Hello again. We're in Sydney at the Intercontinental, and it's really rather nice
It was cold (well, cool) when we arrived yesterday morning and then it slashed in down sideways last night, which wasn't really what we were expecting from the-land-down-under. Matters weren't helped by the fact that - like the fools we are - we managed to leave our jackets in the Hong Kong Clubhouse (i.e. at the airport). We didn't realise until about 2 minutes before they closed the plane doors, which was galling. Apparently they're going to do their best to get them flown over and delivered to our hotel soon (preferably before we leave for Cairns), so watch this space...
Our depature from the Four Seasons in Hong Kong was as luxurious as our arrival, as we once again booked their outstanding limo service. It was damn hard to leave as well; what a fantastic hotel. Best we've ever stayed in (and we have been fortunate enough over the years to stay in some pretty swanky hotels). We managed a late breakfast, a wander around the adjacent shopping mall for gifts and a couple of glasses of Veuve Cliquot in the executive lounge before gliding away from the hotel, aiport bound, in a beautifully airconditioned 'luxury MPV', as I believe the Yanks call 'em.
Once we arrived at the airport we were greeted straight from the car by Kenzo and Hiro, who introduced themselves as representitives of the Four Seasons who were charged with ensuring our swift progress through check-in and security. Despite the wonderful service we'd received on arrival, we weren't expecting it again on our way out, so this was rather a pleasant surprise. And, make no mistake, Kenzo and Hiro were cool. In matching black suits they delivered the impecable yet effortless service we'd started to get quite used to in Hong Kong. They loaded our luggage onto trolleys, guided us to check-in and took our tickets and passports to give to the agent. They then put all the luggage onto the conveyor for us before escorting us to security where, regrettably, we had to part company, which was a crying shame 'cause I rather wanted to take them home with me.
We enjoyed the tranquility of the Virgin Clubhouse, a sarnie and a couple of glasses of mojito and champers afore boarding our flight (the pic above is testament to Tizer's inability to handle her mojitos) . As I mentioned earlier, it was around this time that we realised our jackets were still hung in the Clubhouse, which put me in one of the vilest moods (something which didn't go unnoticed by Mrs V) for the first hour or so of the flight. A G & T and a pleasant dinner soon calmed me somewhat, but I'm still cursing my own stupidity. Anyway, for the nerdier among you, those good people at V-Flyer have been kind enough to let me post a trip report of the flight, so feel free to take a look.
We arrived at Sydney airport relatively refreshed (thank god for Virgin Upper Class Suites...) and the only real hicough (yes, that is how you spell it) was being picked up by customs after their sniffer dog got a little over-excited by one of our cases. They emptied the whole case and all but took out the lining, bless them, but didn't find anything. Not that there was anything to find. Honest guv.
Our pre-booked limo was waiting for us and efficiently got us to the Intercontinental, though I felt at nearly 180 Aussie Dollars we were royally ripped off. The hotel is very nice, and the benefit of Club access on the top floor is great. There's a balcony on two sides of the lounge with stunning views of Sydney Harbour, the bridge and the opera house. Great staff and some lovely wines too, in particular a cracking local Shiraz from the Bimbadgen winery. Spicey and fruity and - as the great James May once famously put it - winey.
Today, we did the only decent thing a self-respecting tourist can be expected to do and, after a very nice breakfast in the Club Lounge, headed for the opera house. It's such an architectural icon that it's almost like seeing an old friend as it looms into view from behind the row of restaurants and gift shops lining the side of Circular Quay. It's truly a wonderful looking thing, unlike any building you've ever clapped your eyes on, and it certainly got my camera shutter clicking. Tizer loved it, mainly because it has so many steps on a number of different levels leading up to it. Even the most laid back and relaxed of toddler-rearers would be as nervous as a small nun at a penguin shoot watching their little ones make a break for it and start scaling their way inexorably upwards towards the tall white sails of the opera house.
After what would have been about a reel and a half of film in the days before digital cameras, I guessed I'd probably caught the dear old opera house from enough angles, so we headed for the Royal Botanical Gardens, all of a two minute walk away. This was when the sun came out for the first time and - quite rightly - Mrs V basted herself and Tizer in sunscreen. Me? Well, there was still a cool breeze, and a bit of fluffy cloud left, and I don't tend to burn too easily, so I left it for the time being. What I forgot to consider was the distinct lack of ozone layer that they have around these parts and although I finally slapped on some factor 30 an hour or so later, my forehead (expansive as it is) is glowing a bright crimson as I type. Lesson learnt. If you don't want to look like a typical tourist and/or avoid skin cancer, stick the sun cream on you Herbert.
We're all going to the zoo tomorrow (zoo tomorrow, zoo tomorrow) and we may very well stay all day.
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