I had a short, fortuitous two-week house-sit in inner Sydney city Paddington in December 2015.
Fortuitous as it fitted neatly in between five weeks in Holsworthy and the subsequent five weeks in Bankstown.
Paddington is a wondrous conundrum of a paradox wrapped up in an enigma with a little mystery sprinkled on top. It’s home to many of the upper middle class entitled semi-demi noveau rich that you’d expect to find in the electorate of the conservative Prime Minister of the country.
And yet it’s also home to a fantastic bohemian set, mostly foreign-born, and it was these people I met by the truck-load over just two weeks — in the streets, in shops, in bars. For a loan traveller, I rarely find myself alone in the inner city. (Suburbia is a bit of a different story.) Continue reading