The best time to leave a city may be when you are not quite ready to. The urge to leave looks for resolution elsewhere; the desire to stay eases the weight of what lies ahead. The hesitation between the two is often the moment to persist.
On a humid summer evening four years ago, I returned to this city as home again. After successive moves, it was the first time I was not beginning anew. Old habits, I thought, were sure to find their way back. I expected familiarity to come naturally, free from the need to assimilate. Yet, upon arrival, I found myself restless for the next stop.
◐
Sitting on the sand of the wharf’s netted beach, the February sun pierced through, as if to remind me I wouldn’t feel this kind of heat for some time. Squinting, I turned to Leela, lying beside me. “The beginning of the end,” she quipped, intending to lift my mood. It was the first day of my last week in Sydney.
A sunrise run along Manly Beach, a suburb on the lower crest of the Northern Beaches, had seemed an appropriate start. But our early rise couldn’t outrun the city. Surfers glided across the swell, while barefoot joggers lapped the promenade. As the clouds cleared and dawn gave way to blue skies, my pace slowed. The city’s heat never quite wove itself to my liking.
Saving my breath, I listened as Leela praised the area. She spoke of her plans to move here, and while I understood the appeal, my slant differed. I hadn’t developed a dependency on ocean and sun, though I often pretended otherwise. Rather, I dreamt of winter wardrobes and easterly winds.
Walking along Manly’s Corso is enough to make one question why a Sydneysider would ever leave. It offers an amalgam of the city as seen from the outside: a slow and unconcerned life, summer pretending all year long. Still, I came to appreciate its separation from the denser south side. Just twenty minutes across the bridge by ferry to space and solitude.
◐
At heart, I thrive in the city rush, in the scramble of brushing bodies. I’m partial to a crowded train carriage, standing, eyes up, for the length of the ride. I scan around me, collecting fragments of inspiration from each city dweller.
It is this sensibility that has always attracted me to London. After holidaying there, I’d sift through my fragments, hoping one day, I wouldn’t have to leave at all. Now, with London as my next destination, Sydney began to pull at me to stay. Caught between cities, I set out the next day for a region that holds something of both.
Alighting at Kings Cross station, needless of a map, I walked towards Macleay Street in Potts Point, a result of making this journey almost every weekend for the past year. I turned the corner to a sprawl of fashionable getup. Regulars passed café lines, their coffee awaiting, prepared by a barista known by name. Restaurant staff laid out linen tablecloths, bracing for a full day of reservations.
I remained on course to meet Lily, who had established a sense of locality in the suburb. Through a series of cafés and shop fronts, from The Grumpy Baker’s display of Danish pastries to the patterned shelves of Potts Point Bookshop, we continued to neighbouring suburbs, stopping by our weekend habitué, Bar Nina, then instinctively heading harbourside to Redleaf beach.
I considered the journey I was about to embark on, only to realise I had been building a locality of my own all along. Sydney initially unsettled my sense of home; the belonging I expected had not come easily. But once earned, it proved difficult to let go.
◐
As my week drew to a close, an overcast day brought cooler walking conditions. For the first time, my starting point strayed from the city’s waterfronts. Weaving through streets of filigreed terraces and frangipani shrubs, I knew my way around the Inner West region.
I headed towards King Street in Newtown, the suburb’s main shopping street. I’ve known its every corner at every time of day. Spent hours in its snug cinema. Idled at every sushi conveyor until closing. Wasted countless pennies on convenience store snacks. As ever, it cradled me in familiarity as I passed through, barely registering it.
Continuing north through Glebe, I paused at Blackwattle Bay. The Harbour Bridge came into distant view, squeezed beneath the smaller Anzac Bridge. I was reminded of the city’s scale, its population tiny relative to its geographic footprint. Hours on foot cover only a fraction of the landscape.
As the Harbour Bridge grew closer, I became aware of what distinguishes the central districts: walkable pathways and rail-tracked roads. Shops and restaurants line the sidewalks, welcoming healthy footfall—a rare sight amid hilly terrain.
Arriving at the easternmost point of my day, I settled at Circular Quay. Tourists steadied their wide-angle lenses for the postcard shot. To my right, the Opera House’s sail-shaped shells overshadowed me. To the left, office buildings and observation decks shaped the skyline. And in between, the steel arch of the Harbour Bridge beamed. My eyes panned between its two entry points, connecting the city’s northern expanse with its south.
That evening, I boarded my bus and crossed the bridge for the last time. I had often noticed the cascade of camera shutters and the shuffle of feet as first-timers rushed to catch a glimpse of the bridge’s architectural ingenuity. As a journey I made daily, I had grown immune to its effect. The length of my commute only led me to wish away the time. That evening, I absorbed every minute.
I sat in solitude by the end of the line. The bus approached the curb with an exaggerated slowness, as if the driver sensed my reluctance. No announcement came, only a consolatory nod in the rearview mirror, signalling that my week had come to an end. I hesitated at the rusted doors before stepping out, not quite ready to. And I knew the time was right.
✺ Kiara
Follow Kiara's Sydney routes
Thank you for spending time with us today. If you enjoy the newsletter each week, you can help us build it by becoming a member.
Membership includes:
※ Archive access
※ Annotated city maps
※ Periodic long reads
※ Writers' field notes
※ Bookshop discount
You'll be helping to keep our essays on culture and place free, and supporting the production of in-depth guidebooks and long-form travel writing.