. The wonton soup had fifteen silky pork-filled wontons with a hint of ginger, floating in a light chicken stock.

I was so absorbed with the pleasures of my meal I didn’t realise that the restaurant had emptied and that I was the final customer of the night.

It was just after 10.30 pm when the phone rang but I let the call to go to the answering machine as I prepared to go to bed.

14 August 1993

Had a great night tonight. Eoghan had a slide night at his warehouse apartment in Chippendale. The apartment was fantastic, full of exposed brick walls, high ceilings and large windows looking out over Abercrombie Street.

We watched slides from his trip to Barcelona and Madrid and were captivated by his stories about people and places and his detailed descriptions of the buildings projected onto a white sheet on a wall.

Later on I taxied up to the Cross to catch up with Jody at Café Roma in Kellett Street. We caught up on our respective weeks and made small chat before she headed off to L’Hotel to meet her girlfriends and I headed off to the Jamie and Vanessa dance party at Les Girls.

It was earIy and I was felt hungry so I made my way down to Harry’s Café de Wheels.

I ordered a beef pie with mashed potato, peas, gravy and lashings of tomato sauce served on a paper plate. I sit sat on the footpath eating the pie and listening to the chatter of the people around me.

I ate carefully but despite my best efforts the gravy and tomato sauce spilled onto the paper plate and then onto the footpath.

Jody called unexpectedly and invited me to join her at a party she was going to in Coogee, since none of her friends were at L’Hotel.

The hostess Catriona was warm and friendly and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. When I told her where I work she told me she knew Jason and Harriet through mutual friends.

Jody introduced me to her friends, the graphic designer Robyn, the documentary maker Elise and as well as Freya, a political advisor to a State Labor politician. They were warm and friendly in that way that allowed them to do the credentials check without revealing too much of themselves.

We left the party and because it was late and I didn’t have a chance in hell of catching a cab, we headed to Jody’s apartment in Bronte. Jody put on some music, poured two glasses of white wine and we ended up smoking and trading notes on Eoghan’s and Catriona’s parties in her sun room overlooking Bronte Beach.

Just before 5.00 am Jody called it quits. She headed off to bed and I piled cushions up on the corner of the couch and fell asleep to the distant sound of seagulls and the Pacific crashing into the battered cliffs.

24 September 1993

Jody and I decided to head into Circular Quay for the Olympics announcement so I invited her to come over to my place first for a bite to eat.

What I didn’t expect was that she would invite a friend over as well, with the explanation that Elspeth had just recently returned from overseas and was down from the Blue Mountains for a couple of days.

So dinner for two became dinner for three.

I served a platter of antipasti with slices of prosciutto, sun dried tomatoes, quartered artichokes, calabrese salami and baby bocconcini. These were washed down with glasses of the Jim Barry Watervale Rhine riesling that Elspeth had brought along; her dad had told her it was a nice drop.

I also whipped up three bowls of spaghetti with a tomato and tuna pasta which we ate with a tomato and endive salad with olive oil and vinegar and slices of fresh Italian bread I had bought at a small Italian bakery in Haberfield.

It was interesting listening to Jody and Elspeth talking about growing up together in Lewisham, studying at uni and of travelling together overseas.

Before we headed into Circular Quay I made a pot of espresso and we ate the fresh chocolate and vanilla cannoli I bought from Mezzapica in Leichhardt.

We joined the early morning crowd in front of the Cahill Expressway and screamed our lungs out when Sydney was announced as the host city for the 2000 Olympics.

22 November 1993

It was one of those gorgeous Sydney dusks when the sun sets over a clear blue sky and the weather is mild and there is a cool evening breeze coming off the harbour, so I went on an aimless walk with no planned end point, when the intention is to walk and see where whim takes me.

As I walked up Harris Street past the Western Distributor and the abandoned multi-story Government Printery towards Broadway I glanced towards the city and caught my breath. The city skyline looked like a sharp cardboard cutout against the clear blue dusk sky. The glass frontages of the buildings reflected the fading sun in the west.

For the first time I felt that this city was becoming a part of me.

I felt like a coffee so I headed east through the city and Hyde Park towards Bill and Toni’s in Stanley Street.

I walked through the throng at the entrance and stood at the brown brick counter with its chipped cream laminex and overhead menu and ordered a strong latte and a Neapolitan biscuit.

I looked for a table that was free and found one through the red brick arches towards the back of the side room by the pinball machine.

I drank my latte with its bitter coffee and scalded milk and scoffed my Neapolitan with its nut, cocoa and fruit filling and watched groups of people coming down from the upstairs restaurant. They had that sated look that comes from having eaten too much pasta or osso bucco, white bread and cheap house wine. I was overcome by an urge not to be alone, to be one of those people full of good cheer and bonhomie.

I decided to head home and as I walked through Hyde Park towards the Pyrmont Bridge I slipped on the headphones and listened to a molecular biologist being interviewed by Phillip Adams, speak eloquently and poetically about death and his near-death experiences.

As I crossed over Darling Harbour and walked up Union Street I felt a strange sense of calm.

Tonight I learnt something about transitions. I watched the Sydney skyline at dusk and felt awe, I felt lonely and gained insight into near death experiences.

I resisted the urge to phone someone. I didn’t know if Jody or Jenny were awake or that they would understand.

1.00 am. I can hear the chatter of late night television coming from one of the neighbouring terrace houses and the distant horn of a large freighter on the harbour.

26 December 1993

I am happy I decided to stay here and not head back to Adelaide for Christmas. The weather has been great and my orphan’s Christmas with the Adelaide crew was awesome.

On Christmas morning Jenny picked me up at 11.30 am and we headed through the city, up William Street and past the Coca-Cola sign to Rushcutters Bay Park.

Eoghan and his ex Samantha and friends Genelle and Alex had arrived there before us and found a shaded spot under a tree just metres away from the harbour. They had set up a picnic table and had an esky with ice for the beer and wine.

We started with juicy prawns and plump oysters that Jenny shucked and made sure we sucked the juices from, to get the full taste of the ocean.

Eoghan then served slices of a cold meat loaf with whole eggs with his homemade tomato sauce and slices of Alex’s mixed vegetable filo pastry pie and spanakopita which we all ate with relish.

Jenny and I went for a walk around the park and chatted about our new lives in Sydney, as a group of topless English backpackers played five-a-side football.

Jenny asked me about Jody and I told her I was catching up with her occasionally and that we enjoyed each other’s company. I wasn’t sure there was much more I could say given that’s where we are at.

She told me that Darren had accepted a job offer to return to Adelaide and that she was uncertain about what she should do.

Genelle called us back for dessert. She served her homemade apple crumble and rhubarb tartlets with small shot glass of a 1991 Woodstock Botrytis Sweet White dessert wine.

I sat on the rug, weighed down by food, wine and cake and felt a wave of contentment sweep over me. I turned to Jenny and said ‘This isn’t isn’t too bad, is it?’ to which she smiled.

Jenny dropped me off home and I called Jody to wish her Merry Christmas.

I thanked her for her gift, the latest CD by United Future Organisation and she thanked me for my gift, a copy of He Died With A Falafel in His Hand by John Birmingham, which she promised to read while she was away on the Hawkesbury.

We arranged to catch up at Catriona’s on New Years Eve and agreed to work out how we can get everybody to George and Darren’s rooftop garden party with that cool techno DJ from London.

It will be a great way to end the year.