Manly
has some great places to eat and restaurants vary from South American to Indian
and the vast majority are very good and even better value for money. One place
in particular did a cracking steak with salad and fries for ten dollars;
needless to say I ate there most nights! I did try one of
the full-on steak houses on the front but I have to admit it was expensive and
what I did get was overpriced, strangely I even had a bill for the water which
was a first. Lesson learned I stuck to my friendly public house and its ten
dollar bonanza.
When writing you have to have a few ingredients to get the
juices flowing, one of the obvious one’s is quiet and that
was all going to plan until the second week of my visit when I heard muffled
voices for a few hours and the odd whistle or shout, having said that I could
live with it. The problem was by 7.a.m the next morning I was greeted by a
noise that sounded like someone throwing a mountain goat down a well-oiled tin
roof with a forty five degree slope while attached to a bungee line 2 feet
shorter than the end of the tin. I
dared to hang my head out of the window and look and to my horror some builders
had started gutting a penthouse about ten floors up and had attached a long
tube to the side of the building which led to a skip at the bottom, they were
throwing everything down the tube and every item they sent down there rattled
the very window panes and worse they looked like they were set in for the month.
I had no choice but to batten down the hatches and close all windows and to be
honest in the end I resorted to my iTunes headphones to drown out the rattle.
Amazingly after a few hours I even discarded the headphones as to be fair you
do get used to it, much like someone who lives next to the Motorway, it’s
always there you just block it and ironically the following day I wrote almost
fourteen thousand words, proving I am just a Diva really.
The weekend had arrived and there was a buzz in Manly as it
was holding an annual street festival, there were stalls going up everywhere
and the roads were blocked off to allow people to walk freely through the town,
it was fantastic with live bands and samples of food and wine on every stall,
the place was heaving with people and I thought what a pity it was that my
Missionary friend wasn’t here today as he would have worn out his Rubik’s
cube trying to convert the crowds. I spent some time going round the
various stalls with everything from cheeses locally made through to wine from Hunter Valley,
the latter I can vouch for as very good wine indeed though on my fourth visit for a
free sample I was given a polite reminder that I hadn’t actually bought
anything yet so felt obliged. I had one of their cheapest whites and then went
back for two more tastings, just to prove I haven't lost my Shropshire upbringing where the
word’s “Free” and the slogan “Fill your boot’s” are very much a fabric of society
After
about four hours of this shindig I was finding it very hard to be meaningful
about anything, just putting one foot in front of the other was a bit of a
struggle so I thought I should retire to my apartment before I attracted the
attention of the firearm carrying Police Officers. I slept like a log that Saturday
night and woke up feeling quite good, so I looked out of the window and decided
it was a good time to walk to the shops and get a coffee and some breakfast. No
sooner had I started walking down the very quiet pavements than a drop of water landed on top of my head, followed by another one and so on, it had started to rain,
so I rushed a little more but it rained a little more and then more again until
the heavens opened without warning thus I found out local
knowledge is always invaluable and this underlined the reason why no-one was outside, most of Manly
knew it was about to rain (except me of course).
Within seconds I was
drenched to the point where it was running out of my underwear, no mean feat
considering I wasn’t wearing any under my shorts. I darted for cover under
the canopy of a massive hotel and there I stayed, for at least the next hour or
two I can’t remember. The rain came down horizontally, vertically, sideways,
cross ways you name it and the wind was enough to take you out to sea while
still tied to the jetty let alone holding your ground without falling over.
Apparently, so I am told this was not a storm, a storm is when you get thunder
and lightning not just wind and rain but this was of little comfort to me as I
stood wondering if I would ever be able to run for it from under the
hotel canopy. In the end I decided that life was too short and just hoofed it
to the shopping mall, after all I couldn’t get a lot wetter if I tried and in
any case it was expected of me to be in the rain as I am British it’s what we
do.
 | ||
| Dont worry it's not a storm.... | . |
 | |
| Yours truly enjoying a small shower |
I tramped
around the mall in my soggy trainers and wet backside for about half an hour
before it actually stopped raining outside and the sun once again dared to show
its face. I stepped on to the now sun soaked pavement and headed for the ferry wharf and a caramel latte
from Gloria’s coffee shop, all was soon OK with the world again as I stood on
the quayside leaning on the sea rails steaming in the now very hot sunshine, talk about the sublime
to the ridiculous.
The start of June brought a move of apartments, I would not
be sad to be leaving my little hide away which was basic in the extreme, but I
guess beggars can’t be choosers. I met the new Apartment owner in the centre of
Manly, his name was Jarmo and he and his family were from Finland originally
and had decided to try the area for between three to five years to see how they
got on but as that was almost thirty years ago I guess the question had been
answered. He was a laid back easy going man and very typical of his countrymen,
polite and very well-spoken and we chatted as we walked to the apartment, I told him
of my writing exploits and he filled me in with some history of Manly as well
as pointing out the best places to eat and great places to go and visit. We
arrived at the huge building on Central Avenue and walked into the lobby and
stepped into the lift,
“Your
apartment is at the very top, the views are fantastic” He quipped.
Now
that would normally get everyone else jumping with joy and running around like
its Christmas but not me, yes you guessed it the top floor meant it was high.
With some trepidation I followed Jarmo out through the lift doors and was
almost immediately confronted by a ceiling to floor window on both sides of the
building. I tried not to look and walked down the middle of the corridor so as
to avoid falling to my death. We reached the apartment door and Jarmo opened up
and we walked inside. It was a beautifully appointed apartment and I was taken
aback as to how clean and neat it was, Jarmo showed me round and introduced me
to the view… I didn’t faint, I wasn’t happy but I didn’t faint. I thanked my
host as he left and closed the door, I then walked slowly to the huge windows
that overlooked this beautiful town and peered down to the street below, I
immediately headed back for the kitchen for fear of the floor giving away and yes
me falling to my death, there seems to be a recurring theme here don’t you
think?. It was high, in fact it was the highest building in Manly and I was on
the top floor, I had visions of Edward Lewis in Pretty Woman peering over the
edge and freezing to the spot, it was truly wasted on such a hopeless case as
me but from in the kitchen the sea view looked terrific.
I went up on to the
roof to locate the washing machines later that afternoon and it was like a bush tucker trial made up of my worst nightmares, firstly the steps up to the
roof had yet another window from ceiling to floor so as you walked up or down
them it looked like you were walking into the street below so I pushed my back
to the retaining wall and eased myself past it, then on the roof there was a
wall all the way around at just over waist height, I had the hairs stood up on
the back of my neck as I fumbled for the door to the wash room to hide in. I
would have stopped there for good but I had no washing and no money for the machine so I
had to brave those damned stairs again. For the rest of my stay I used a local
launderette in the Town.
Chapter
Three: When in Rome
I
settled in to my new apartment very quickly despite the first few nights lying
in bed worrying that the front of the building would collapse and I would fall
to my death, (it does happen you know) so sleep was not that easy to obtain but
I found as my stay went on I did actually get used to the height, I didn’t like
it but I got used to it, that’s all I will admit to. The first morning I awoke in my new dwellings
was a revelation as while lying in bed I saw the sun rise up out of its Pacific
Ocean water bed and climb into the clear blue sky. This was heaven for a poet and
inspiration point for someone who writes, it was a scene the likes of which
will stay with you until your dying day, magical as it was humbling to see our
wonderful world we inhabit at its very best. I lay there and took photos in
sequence as the sun rose, I am sure the locals would all have ignored it and
just been getting on with their day but to me it was a fantastic sight.
 |
| The view over Manly bay from my bed.... |
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