After a shot of cold and rainy weather, Sydney graced us with a sunny spring weekend – and we took full advantage.

Saturday started with another trip to the Bondi farmers market to stock up the fridge for the week, where I also gathered all the items necessary to make my kickass mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner that afternoon. Thanksgiving? In October? Apparently, Canada decided to not only rip off the holiday (I asked if pilgrims and Native Americans were involved and was told no), they decided to completely move the date forward a whole month.

But any reason to eat copious amounts of food and drink copious amounts of wine is good with me, so off I went, mashies in hand. The meal was absolutely fantastic, likely the benefit of having a potluck and every person only needing to be responsible for one signature dish. As I looked around the table at the combination of Canadians, Americans, Australians, and English, I couldn’t help but think that, even though we had completely perverted this holiday to suit our desires, somehow we were holding more true to the tradition of Thanksgiving than if we had been at home with our families. If you think about the American foundations of the holiday, it was basically about a bunch of foreigners sharing community with a bunch of locals, giving thanks that they were put into each others lives and land. And here I was, doing much the same thing.
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Instead of a rousing polka (or whatever early American settlers did after their meal), we decided a game of flip cup would solidify this goodwill toward each other. So we divided ourselves by country of birth and came up with Team Americaustralia and Team Canadiengland. The first few rounds were decisively Team A (I mean, America invented the game and nobody knows how to drink like an Australian), but we gave Team C a couple of pity wins.

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The First Pity Victory

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After we had worked ourselves up into a solid drunk, Kings Cross sounded like a good idea, so off we went.

We wound up at the Kings Cross Hotel, directly across the street from the famous Coca Cola sign.

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Dancing and drinking ensued (though I had to hit the breaks on the drinks by this point), and I eventually snuck out to avoid being plied with more tequila shots I wouldn’t drink.

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I woke up feeling pretty awful, but I had plans to meet an American mutual friend of friends from Seattle to show him around Bondi. I managed to (somewhat) pull myself together and do the Bondi – Coogee walk, which kicked off a day of chasing the sun.

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We had post-walk lunch at the Bondi RSL, home of the infamous and amazing swimming pool you’ve probably seen in many of my photos.

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Then we worked our way to The Bucket List, the closest you can get to drinking on the sand in Bondi. We watched the sun set at the North Bondi RSL where we partook in the tradition of the Sunday raffle as well as the 6 o’clock salute to Anzac servicemen. Then we capped it all off with a delicious burrito and margarita at Beach Burrito Co., but by then the sun was long gone. It was a full day of following the sun’s rays across the beach, celebrating it with several ciders. There are worse ways to spend a Sunday, don’t you think?
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