[9:00pm, Sydney, Tuesday, August 1, 2006]
With a smirk, or rather a huge smile on my face, I find myself doing the Motown dance 100 meters off the ground, to the ever pleasure of the people in a tower nearby. A moment in the journey to the top of Sydney’s Harbor Bridge this morning.
The Harbor Bridge was built in the early 30s to connect Sydney to North Sydney. Next to the Opera House, both are considered as icons of Sydney, along with the Sydney Tower. It turns out that you could actually climb up the arc, currently the world largest single-arc bridge, and absorb the view from up there. All for a fairly high price, even for a 3 1/2 hour experience. Despite the price, the demand has been huge. So much that for a slot of 12 people every 10 minutes, a large number of them is booked every day. Even in the middle of the week, in the wintertime, you are seeing full teams departing every 10 minutes. That is one serious dough this organization is making, despite the draconian rules they have to follow thanks to safety concerns.
What safety concerns? Well, if you are caught spitting a loogie at the cars down below, chances is good you will be hauled to jail. And do not think you can escape the prying eyes, there are numerous cameras positioned everywhere watching you through the entire climb.
The security level is severe enough that they require that you remove every single loose item. Yup, that includes that panties and bras, ma’am. *slap* OW! Okay, fine, clothes are accepted, but not much else. Glasses are required to be attached, although my hearing aids are not, which is good — I have been carrying these for years, and it is not quite a habit where I would drop them, even in an intense roller coaster such as the Dragster at Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio. I ought to go there someday soon.
After a review, and a breathalyzer (sorry buddy, being drunk is not acceptable, but hey, if you got some ganja, by all mean, toke it up!), we were sent to a place where we bundle up with a uniform with no pockets. I decided to be different and put the black pants under the single-piece uniform, but was sent back with a firm warning to not screw around. Poo.
Then the fun began — we put on the belt that contains the device that hold us to a single metal string that gives everyone the illusion of full safety up there (or do you really think it is? *sinister music* We shall discuss here on the Outer Limits… *music play*) Then we tacked on a hat, a cap, slips for the glasses, locking bolts for the radio, and a fleece jacket.
A brief training session and we are off. We climbed up a pylon, and walked under the bridge to the start of the arc, and climbed up to the bottom, and hiked to the very top of the east-side. Then we switched over to the west side, and returned to base in the reverse order. Frequently, we stopped to either take pictures (I had 4 all framed up), or to have a viewing lesson of which I could barely understood due to the high static, and the close proximity the microphone was to the tour guide’s cheek — every breath, every rub of the skin, everything was transmitted.
At one point, I actually stepped onto the arc itself, so yes, yes I was able to say that I was on the arc. 
Speaking of the bridge, despite being built in the 30s, there are 8 lanes of highways, and 2 lanes of rail. That sure is a case of future-proofing for a bridge that I have ever seen in my life. Actually, it could be only 6 highway lanes, since the other 2 lanes were obviously formerly rail lines. But who needs 4 lanes with all the fancy timing system the CityRail like to promote these days? Still, it is an impressive thing to know that someone back then was thoughtful to make the bridge as wide as it is for maximum use. I doubt this bridge have a severe need for any future replacement for anything wider, especially since there is a tunnel built nearby that bypass the city’s downtown for parts east (the bridge feed into the western part of downtown.)
Honestly, it is a great experience to do, but after a week in Sydney, I have seen plenty of the city that what I saw up there pretty much closely fits what I saw from the top of the Zoo, and the top of Sydney Tower. It was nice, but it was not a life-changing experience. It was clearly enjoyable for the two boys in the group, but for me, it was an experience I will most likely forget as I get up there in the years. It is nothing like Alaska or Costa Rica the first time. The powerful experience on the rawness of the environment around us really echoes in my soul. Perhaps I am too used to being a city boy these days.
One cute note — on the Wall of Fame, full of pictures, there were quite a few Olympians from Sydney 2000 who had their pictures taken. One in particular was Misty Hyman, gold medalist for the 200m butterfly. There were several from the US men. But absolutely zero pictures of the home team of Australia. I wonder why…
* * *
That night, I asked my concierge to recommend the best steakhouse in town, and with quite a bit of hem and hawing, Prime was named. Prime Steakhouse is located in the basement of the Westin (much like Ruth Chris under the Hilton in Toronto), and is served by a Japanese-import chef, much to my surprise.
This influx of Japanese cooking style brings us Wagyu steaks. Wagyu, also known as Kobe steaks, is a breed line that is primarily focused on slower feeding style, slower growth, and eventually yielding higher quality meat rated on a 12-point scale. The chef’s best steak was a 6, as it was the belief that the top-rated (12) steak is too fatty for our own good. It figures that the chef only offers sirloin and tenderloin as the two options for those top-tier steaks. If only he would relent and offer my favorite cut, the rib-eye.
The restaurant is located right next to an incredibly loud and packed bar, and yet once you step inside, the silence is deafening. There were only three groups of people in the restaurant by the time we were done, so ideally, you would think that the waiter would have far more time to attend our needs than he would. But despite our great hunger, we were forced to wait a long while the waiter would get to ask us for our drinks.
So he would approach, and I decided to have a martini. However, we are in Australia, and the only imported stuff is the Grey Goose — something that I barely tolerate dirty (olive juice). The waiter, to my great shock, does not know what vodka the restaurant has, much less what the best one would be. Not only that, he spent over 10 minutes talking with a variety of people in the distance for this information. Not only that, he have the inability to even make any recommendation on wines!
Whether he is new or not, this is a severe shortcoming, the lengthy time waited to even get our order in, and the inability to even talk martinis or wines — both a requirement for waiters with upper-crusted steakhouses in the states. According to one person I know that tried to get in a job with Ruth Chris Steakhouse (a upper-crusted chain), a waiter is required to start out as a server’s assistant for upward to 3 months, until they can recite from memory everything involving the restaurant’s menu — including the ideal alcohol that would compliment a specific meal, what the bar have, what the deserts are, what the specials are, and the list goes on. I have seen other upper-crusted restaurants in variety of locations actually spend at least a hour with their entire server staff discussing the menu of the day, including providing samples, so that the staff knows down cold what is ideal for a person who may have a mood for a specific type of dish, or may have a specific allergen, among other situations.
In other words, if you want to be a fancy restaurant, your servers must be able to do far more than anyone else. I wonder if this is what we get for the lack of tipping culture in Australia, compared to North America. It is doubtful that any restaurants would be willing to pay the waiter the insane amount of money earned by tips by waiters in the upper-crusted restaurants in the States. After all, a group meal can easily result in a $200 tip alone for a 2 hour work. Several tables like that, and you will see how healthy of an income servers have, and how high of a demand there is to be part of that crowd. Thus, the restaurants in the States are probably more able to be highly selective of their servers and more demanding on them than anyone else.
It is a point to ponder.
As for the steak itself, the Wagyu steak is sinfully expensive, yet very decent, despite the lack of fat. Jill had a T-bone, and I sampled her dish after having some Wagyu steak, and could easily tell the huge difference in quality between both dishes. Jill also noticed the difference, but is it enough to justify the doubling of price for half the size? I do not quite think so. It was satisfying, but not as satisfying as a meal at Queue de Cheval in Montreal, Quebec (Canada). The wine was excellent, a local brand near Melbourne. Decently overpriced food, and great wine, and we were ready to rush back to the hotel for some free dessert — the executive lounge have cheesecake, mind you!
