DAY TWO:- ADVENTURE AT KING'S CROSS:-
(WARNING:- MATURE SUBJECT MATTER. PARENTAL GUIDANCE ADVISED FOR MINORS)


So we landed in Sydney to a very pleasant breezy climate. It was a Sunday morning and not much activity was there to behold and our first impression (which we were to realise soon was not the last one) of Sydney was of a quaint peaceful metropolis, there weren't even casual morning joggers despite the fact that the Sydney running festival was just around the corner. The Municipality staff was at its task working in its resigned enthusiasm. As we entered Pitt Street from the corner of Liverpool Street, we were greeted by the security taped entrance of what seemed a nightclub, with about half a dozen cops walking briskly and talking in hushed tones and it clearly seemed the scene of a crime. As soon as the initial curiosity passed, I turned my thoughts on the day that lay ahead. I knew one thing for sure, we needed some sleep and were only too glad as we reached Rydges World Square. The concierge welcomed us and took possession of our two hefty suitcases and guided us to the reception where we were greeted by a cute oriental girl in her early twenties and her eyes showed she had been on night duty.

I gave my name and told her we had reservation, she barely smiled and in a very cold manner refused to give us an early check-in and offered the lobby sofa till 2 P.M. How gracious I thought, I checked the watch, it was 8 o clock. I groaned and wondered why the heck do they have a check-in time of 2 P.M. when the worldwide standard is 12 noon. I tried explaining to her that we have had a very long flight but she was adamant and the duty manager was nowhere to be seen. Resigned to our fate, the wife chose to doze off on the sofa itself and I started checking out some travel guide books. By 10 o clock a slow trickle of people began checking out, I heaved a sigh of relief. Momentarily the duty manager appeared, an oriental gentleman this time. In the same cold manner that the receptionist had, he also politely refused. On a little persuasion he agreed to see what can be done. He returned about 45 minutes later and offered a smoking room, no less. He must have read on my face how glad I was! The receptionist handed over our travel vouchers and carefully tore off the one she needed, punched my credit card for security and handed over the keys to our room. Our luggage had barely arrived in our room that we fell off to sleep.


I woke up to see the bedside clock showed 4 o clock, the wife was still snoring. I was suddenly so hungry, so I boiled water in the kettle and helped myself to instant noodles. Feeling thirsty I reached out for the water bottle by the bedside, the tag read $4 for 600 ml of water. So much for hospitality! Quite content now, I called home and assured we were absolutely fine. Next call to MSM, an old school friend but a great one nevertheless. MSM has been living in Sydney for the past four years and is now a permanent resident and who I was so looking forward to meeting. Apparently her office was about a 5-minute walk from my hotel and she promised to be at my hotel in an hour. By the time the concierge called to inform that the lady has come visiting, both of us had showered and were fresh enough to plan out the evening.

MSM walked into the room in a pretty red short dress and settled down on the sofa and talk veered to our school days. She updated me on her upcoming wedding and all the preparations going into it. I suggested we go to King's Cross for dinner (I had a hidden motive which I shall outline later) and she called up her fiancee, he readily agreed to join in. VG (fiancee) met us at the entrance of the Museum train station entrance. An automated machine issued tickets for the two of us, our hosts had passes. A 10-minute wait and then we boarded the local train on our way to King's Cross and in another 15 minutes we jumped off at the King's Cross station.

King's Cross is the drugs and red light capital of Sydney, dotted with numerous strip clubs, restaurants with topless waitresses and that was the reason we had planned on it, not for the sleazefest but for the aesthetic delight of being part of a concept, thankfully not as indiscreet a part of the world we live in. We chose Aporto, a fast food chain and a burgers, fries and cokes were just about enough to appease our appetite. We had a casual stroll, saw some amazing fountains (see pic) and watched the "denizens" of the area display their wares and tout for customers. By 11 o' clock the place was buzzing with activity despite being a Sunday. Our hosts excused themselves since they had a Monday coming up and now to ourselves we decided to check out a strip club! This one was called 'Sydney Showgirls' and a board read 'Entry 25 dollars', the bouncer pocketed the 50-dollar note I gave him (I was later to realise that ladies entry was free!). A corny looking waitress asked me what would I desire, it took me a moment to realise she was asking about drinks and ordered a beer and the wife chose an aerated beverage. The stage was about 2 ft. above the ground and about 200 sq. ft. in area. Two strippers in bare minimum were busy hugging poles set in the middle of the stage as groups of guys and a few middle aged-men mostly of oriental origin crowded around drinks in hand watching with unbatted eyelids. A seductive saxophone blared in the background. A twenty-dollar note was offered to one of the dancers from an oriental group of men and within seconds of pocketing the note the dancer was down to her birthday suit. It was amazing to see the efficiency with which she unhooked the sundry hooks. Her agility and flexibility were matchless as she maneuvered around the pole clinging to it as if for dear life. Another twenty-dollar note saw the dancer lie down on the stage and cross her legs around the gentleman's neck bringing her "femininity" within breathing distance of the gentleman's lips. On the other side, dancer no.2 had started to undress in the similar tick-tock unhook fashion and started giving a wacko lap dance to a pimply, freckled guy (seemed a teenager to me). Two other dancers joined the party as the two former dancers, still as naked as truth can be, bowed down and went off. And soon the new comers were busy unhooking their itsy-bitsy attires. As things started getting a little predictive for us backbenchers we decided to take our own leave. The clock showed 11:30.
Outside just opposite on the street was Madame Pimpella's and it won't take a genius to figure out what the premises was all about. A group of hookers in loud provocative dress-ups were busy making cat calls to prospective customers calling out "See a lady?" to whoever did not have a female companion (and that saved me from the cat calls). As we walked down the pavement, a hooker was rubbing the crotch of a middle-aged gentleman giving him a sample of what he might just get and this intimidated the wife a little and suddenly even I started feeling it was time to go back. We took a cab, consciously avoiding taking the trains and in about 20 minutes were at the hotel. Inside the elevator, I inserted the key card into the slot and the lift promptly took us to the 12th floor. I checked the itinerary. Tomorrow was the tour to Blue Mountains and the pickup was at 7 a.m. I groaned. We are on a holiday guys, for crissake!