Sydney Mardi Gras

I got the most peculiar sensation on landing at Kingsford Smith – that of coming home, or to A Home, at least. This was odd not only because I do not consciously think of Sydney as home, but also because I have only landed at the airport three times in my life, so there was nothing I really recognised that evening, not part of Botany Bay that was familiar as we came in to land that evening. Still, the feeling was there and – despite the changes that have taken place in some parts of the city – the feeling stayed all weekend.
The main purpose of visiting Sydney was to partake in the delights of Mardi Gras – a sight (not to mention the other senses) denied me the last time i was here by the thoughtless timing of the beginning of my training contract: I left in January, Mardi Gras is in early March. This year was the 30th anniversary of the first one, the event being most obvious in the larger-than-usual number of visitors than anything else. The parade itself, on Saturday, was unusual for me, since it took place after night-fall (most sensible, since it allowed for a great use of light colour) – I had managed to bag Dan (who kindly put me up for the weekend) and myself tickets to watch the specdtacle from the members' area on Taylor Square, so we did so in relative comfort, without having to queue for ages, shove too much or sit on beer-crates from early afternoon until 8, when the parade started. Also unusual was the sheer size of the after-party (“Too Big” being the obvious description – or, if not too big, then “insufficiently fragmented”: 90% of the 15-20,000 revellers danced around in one of two airplane-hangar-sized spaces, making finding friends impossible and turning the whole lot into two giant mosh-pits. Fun, in its own way, but less so than the after-after-after-party at Home, the next night – we wisely decided not to attend Toybox at Luna Park on Sunday afternoon, allowing for sleep and allowing me to catch up with my friend Michael, whom I had rather missed).