I’m sitting in a car being driven by my 18 year old Sydney sass-queen of a friend: Ellen.
“Newtown is just as hip as your Brunswick St.” she claims.
Please. She’s obviously lying to me. I’ve been to Sydney eight times before this and outside of a nice looking harbour with a pretty bridge this city has no soul: despite the nice weather your things are more expensive, your people are unpleasant and your urban planning is just f***ed. I who hail from the superior town of Melbourne clearly know better than to trust this Sydney local.
We drive down King St and pass the local Lentil As Anything. I take what I said back. This is cool. This is hip. I feel like… I’m… in Melbourne. The pubs have excellent beer gardens, there’s art all around me and I want to eat all the ice cream sandwiches on offer. After looking around a few of the boutiques and peeking in a few cafes (“The Pie Tin” was a stand-out but it wasn’t a pie kind of day), Ellen proposes we go to her favourite cafe which is in a place called Glebe and consume bagels. I oblige.
A brief aside on Glebe: it has a local Saturday market in the grounds of the local school filled with art, craft and music. I dig.
Sass-queen promises that “Well Co. Cafe” will deliver the good cafe vibes found in Melbourne. We arrive to find zero bagels left but despite that, the cafe vibes are excellent: the red walls blend well with the 1970’s wooden furnishings and it’s topped off with chairs which have old wallpaper prints. We order the vegan scrambled tofu with moroccan spice served with sourdough, a side of sweet potato chips and sip on smoothies served in jars: it’s delicious.
Fast-forward many hours and many spoonfuls of nutella and we’re suddenly in “The Blackout” in Ellen’s hood: Linfield. I should mention that yes, we drove across the bridge and yes, it was better than crossing the Bolte. We, which now includes Ellen’s bae Sarah, consume cocktails. I must say my sanity blacks out after my cocktail which was just gin, vermouth and absinthe. Ellen’s “Toblerone” definitely wins the taste test. Somehow we end up singing “Bills” in public.
Sydney officially has a not-so-underground hip side. What was I even in Sydney for?