Another Saturday, another morning of wandering around Sydney looking like a tourist (i.e. with the camera in hand). Yesterday saw me in the Chinese Garden of Friendship – a place I hadn’t visited in two decades!
I was reminded of its existence only recently due to the Hub finding some old photos, a few of which had been taken in the very same Chinese Garden. So the seed must’ve been planted in my subconscious because when I set off yesterday I had not planned to go there. (In fact, I had intended to go to Surry Hills – so much for that! Perhaps next weekend.)
Anyway, these old photos, yellowed with age… Ah, Sydney! Ah, those days! My enduring memory of the time was of how new everything was to me – small town (Perth) girl new to the big city. Being in Sydney was thrilling and terrifying by equal measure. But, wait – look at that grin, half obscured by the hair – perhaps ‘thrill’ won by a smidgeon.
I must’ve gone around the Garden twice or three times yesterday trying to locate the same statue but couldn’t find it. (Would I have given it a hug this time had it been there, I wonder?)
The Garden was quiet and calm yesterday, the only sounds I heard were that of rushing water from the waterfalls and the occasional screech of a bird. With hardly any other visitors around, it was a tranquil and refreshing visit. Of course I spent most of it pointing my camera at things instead of contemplating too much about life, which I’m sure is what one is meant to do in such surroundings. Perhaps my form of contemplation is achieved via a viewfinder.