Today, we had breakfast at the Zest Bar, again, and took a taxi to Costello's down George Street. We had a voucher from Quantas, so we thought we'd check out the jewelers' replica opal mine and their video presentation and learn stuff about opals. The opal mine looked like the entrance to a Disney ride, but the video was well done. We learned about white, black and boulder opals, how they were mined and what "doublets" and "triplets" were (a thin layer of opal with a backing and, optionally, a crystal overlay). Boy, those puppies are expensive! Which reminds me...
When I turned 18, my mom had given me a single-opal ring of hers that I'd long admired. I wore it often. Once, playing racquetball in college, I slammed into a wall and chipped and cracked the opal. For years, I did not confess this, holding the thing together with clear nail polish. Finally, when I did, my mom took me to a jewelers to have it replaced. I remember clearly the man opening up an envelope -- I spotted the replacement gem right away! Identical in size and shape to its sundered predecessor, and equally fiery. It's a white opal, but I never thought to question whether it was a "real" opal (which I assume) or a doublet or singlet. I'll have to check. The more amazing thing is that we just gave the jeweler the broken gem which, by my calculations looking around the shop in Sydney, was still worth a couple of thousand dollars! The back, back story to this ring that my mom told me (and this is a true aside, so skim along or skip, if not interested) is that, in World War II, it was my Aunt Alice's engagement ring, given to her by an RAF soldier who subsequently died in the war prior to their being wed. I was never clear how my mom ended up with the ring, as she became estranged from her large family as the years passed. My Aunt Alice later married my uncle Frank and I barely remember them. I should reconnect with one of their three kids to see if any of them know the full story; sometimes my mom's views on things were a little skewed.
Anyway...
After Chris and I extracted ourselved from the shop with our "free opal gift" in the shape of a koala pin, we hied to the nearest City Sightseeing Hop-On Hop-Off bus stop and bought tickets for the 24-hour period. We ran up top to the open air seating and toodled around town. Yes, it was another beautiful day, hotter than previously. We hopped off at the Central Station and walked up -- through Paddy's Markets and a swatch of Chinatown -- to the Exhibition Centre for Chris to check in on the Sun Community Day. After, we walked back to Central Station, indulging in an ice cream sundae from Happy Jack's (hey, we're on vacation and that area didn't have much else to offer... because it took us a while to realize that the nice station and cafe were up a level -- d'oh) to catch the Bondi Beach bus. It was late afternoon and warmer than usual, so we opted for hanging out on the bus and watching the "bush" go by. Well, not bush exactly. More like suburbs, upscale neighborhoods, small towns and exclusive resorts. Paddington, Double Bay, Rose Bay. All great. Bondi Beach itself was an endearing crescent of beach that reminded me more of Avalon on Catalina Island than anywhere else. Very nice, but neither of us had any desire to alight, despite the promise of warm water. I think our sojourn into the Aquarium and reading Bill Bryson's The Sunburned Country (aka Down Under in the UK) has made us hesitate making a run for ocean. Once you've read about the agonizing pain and certain death that a Box Jellyfish can inflict, even the most seasoned aquaphile will pause.
Returning to Central Station, we caught the City bus and continued on to the Aquarium stop, which happened to be right next to our hotel. Thank god. We were exhausted and, despite SPF 50 and sun hats, both a little pink. Even though we'd been on buses for a good part of the day, we managed to walk over 10,000 steps! Too tired to go back to Chinatown for dinner, we had tapas in the hotel lobby bar. I know, I know. We're old and boring. But tomorrow's another day. Steps taken: 10,885.
When I turned 18, my mom had given me a single-opal ring of hers that I'd long admired. I wore it often. Once, playing racquetball in college, I slammed into a wall and chipped and cracked the opal. For years, I did not confess this, holding the thing together with clear nail polish. Finally, when I did, my mom took me to a jewelers to have it replaced. I remember clearly the man opening up an envelope -- I spotted the replacement gem right away! Identical in size and shape to its sundered predecessor, and equally fiery. It's a white opal, but I never thought to question whether it was a "real" opal (which I assume) or a doublet or singlet. I'll have to check. The more amazing thing is that we just gave the jeweler the broken gem which, by my calculations looking around the shop in Sydney, was still worth a couple of thousand dollars! The back, back story to this ring that my mom told me (and this is a true aside, so skim along or skip, if not interested) is that, in World War II, it was my Aunt Alice's engagement ring, given to her by an RAF soldier who subsequently died in the war prior to their being wed. I was never clear how my mom ended up with the ring, as she became estranged from her large family as the years passed. My Aunt Alice later married my uncle Frank and I barely remember them. I should reconnect with one of their three kids to see if any of them know the full story; sometimes my mom's views on things were a little skewed.
Anyway...
After Chris and I extracted ourselved from the shop with our "free opal gift" in the shape of a koala pin, we hied to the nearest City Sightseeing Hop-On Hop-Off bus stop and bought tickets for the 24-hour period. We ran up top to the open air seating and toodled around town. Yes, it was another beautiful day, hotter than previously. We hopped off at the Central Station and walked up -- through Paddy's Markets and a swatch of Chinatown -- to the Exhibition Centre for Chris to check in on the Sun Community Day. After, we walked back to Central Station, indulging in an ice cream sundae from Happy Jack's (hey, we're on vacation and that area didn't have much else to offer... because it took us a while to realize that the nice station and cafe were up a level -- d'oh) to catch the Bondi Beach bus. It was late afternoon and warmer than usual, so we opted for hanging out on the bus and watching the "bush" go by. Well, not bush exactly. More like suburbs, upscale neighborhoods, small towns and exclusive resorts. Paddington, Double Bay, Rose Bay. All great. Bondi Beach itself was an endearing crescent of beach that reminded me more of Avalon on Catalina Island than anywhere else. Very nice, but neither of us had any desire to alight, despite the promise of warm water. I think our sojourn into the Aquarium and reading Bill Bryson's The Sunburned Country (aka Down Under in the UK) has made us hesitate making a run for ocean. Once you've read about the agonizing pain and certain death that a Box Jellyfish can inflict, even the most seasoned aquaphile will pause.
Returning to Central Station, we caught the City bus and continued on to the Aquarium stop, which happened to be right next to our hotel. Thank god. We were exhausted and, despite SPF 50 and sun hats, both a little pink. Even though we'd been on buses for a good part of the day, we managed to walk over 10,000 steps! Too tired to go back to Chinatown for dinner, we had tapas in the hotel lobby bar. I know, I know. We're old and boring. But tomorrow's another day. Steps taken: 10,885.
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