Sydney Life

In the terrifying cold that is (apparently) Sydney winters, most people seem to forget that just around the corner waits a season even more terrible. Lulled into a false sense of security by icy blasts from the Antarctic, the assumption is that summer will somehow bring unending happiness to all who bask in its warm rays. Nothing, comrades, could be further from the truth.

No, summer is not a wonderful time to go to the beach. Nor is it a good time for Christmas (or Chanukah, Kwanza, Ramadan, Tet, whatever’s your poison). In fact, it’s not even a good time to go out and throw some snags on the barbie. It is a hot, frequently humid season that makes people irritable, uncomfortable, sweaty, undesirable, and generally irksome. Take for instance, my recent jaunt around the religious sites of the inner west. On a quest for enlightenment, Mighty Aphrodite and I decided to whet our intellectual appetites by partaking of the more diverse range of religious buildings that you can find in the Glebe/Newtown area. Although occasionally referred to as an Anglo-Saxon ghetto (despite being ultra trendy), these suburbs are home not only to a Daoist temple but also to suburban Sydney’s oldest synagogue and a Turkish community mosque (or camii). Being the ultra-sensitive, progressive new age guy that I am, I thought rather than tempting fate, it was best to dress conservatively. After all, I didn’t want to treat on any toes. Big mistake.

As the sun bore down on us, the heat became unbearable. Compounded by waves of humidity from what appeared to be a developing storm system to the west, my religiously sensitive garb proved to be meteorologically inappropriate, and I quickly melted into a puddle. Aphrodite’s clamshell proved more logical, but even she found it uncomfortable as we marched onwards, the endless stretch of Glebe Point Road becoming more like the Sahara than a suburban street. Needless to say by the end of the day, we were parched, greasy, grimy, covered in dirt, and sweaty from head to toe. Who is there to blame for this? None other than summer. That’s right, if we had taken our venture into Sydney’s religious underbelly in winter, we would have been unscathed, smelling fresh as roses even after six hours of walking. Not even seeing the goddess in her rather nifty make-shift hijab, or the discovery of previously unknown neighbourhoods, made up for the oppressive evil of the sun.

Worst of all, it doesn’t just stop with the “official” end of summer. No. After we’ve put up with the sweaty armpit of a month that is February, summer seems to cling on for dear life, fighting back the advance of autumn like an aging hero up against a new and superior adversary. As late as April, the thermometer can still reach above 35 degrees, and the campus roasts. Now, Sydney Uni has few (if any) failings, but perhaps one slight area where we are let down is our lack of cooling systems. The main quad is simply awful on a hot day, and much of my time in early first semester was spent dashing from one air conditioned pocket to another, avoiding like the plague any unnecessary contact with stifling buildings.So, as you summer lovers prepare for the coming of your favourite season, forget ye not that summer is not always fun. Skin cancer, humidity, and oppressive late February days are as just much part of the season as going to the beach.