Got the CeeBeeDeebies

When I went to sleep last night, we were flying over Australia. As I awoke this morning, we were still flying over Australia. It's a big place. Much of Europe's mass would fit into Australia's borders, and the leg of our flight over the island during the night was equivalent to travelling from northern Scotland to Turkey.

To celebrate the monumental distance travelled, we were served a slightly odd breakfast of a cold bap containing some Mediterranean vegetables.

We touched down in Sydney airport around 10:30, and limbered ourselves up for the inevitable immigration queue. Fortunately Her Majesty's request, stated on our passports, to allow the bearer "to pass freely without let or hindrance" was taken rather more seriously at the Australian border than elsewhere on our travels. There seemed to be an imperialist 'fast track' that we gladly took advantage of, leaving travellers of most other nationalities in our wake.

The next hurdle was customs. We had filled in a frightening landing slip on board the plane, which had required us to declare any items that may harbour potentially ecosystem-destroying bodies, such as bacteria or eggs. We vacillated over which boxes to tick before opting for full and frank disclosure, even though we were sure the 'carved wooden articles' and 'walking boots' in our luggage presented no threat to the local flora and fauna. Fortunately, the border botanist agreed, for the most part, and removed only the nutmeg from a selection of mixed spices I had picked up in Bali. Fearing that our soiled clothes and  souvenirs made from suspect foreign materials would be confiscated and burned, this was a good result.

The trip from the airport into Sydney's CBD (Central Business District) was smooth and uneventful, if expensive, and gave us our first taste of western service and transport for five months. Nobody jostled at the arrivals hall to usher us into an unlicenced taxi, and nobody asked us what our 'programme' was for the following day in the hope that we would hire them or their cousin as a private guide. It was slightly eery - almost as though we were invisible.

The trade-off for this well-oiled, clean and spacious experience was the price. A one-way ticket for the 20-minute journey set each of us back close to $18, including a hefty airport surcharge. However, this is still well below the cost of the Heathrow or Gatwick express train.

The departure station reminded me of Schipol airport in the Netherlands, with wide empty platforms and double-decker trains. When we alighted, the platform at Liverpool Street resembled, fittingly, the curved and tiled underground of London's tube.

We arrived quickly at Y Hotel - our basic but clean lodgings conveniently located at the southern end of Hyde Park, just at the intersection of Oxford Street and Liverpool Street. Yes, it is very confusing having all the familiar London landmarks jumbled and topologically remapped onto a different city.

Why not?

I expected the CBD to be like Canary Wharf - thrumming with people in suits and Bluetooth headsets by day and apocalyptically empty by night. This is not so, as central Sydney is humming with people socialising, exercising and generally looking happy to be alive, while the area is well landscaped with plenty of green area and open spaces. We revelled in the wide pavements, segregating us from the roads -  neither of which were busy with vehicles or pedestrians.

Having checked in and dropped our bags, we took ourselves on a tour of the local vicinity.

ANZAC memorial

Hyde Park was the obvious starting point, the southern end of which is host to a memorial to the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC). Although the term ANZAC is used for the army to this day, it original referred to the troops of the First World War, who were landed as British colonial forces in Gallipoli (in modern Turkey) to secure the peninsula for the Allied war effort. The troops suffered heavy losses and casualties and the attack was eventually defeated. This is commemorated on the anniversary of the landing on 25th April each year.

The prominent memorial does not glorify the act of war and is largely a reminder of the enormous loss of life as soldiers either did not return to their families or returned unable to work and requiring long-term care. The monument recognises their bravery and their sacrifice.

St Mary's cathedral

Our walk north through the city was an easy and enjoyable stroll taking in St Mary's cathedral, Hyde Park barracks, The Mint, Martin Place, and the Library. The Lindt café on Martin Place was the unfortunate site of the terrible shootings earlier this year, but it was heartening to see that there was no fear or suspicion dampening the mood of the people there.

Opposite Martin Square, we paid a quick visit to the Parliament building. It was only a few minutes before closing time and a harried-looking man on the desk, who was eager to lock up and go home, very kindly let us look in the 'green room' - a smaller equivalent of the House of Commons in the UK.

Sydney abounds with large grassy areas, from Hyde Park to the Botanic Garden. Adjoining the garden is The Domain, a public park where people take a break from work to eat their lunch, have a picnic with friends, or run or cycle in the sunshine. At the heart of this area is the excellent Gallery of New South Wales.

Art gallery of NSW

The permanent collection comprises a selection of 18th/19th century paintings, many of which were painted by Britons arriving in Australia.

Banzai!

The extensive gallery also houses a section on Asia, including Buddhist and Hindu iconography and modern/classic Japanese art, as well as an area dedicated to aboriginal art, and some 'other' pieces.

Um?

By the time we reached the basement, our critical faculties were beginning to falter from the long day. We could have spent many more hours there, but our eyes were closing. We sought sustenance and an early night.

The art gallery opens late on Wednesdays and, as we left, was gearing up for the evening with live entertainment and a bar. It reminded me of London's South Bank Centre but with far fewer people. In fact this trend is echoed across the city centre - it is much less populated than I had expected, and gives the impression of a cleaner, smarter version of the English capital.

In Cook & Phillip Park (named after the British vanguard James Cook and his successor, Arthur Phillip), close to St. Mary's cathedral, we found Bodhi - a purely vegetarian Asian eatery with outdoor seating. We sat among the red lanterns in the balmy early-evening air (still around 25° despite our being out of the tropics) and perused our choices.

We knew that this leg of the journey, through Australia and New Zealand - would be expensive; nevertheless, the prices were dismaying. Malaysian-style curries that we had until recently been slurping up for a handful of shekels were suddenly priced in excess of $20. We sucked our teeth, and ordered a selection of Asian tapas, which was magnificent and satisfying.

Asian feast

We feasted on steamed BBQ 'pork' buns, mushroom har gow, savoury green beans, a delightful morsel of soy mince and orange wrapped in a betel leaf, plus a pair of delectable aubergine 'fillets' in a light batter topped with peanuts and lemon. With chewy, plump brown rice and tea, it was filling fare.

One other significant benefit of exiting SE Asia into Australia is the availability of good beer. Several years ago, that statement could not have been made, but the craft brewing scene has exploded here and in NZ just as microbreweries have resurged in the USA and UK.

I fully intend to avail ourselves of the glut of hop-packed IPAs, nitro stouts, and bonkers barrel-aged fruit-infused imperial farmhouse coffee & rye saisons. We started this journey with a beer flight (or tasting paddle) at The Local Taphouse. Our pilgrimage to the Taphouse took us slightly east out of the CBD, along Oxford Street - possibly the happiest street in Sydney.

The Taphouse is very similar to a cosy English pub, with tall ceilings, wooden floors and leather sofas. At the bar, I winced and exchanged a small fortune for five small pours of beer. Craft drinking has its price and I haven't yet reconfigured my internal accountant to accept the premium placed on artisan products. One of the bottles on the list weighed in at $100. Oof.

Taphouse paddle

The exchange was not regrettable, as all five beers were great, with special mention for the excellently named Operation Paralysis from Doctor's Orders Brewing - an enormous (triple?) IPA at 10% abv and over 150 International Bitterness Units (IBU). It was interesting to note that despite several months without a seriously hoppy ale, my palate didn't recoil at the extreme bitterness imparted by the flavour compounds. Could this be the fabled 'lupulin threshold shift' caused by prolonged exposure to ever hoppier beers?