Locked Up Abroad: The Sydney Aquarium
by Alyssa Ramos
Everything seemed like it was in slow motion. The cool, crisp airport air stung my eyes as I squinted about to see where the slow-clap had started from. I had made it. I had flown Malaysia Airlines, and produced it to Sydney without having going missing. Just kidding. That was truly pretty messed up, but it truly was a miracle that I had finally gotten there.
Soon after the ongoing obstacle course that was my week in Thailand, items instantly started obtaining far better as soon as I landed in Sydney. I discovered a Western Union at the airport, so was able to get money out, which was wonderful considering the fact that my debit and credit cards were stolen and I had about $80 AUD left, and my mom was able to convince the short-term apartments I was supposed to be staying at in Bondi Beach to let her pay for it via email with her credit card given that they don’t accept cash.
Of course I had chosen the couple of days of the year that it rains in Sydney to go there, but I was so happy to have produced it there in general that I genuinely did not give two shits. It sucked a small that I couldn’t check in yet when I finally got to Bondi Beach Apartments since it was only 8am, but at least they let me store my luggage, while showering off the stench of Thailand and Malaysia Airlines would have been wonderful.
So off into the freezing cold, dreary morning I went, wearing the same outfit I had worn nearly every day although volunteering in similar weather in South Africa. First I went to go see the famed Bondi Beach, which was only a couple of blocks from where I was staying. It was completely empty. So I kept moving. I bought an umbrella, which inverted within ten minutes, so bought one more one, along with some Red Bull.
Suddenly, a giant red double-decker City Sightseeing tour bus rolled up to a stop outside of the shop I was exiting. ‘Best!’ I thought triumphantly, deciding it was a genius idea to ride about the bus for a couple of hours to get the touristy stuff out of the way. I sat on the open-upper level so I could get fantastic pictures, which, would have worked had I not been so freezing that I couldn’t even hold my phone. But I saw all of the major sites and noted what I wanted to go back to later soon after I became human once more.
“Do I require to change buses to go to the Opera Home?” I stuttered via chattering teeth to the jolly-looking bus driver downstairs. He seemed to be evaluating me for a moment, which I automatically assumed was due to my disheveled, zombie-like appearance.
“Yes, you’ll get off and in ten minutes get on the next bus, there will be a guy named Tom at the quit, he’ll help you, he loovvesss the young blonde girls.” He snickered, revealing an English accent. Great.
The bus pulled to a quit and I hopped off, trying to swiftly walk in the opposite direction to avoid whoever this creepy Tom individual was. I spotted a young, fairly great-searching guy standing near the back of the bus, but prior to I could register anything, jolly man shouted, “Hey Tom! This young lady was some questions for you!” Awkward.
Turns out Tom was cool. He was around my age and lived just outside of the principal region of Sydney. He even wrote me a list of non-touristy, nearby things to do and we exchanged Whatsapp‘s in case I wanted to meet up for drinks later since I was by myself and didn’t know anyone else in Sydney. Totally safe.
The whole bus tour ended up taking about five hours from Bondi Beach to Sydney and back, so it was much more than passed the check in time when I got back. My room was cute it looked like a small studio with a kitchenette, and small living room nook. The sign on the shower said to limit water usage but screw that, it took me a fantastic twenty minutes just to defrost and scrub all of the accumulated international grime off of me.
When I was finally re-grouped and wearing the only outfit I could pull together that was both appropriate for the trendiness of Sydney and the forty-degree weather, it was already 4:30pm. Since I only had 3 days in Sydney, I had to get every thing out of the way as promptly as feasible, so decided to ride the tour bus back into town to knock out the indoorsy touristy issues then check out some nightlife.
Tom had been Whatsapping me non-stop about items to do, tour times and costs, and in general to get my ass moving considering that I didn’t have much time, which I appreciated, considering that my ADD is equivalent to a Koala Bear’s. I had thirty minutes until the next bus so searched the principal street in Bondi Beach for something quick to eat.
‘Happy Hour Unique – 1 Slice of Pizza and 1 Wine $9AUD’ …JACKPOT! It was at that extremely moment that I decided I really should move to Bondi Beach. It was a modest small café in a nook one block from the beach, and the owner/only staff there was a really appealing man in his late 30’s. I couldn’t tell if he was shocked or impressed that I ate my pizza and drank my wine in 7 minutes, but was too shy and awkward to stick about to obtain out.
I ran to catch the bus just in time, which was now packed with men and women doing touristy issues like standing up to take photos on a moving bus. I reveled in the moment when they finally got whacked in the head with low tree branches. I had somehow memorized the bus route and the city layout, so knew to get off at Central Park and walk the six blocks to Darling Harbor instead of getting to change buses.
It was beginning to get dark, so I walked promptly, noticing the uncanny amount of young, appealing, men in suits walking importantly in each and every direction. I quickly regretted not bringing any sort of heeled shoe. I kept my focus on my pre-determined path, considering that if I took one wrong turn it would result in me having to pull out my map and look like a tourist.
I finally produced it to Darling Harbor, exasperated and aching from the walk and carrying about my ten pound Harvey’s travel bag for the last twelve or so hours. It was about 6pm which was perfect because the web site said the Sydney Aquarium closes at 8pm, and I had pre-bought my ticket on the bus.
The doors to the aquarium were open, and there was a boisterous family members of like twelve sitting about a table in the concession location, and one more approaching the ticketing desk. Even so there was no 1 there to sell or take tickets. Becoming as impatient and practical-minded as I am, I decided it would be fine if I just slipped through the rotating metal entrance bar given that I could just show an individual my ticket if they asked me inside.
The location was completely empty! It was remarkable! Kind of boring, but still better than pushing by way of a bunch of annoying tourists. Hypocritical, I know. Suddenly I saw a worker cleaning one of the tanks and froze, fearing that I’d get in trouble. By the fish police?
“Sorry ma’am!” He said, as if he were in my way. Now I felt all VIP and badass, like I owned the aquarium or some thing, and carried on my merry small way by means of the rest of the exhibits. I passed another aquarium keeper, who just smiled and nodded at me as she continued in the opposite direction, until I finally got to the exhibit I wanted to see the most, the sharks.
The exhibit needed me to go outside the main region, up a ramp, and into a glass tunnel where a bunch of terrifying sharks were swimming. Considering that my terrific white shark-diving excursion had gotten canceled in South Africa, I figured taking secure selfies with these sharks would be the next finest thing. Except I may have gotten a small carried away with the selfies.
It suddenly dawned on me that I had been taking shark selfies for about ten minutes, and was in a separate part of the aquarium where no one could see or hear me. I started speed walking back to the ramp, and may possibly or could not have even began to run a small bit, half expecting to be locked out of the major hall.
The doors had been still open. Clearly, they have to check to make certain no one’s still inside. My anxiety subsided as I followed the remaining “Exit” signs by way of the rest of the last exhibit.
“No!” I literally gasped out loud as the last “Exit” sign pointed to a padlocked metal gate. “No, no, no!” I whimpered to the fish, who now all seemed to be jeering at me.
I spotted yet another Exit sign above two double doors and ran to push them open, begging the universe to let them be an exit. But the blinding white tile hallway behind the doors only led to the “behind the scenes” region of the giant fish tanks for staff only. There was another set of double doors at the opposite end, I ran over to them and pushed them open, but only to reveal an even shorter hallway and a second pair of double doors that said “EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY, ALARM WILL SOUND”.
‘I’ll just go back the way I came and leave by means of the front.” I told myself, trying to be reasonable. As I retraced my actions, I turned on my information roaming so that I could Whatsapp the only person I had contact with in Sydney, Tom. Right after sending about five texts with no responses, I suddenly looked up to discover that I had walked in a circle and was back at the Exit signed doors that led to no exits.
At this point…I began to full on panic. “HELLO?!” I shouted as I started to run by means of the dark, empty, extremely eerie aquarium. But once again, it somehow led me in an additional circle. Tom had finally written back, confused by “what I meant by becoming locked in the aquarium”, but I had no time to explain because I was about to have a heart attack and die.
I ran back to the double doors that led to the emergency exit and popped them open. ‘Just do it.’ I thought to myself, imagining the entire aquarium erupting with sirens and flashing lights, likely killing all of the fish. It was only about a ten-foot distance in between the two doors, but as I was half way to the emergency exit doors, panic struck once again as I heard the first set of doors clank shut.
“Shit!!!” I huffed, spinning around to confirm the thought that the very first set of doors would be locked from the outside. They had no press bar, no manage, absolutely nothing. I turned back to the emergency exit and disregarding its warning sign, went in for the push. “No, no, no, no, no!” I said out loud to the empty ten foot by seven-foot hallway. It didn’t open. I thought for positive I was going to have to sleep in the hallway.
‘Perhaps Tom can call a person!’ I suddenly thought, unlocking my phone. No service. I was literally about to start crying. It was my very first night in Sydney, with only two nights left, and I was going to have to spend it locked in a hallway with no phone service. Could be worse, the plane could have gone missing.
In one final fit of anger, anguish, and adrenaline, I launched my shoulder into the metal rod-deal with of the heavy door, and gasped as it flew open and sent me tumbling down onto the hard wet asphalt. I’d never ever been so happy to be lying on the disgusting floor of an alley in Australia in my life. I practically didn’t notice the loud alarm that had right away began going off as soon as the door opened.
Even though I had a perfectly legitimate reason for setting it off, I also didn’t want to take my chances with the law, so got up and began running down the dark alley to the metal stairs that led up to the street. I was quickly back in the bustling blocks of company experts, locals, and tourists, blending in like absolutely nothing had happened aside from my lack of breath and flushed cheeks.
Exasperated, and annoyed that no one understood why I was so upset, I began walking towards my next intended destination, the Sydney Opera House, for my 1 glass of wine (because it was all I could afford) at the Sydney Opera Bar.
There was a live band playing inside, but I couldn’t pry myself away from the iconic view of the Sydney Harbor Bridge across the bay, and the smooth white sails of the Opera Home that had been jutting out into the dark night sky correct in front of me. I got my one glass of Pinot Grigio from the bar, and went outside to stand at a table next to a heat lamp.
Considering that no one was that close to me, I discretely slipped my tour guidebooks that I had picked up on the bus out of my bag and began flipping by way of them for the tenth time. But of course the second I try to be discreet about anything, someone notices.
“Excuse me? Sorry to bother you, but would you mind taking a photo for us? My friends don’t know how to use a camera.” The cutest guy of the group finally asked with an Australian accent. I had been watching them in my peripheral vision as they attempted to take a photo in front of the bridge with a standard camera whose flash was way to bright to capture anything in the background.
“Sure, but I believe you need to use your phone’s camera, otherwise you won’t be able to see the bridge.” I smirked, watching all of their eyes widen as they considered my suggestion. It worked, clearly, and for that I was rewarded with my second glass of wine!
The guys were from Tazmania…as in, where the Tazmanian Devil lives, and yes it’s a real thing. They were visiting the younger, cute 1, who lives in Sydney, and who was overbearingly interested in understanding everything about me. So a lot so that the rest of his “mates” left him to go to the seedy nightlife location in Kings Cross, although he stayed behind and blindly committed to performing anything that I wanted to do.
I wasn’t in love, but at least I had a person to hang out with. He on the other hand, was quite in adore. He reminded me of a little puppy…I guess that’s why they call it puppy love? Either way the term is suitable since I found out he was about as young as a puppy. We went to a local bar in Surry Hills where everyone stared at me like I was an alien. Tazmania boy later admitted that it was because I was American and Aussies really like Americans and all want to go there.
It took me a even though to detach him from my hip, but I finally was able to slip into a taxi and take a painful $30AUD ride back to Bondi Beach.
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