On Kiama and Blue mountains near Sydney
Visit to Kiama was like walking into a farmer’s house with pots and jars full of nature, charmed into submission — we spent more time in the market than at the blowhole perusing the wares on offer. The men and women here seemed more like volunteers on a vocation, or looked like they had come down to see what all this fuss was about, unhurried, endlessly cheerful…
The blowhole did not disappoint us, spewing a spurt of water like from a whale’s head. I imagined how fantastical it would be if we were to find a whale nesting in that craggy shelf of water, dissipating long bursts of water at regular intervals, and as it grew older, handing this duty over to its successor, a dynasty of whales that had been blowing water this way for eons, maintaining the critical equilibrium between humans and oceanic mammals…
This is the Blue Mountains, Sydney. When I went there, it was a hot, sunny day with people wearing brimmed hats and slathering sunscreen. Where we got off the train, it was a bustling street with a bar right across the road and many shops selling everything from pizzas to souvenirs. The bus ride was short but the queue to get into the bus quite long, families cradling babies looking already exhausted.
When we reached the three sisters, the walk from where the bus dropped us to the edge of the cliff was like dipping your head in blinding light, the sun shredding the earth with its gaze. We took a few photos and went back, returning for a second time next week.
On our second visit the mountains were pacified with some rain during the week, and a few clouds had gathered overhead, accumulating gingerly. My wife and I took turns, posing before the mountains. We climbed down the narrow stairs which took us closer to the three sisters — here it was quiet, the rocks as if cooled underwater, and the vines going up in twists.
We went a third time to the Blue mountains when a friend told us we had missed the walks there. We went straight to the Canyon walk as we got off the bus, full of purpose, our eyes gouging the area for signboards… The walkway started off with clearly outlined stairs that gave way to muddy ones with blurred edges. The climb down felt natural like an invitation was handed to us, the walkway taking us around waterfalls and tall trees, sun slicing the canopy at regular intervals…
Spit Bridge to Manly beach has everything — boats lounging in calm seawater, beaches fronted with houses, forest with caves, cliffs with breathtaking views, and even a museum on the way… It took us a few hours to complete this on a moderately sunny day. We packed some sandwiches and mandarins to eat on the way.
When we sat down to eat, spotted this fellow near the water. He lay there arrested in his pose till we finished our food, occasionally stirring the tail like a compass needle searching for the magnetic north and aligning whenever it is disturbed…
