by george she's done it

George Street is the main drag in Sydney.  Elizabeth or Oxford might give it a run for its money, but when it comes down to it, George Street's where it's at.  Not entirely sure what it is, or if you couldn't quite possibly get better it somewhere else, but the street does claim the heart of the CBD.  What it lacks in character it makes up for in sheer tenacity.

It is a lengthy little street.  It stretches from somewhere just right up near the southern foot of the bridge all the way down past Wynyard, Martin Place, Town Hall, World Square (don't want to go farther at night, just for the record) and Central.  From there it doesn't really die, but just makes a majestic curve and changes names.  Or at least from the buses I tend to ride I gather that's what happen.  Possibly it just contines majestically on forever, but I've never taken the right bus to know.

My first glimpse of George Street must have been ages ago on the very first day I arrived in Sydney.  I was a bit turned around for awhile and saw it alternatively as a large, glistening, modern city street and a slightly sketchy, gosh-they-advertize-that-out-loud! sort of street (that would have been south of World Square).  I found it confusing at the southern end (still do, come to think of it), and full of excriciatingly long blocks in its middle.  (Since when is a block actually two and half blocks?  Really!)

Its upper end throws me off a bit, too, though in a pleasanter way.  I feel quite safe, I just don't know my exact way around. I always figure it out eventually, but it tends to take a bit of trying:  am I at Pancakes on the Rocks yet?  Yet?  Still not yet?!  How long does this road on go for, anyway?!

I like George Street because I know it leads to home.  More specifically, it leads to Wynyard, and Wynyard leads to home, but it reminds me of the warm fuzzy feelings I got about the London tube, because as soon as I was on it, I knew I could find my way back.  George Street's very predictable.

I also like George Street because it absolutely glistens around Town Hall in the summer.  It makes the city look shiny and bright and fresh and new -- mixed with a bit of tasteful old -- and I'm happy to be in it.

The shops also help.  I could find nearly anything I needed on, of just off of, George Street.  At the very least I could find a bus that would take me there.  But, as aforementioned, you can start at the north end and get pancakes 24/7.  Really, I could stop right there and be more or less content, but the street goes on.  There's the Rocks markets.  There's my favorite souvenir shop.  There's a Max Brenner.  There's Wynyard, and, with it, Coles.  There's a Dymocks.  There's an amazing cupcake shop.  There's a medical center.  There's the store that sells my eye shadow.  There's sushi.  There's gelato.  There's movies.  There's clothing stores.  There's Vodafone, painful as it is.  There's Payless Shoes.  There's a church you can duck into.  And that's all north of the sketchy bit.  Dear knows what you can find south of Goulburn, but I think it might be a more risque than the church.

Incidentally, I just tried to teach the word risque to my students.  It wasn't in the dictionary and it didn't go over very well at first.  It was one of those excruciating moments where you're struggling to define a word appropriately, and yet convey the necessary implications. It's a lot harder than something that's, say, out and out slang for sex because then you can just say it and move on.  When it's kind of beat-around-the-bush-y, it's a bit harder.  (Same problem with the Grease lyrics, "did you get very far?"  I tend to gloss over them and hope for the best.  And can I just mention how indelicate it feels to try to explain French kissing when there's a French student in the class?  Better that that them asking about Brazilians, though, I guess.)

Eventually after a few minutes of ho-humming and blushing slightly and trying desperately to think of an effective way of communicating "risque," someone (was it me?  them?  I can't even remember.  Think I've blocked it out.) came up with the ingenious notion of a girl wearing a bikini in a church.  They latched on immediately and henceforth the definition of risque in our classroom is "girl in bikini in church!"  I think they've missed half the meaning, but they're long past the point of ever getting it back.  Oh well.

Getting back to George Street, though, I also like it because, though it is very long and would take ages to walk from one end of to the other, it is doable.  I estimate it would take me about 40 minutes at a solid clip. (Provided there weren't slow-walking people.  Can I just mention how very much I detest slow-walking people?  In a very non-judgemental, loving everyone made in the image of God sort of way, of course.)  Certainly long enough that I'll always hop a bus if I can (and I know my bus pass will cover me on any part of George, even if I (hehe!) only want to go one stop.  I just love doing that from time to time.  For kicks and giggles because I can, you know. Please tell me you do something similar.), but short enough that, should I find myself in really dire straights, I could always walk it.  On various occasions, I have walked pretty much every part of it.  It's comforting to know I know my way around it.  Or perhaps along it would be more to the point.

The main thing I don't know about it is which George it was named for.  I'm desperately hoping it wasn't the Third, or I shall feel terribly unpatriotic.  Probably was, though, if the street's character and tenacity are any reflection of a potential namesake's.

And now, by George, I've done it -- written enough about George Street to NaNoWri me over the river of 50,000!!  Huzzah!!!