I walked straight out of Singapore and into the bustle of Khoa San Road. There were tuk tuks whizzing behind me, Thai market salesmen yelling bargain pitches at the hundreds of passing backpackers in words I had yet to grasp an understanding of. I looked around, feeling an inward smile, Jenn and Johnny so far ahead of me. At the risk of sounding like every backpacker in the biz, I couldn’t help being overwhelmed by the feeling that I had stepped straight into The Hangover 2. It wasn’t about street fighting monks and face tattoos but the feeling that a movie montage was unfolding around me.

I was weary of hanging out on Khoa San, afraid I wasn’t really experiencing Thailand. The truth is I probably wasn’t, but this didn’t strike me as the go-to for tourist and backpackers who, only after their favourite Western treats, were afraid to venture further. There was something special here.

Jenn’s high school mate, Johnny who is on a bit of a world tour, offered to show us the good times of Bangkok. After multiple lengthy visits he is kind of a pro when it comes to navigating and negotiating. We headed straight for a little old Thai lady cooking up huge plates of Pad Thai in the middle of Khoa San Road. Johnny explained our options to us, we handed over our 60 baht (approximately $1.97), piled on the chili flakes and sat on the curbside to enjoy.

Within the first ten minutes of being fully immersed in Bangkok I had eaten my first street meal and made my first purchase {haggling care of Johnny}. I had secured myself a little leather shoulder bag that would save my life not only for the rest of the trip but on many a night out in Sydney, for the bargain price of approximately $9.

We started the night in one of many roadside bars, ordering a beer for 70 baht thinking I was getting a deal; when an extra large bottle of Chang arrived at my table, something clicked in my brain and I finally grasped the fullness of being so grateful for every little difference that this place held from the land I call home; Australia. As Jenn and Johnny caught up on the ins and outs of the years following high school I sat in a silent state of contentment, watching as backpacking hippies and camera-touting tourists drank beers side by side, watched the soccer game, chatted, made new friends; letting their cares float away with their inhibitions.

We spent the first night of our Bangkok adventure bar-hopping down Khoa San and the alleyways that branch from it. We met an English mate, Collin, who looked ot be about 18 years old and wandered off without a word after putting up with 2 hours of our shenanigans. Jenn, Johnny and I gave each other drunken dares to eat the dried squid being sold on the street stalls, we drank a beer tower and then, eventually when we’d had enough, we finally crashed back at the hotel.

Sure you can argue that I didn’t experience anything that couldn’t have been done somewhere else, but I beg to differ. I wouldn’t have had that experience if I’d stayed at home in Sydney. Thailand is different than Australia, and it’s not a place where it’s easy to go and not see what it has to offer. Traveling is a whole new being, and even if you find yourself sat in the middle of a pizza place in a country that doesn’t sell cheese, you’ll have a story about how you ended up there.

Everyone I met told me that they weren’t impressed with Bangkok, that it didn’t hold any culture and that it was too chaotic to enjoy. I went into it looking for an excuse to leave, I surely wouldn’t like it because I’m probably less cultured than all of those others. But I dunno, Bangkok got me.

Bangkok; like a scene from a movie is a post from: Wayward Traveller

… really humid. Like, shockingly hot and muggy.

Singapore was never really on the list of places that I was dying to see. It was another Asian city, that I probably hadn’t heard enough about. Living in Sydney, Singapore comes up a lot in conversation, at least in the advertising industry. Many offices are based in Singapore of have a Southeast Asian counterpart nestled in the big island city.

It ended up as a stop on our much anticipated trip to Thailand (happy birthday to me!) because our Singapore-based budget airline has a standard layover there, regardless of your destination. In the effort of saving as much money as possible, our layover was particularly long; 24 hours. I’m typically quite a laid back traveler in the sense that I like to take my time around a place, I like to rest up to make sure that I make the most of my days and I tend to really weigh up options about what highlights I want to see and which I can let fall by the wayside, until next time. Unfortunately, with only about 12 hours or less total to see a city, time isn’t a luxury. Just one of the reasons I was so lucky to have Jenn as my travel buddy. A very driven and spontaneous traveller, from the gate she was ticking off things that we could realistically squeeze in on our one night and one day in the city.

After arriving in our fairly posh hotel (I was chuffed to find a personal greeting on the TV screen) we headed off for the first order of business; Chili Crab.

It was quite late for dinner (around 9:30pm) but we did manage to snag a table at the well-known No Signboard Seafood Restaurant. When the crab arrived, nearly in 4 whole pieces swimming in a vat of creamy, spicy sauce, I think Jenn and I were both at a slight loss. We looked quizzically at the crab, unsure of how to approach it. In the end we just went all in, I think we may be the reason the restaurant will reconsider it’s use of white silky table cloths throughout the restaurant. The waiters kept coming back, offering more napkins, I think secretly they were just getting a good laugh out of these two messy, white girls.

After dinner we attempted to hit up the highest bar in the city, but upon learning that there was a $30 cover charge (and surely $20+ cocktails at the top), we wrote it off for an early knock-off.

Fresh the following morning, we were up bright and early (thanks to the tricky little time change) and out the door. We trekked down through Clarke Quay and found ourselves hopscotching through a stream of marathon runners before finally peeling away to head toward Marina Bay and all the action of the tourist attractions.

We glavanted through the Marina, to the Gardens by the Bay, Marina Bay Sands and then over to Raffles Hotel.

We managed to squeeze in two coffees and two cocktails through the day as well, so not half bad!

The highlights of the day were sitting atop the Marina Bay Sands cruise boat-esque top deck, sipping a $20 cocktail as the much appreciated wind whipped around us. The Marina Bay Sands is massive and bustling inside, like a shopping center at Christmas. It was very interesting how integrated the hotel was with the shops, walking out of your room in the morning you would be looking down into the chaos of early morning shoppers and tourists snapping pictures.

Our last stop on the tour of Singapore was The Old Raffles Hotel, probably my favorite thing in Singapore, it may have been because it was the end of the long day of walking, but I really enjoyed the feel of the hotel. Like an old colonial British holiday resort with white pillars and walls and palms growing in every corner.

When we finally worked our way through the maze into the famously known Long Bar and settled in for a Singapore Sling, I was completely content with the success of our one day stint in Singapore.

Jenn and I raised our respective Singapore Slings to good times and flexible traveling and we were ready to set off on the bigger adventure… cue Bangkok.

Singapore is… is a post from: Wayward Traveller

Bondi Beach, Australia

As the white foam approaches, I know there’s only one thing I can do if I want to avoid the searing pain of salt water in my sinuses. The break is coming too fast for me to flip my cumbersome, yellow longboard so I simply duck, dropping my knees until I feel the rush of the wave curl over my head. It must be over, I think, and in the same second I feel the force of the ocean pulling my body in two different directions. The soft velcro of my leash pulls gently on my right ankle as my precious new Rip Curl surfboard is sent tumbling on a ride of its own. The bum of my board shorts scoops the clean, sandy bottom of the Tasman Sea and I slam my foot against it to get to the surface. A tiny ray of the last remaining sunshine reflects through the water as I break the surface with a gasp for air. Once I’ve confirmed I’m in the clear, I hop back on the waxy surface of my board and begin the grueling paddle back out to the beginning. As the waves pull back, it feels as though I’m hovering on the surface of the water and I see my friend Lise waving to me frantically as she simultaneously checks the sets coming in. Finally I make it out to the group as I watch a blonde-haired, t-shirt clad man glide effortlessly in front of me.

I bet he’s from around here, I think. I bet I’ll be totally crashing his wave if I don’t get out of here. I bet I look like a seal attempting to survive a shark attack flailing this way.

He passes. I float aimlessly just outside the swell. There are just so many people, my mind says, surely I’m the only one stupid enough to head out into this without knowing exactly what to do when that wave gets to me. My board wobbles under my weight as I make myself a sitting duck.

Just don’t fall off. Then they’ll know you don’t belong here.

Wobble, wobble. I lay down and start paddling just as I feel that my abs may not be able to keep me upright.

They didn’t catch me.

A monster comes rolling in, and I breath a sigh of relief that I’m on the outside and all I get is a little bump. Lise disappears behind the wave, and the last I see of her is as she pops up and crouches to drop in alongside the pros.

I can do that.

I paddle to the middle, trying to go behind the others so I don’t end up under some 7 foot piece of fiberglass. Another waves passes underneath me.

I lay on my stomach, facing the beach. I peek behind and see a swell on the horizon.

I bet that will be a good one. And I watch it.

I begin to paddle furiously, stuck in that weird limbo like a seagull flying into the wind. The back of my board thrusts me forward and I paddle as fast as I can, watching hopelessly as the wave passes me by.

Next one, I tell myself.

I turn to paddle out when I see a giant breaking behind me. Shit… this isn’t going to be fun! The voice in my head screams. I flip, managing to keep one arm wrapped around the board. I’m pulled further to shore. I jump back on the board and slowing try to paddle again. As I lift my hands above the surface I can see that my fingers are all shriveled. All this and not even one real try. I look to shore. I could just go in, I think, then I look out to sea, but there are still good sets rolling in, I think. I get halfway before another wave crashes in front of me. My bum scrapes the sand again. I come up and see a swimmer hollering to his surfer mates.

They see me for the fraud I am, my mind accuses. I start my paddle to shore as the sun starts disappearing behind Ben Buckler.

I’ll get one next time, I think.

The truth is that I know that I’ll worry about getting in the way of the locals, I’ll worry about how I look when the second that I lift my body off the board, I go crashing into the surf. My friend will make a jab at me about beginner luck, if I even manage an ounce of a good ride.

The truth is, I’m not afraid of being rocked by the mighty ocean. I’m afraid of being exposed for the surfing fraud I am.

the surf. is a post from: Wayward Traveller

A little over a year and a half ago, I wrote this post about leaving your childhood home behind, and it resonated with a lot of people. At that time, I was sitting in my sister’s kitchen in Kennewick, Washington. We were having a fantastic summer, swimming with my niece and nephew, celebrating birthdays and just enjoying being fun-employed and traveling the world. As happy as I was to be at home, I was still a little bit lost. Living out of a single suitcase, unsure of where I would be living in less than one month. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about the travel, but let’s be real here, I’m not as tough as I look.

What did I do? I got on that plane at LAX, after two very long and very tearful conversations, one with Mom and one with Dad. I don’t know what I was afraid of. I just missed them and I hadn’t even left yet. I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing.

photo credit

But Australia was about starting a new life in an already loved city.

So, things were chugging along just fine. I was working 12 hour shifts as a waitress in a swanky hotel {with a less than swanky paycheck}, Lorenzo was designing his digital dreams as a digital media student and we were living with eight other people in a cold house in the hipster superb of Chippendale. But something wasn’t right. I missed my friends and family, I was too time and money poor to explore Australia and I was worried that I was running out of time on my year long visa.

Then, I became the business woman of my dreams, sort of. I didn’t realize what had happened until I went home at the end of 2012.

When I finally made the trip back home for Christmas, something felt different. Suddenly, it all felt a little more like visiting. Being someone that doesn’t always grasp understanding right in the moment it took me a few days of reflection to understand just what was going on.

Here’s the thing. I missed my life. I missed my home.

Sydney = home.

I know, I know. What an insensitive daughter/sister/niece/friend. But really, I’ve built my life here and it took a trip back to the motherland for me to see it.

You know when you’re first starting out in a new place and everything is unfamiliar? In Australia, the suburb streets are lined with terrace houses, all connected at the walls with different colors paint splashed across their fronts. The first time I saw it, I thought it was weird; so different from home, where childhood houses are spread across blocks all surrounded by picket fences with metal swing sets in the backyards.

photo credit

I’ve stopped noticing accents. It takes a sudden moment of clarity to realize whether someone is talking like me, or like everyone around me, because they are both so second nature to me now.

Sometimes travelers, when they find themselves writing similar words or thinking similar thoughts, they bolt. They’ve overstayed their welcome. I’ve just found my place, and that is a very exciting feeling.

When the foreign becomes the familiar. is a post from: Wayward Traveller

It’s been nearly one year since I’ve left Sydney. It almost hurts to say that.

Last time I took a day off work, without being stuffed up and curled up in my bed, was February 2012. I jumped on a 6am flight with L and my old college friend Eric {Prestbo as he was known to us} in tow. We skirted the streets of Melbourne in search of good food and culture. We hopped in a rental car and tried to pay enough attention to let Eric know when he was swerving into the right lane as we drifted down the Great Ocean Road. We found the most perfect, peaceful beach {our beach} off the highway in Kellett River, after walking next to a wild koala. We lived that roadtrip like we were a bunch of Uni kids heading down the Pacific Coast highway for summer.

Melbourne Sunset.

The famous 12 Apostles.

Kellet River Beach.

But that was almost a year ago.

This is the longest I’ve gone without my wings since I got on that big jumbo jet headed to Sydney in 2009.

So, what did I do? I worked for nearly a year with no holidays and then, naturally, I booked two flights at rapid fire pace.

I’m heading home in less than 2 weeks to see my family and friends in Los Angeles {city never sleeps, does it?} and Seattle. I’m in for the weather shock of my life seeing as it’s been in the 90s here and humid beyond believe, while the possibility of snow in Seattle is… interesting. Who would leave the summer for the winter? A crazy lady. Albeit, a crazy lady who hasn’t seen her friends and family in a year and a half.

Naturally, I then immediately booked a flight to Thailand to celebrate my birthday with Jenn, it is my 26th after all. Big things.

I’m mostly looking forward to parties in L.A. and jeans and boots that don’t cost half of my paycheck. My crazy life-loving friends. Seeing my friends Anna and Kevin and celebrating their recent engagement in person over beers in their new brewery and hanging out in the new living rooms and decks of all my friends who are growing up so fast!

I want as many pumpkin spice lattes as I can physically ingest in a day, everyday. I want to walk Pike Place Market and maybe even pick up some quirky gifts to bring home to Sydney and hang on my walls to remind me of home.

Photo Credit: TheSeafarer

Of course I can’t wait to see my family. We’ll just be missing my brother and sister-in-law who are in Honduras for the year. Good samaritans.

Now, Thailand.

That’s where you guys come in.

The plan is that after an overnight in Singapore {read: shopping} we’ll land in Bangkok for a night and spend most of the second day there.

Then we’re off to the west coast: Phuket, Ko Phi Phi, Ko Lanta and Krabi. We don’t know if we can pack them all in so, tell me, what are your favorites? Where should we stay? Great hostels/guest houses? Best places to eat and party?

I’m looking forward to a lot of this.

Cheers guys and until next time.

Getting my wings back. is a post from: Wayward Traveller

My whole teenage and adult life I have been an on-again-off-again buff chick without ever actually reaching the ‘buff’ point. I always stop somewhere before being fit and now looking back, I wonder if it was just that each time I reached fit (or back when I was naturally fit) I just denied myself the satisfaction of believing it.

I remember going for after school runs through the nearby cemetery all through middle school and high school, rain or shine, and being the first girl to finish in our 6th grade funrun (and running in jeans no less – who DOES that?). But something changed when I got to middle school and all of my friends started going out for sports and I trailed behind scared to take shots in Junior Varsity Basketball games. Maybe it was a slow loss of confidence in my ability to succeed in sports (it was a lack of coordination more than anything) that led me to feel like I wasn’t physically fit enough.

When I see photos of myself galavanting around Florence in the summer of 2010, I’m shocked at my skinny frame, but I don’t remember feeling that skinny.

It’s time to take note and take control.

I’ve had gym memberships, tagged along to spinning classes and have even done a pretty fair stint of bootcamp in Seattle but I’ve never really stuck it out. I was just a face in the crowd. And then I joined Bottoms Up! Fitness in Bondi Beach and from Day 1 the trainers called me out by name, suddenly I felt like someone might notice if I stayed in bed for a day. So, I did the rational thing and signed up for a month-to-month contract to meet the trainers and 15-20 fellow Bondi Girls on the beach at 5:45am and kick some butt!

Photo credit: lululemon athletica

Imagine it being your job to get up at 5am every day and not only exercise but more importantly be so passionate about what you are doing that you actually make other enjoy exercising. That’s pretty impressive.

Not only do I enjoy going, despite that when my alarm beeps at 5:15am I think I couldn’t possible manage another morning of sand sprints. I do it because I know that the trainers will be down there just like every other day and chances are my new friends will be there too!

I suddenly feel like my life entails more than just Facebook monitoring, brief writing and bus rides to and from the city. More than sporadic weekend runs and cheeky weeknight wines with friends. At BUF there is one more element to my life, one where no one knows or cares what my job is, what I’m stressed about or whether or not I have weekend plans. For that 45 minutes each morning, none of that matters and every day I’m amazed at how my day-to-day worries and responsibilities don’t cloud my workout time.

I’ve been going for about 10 weeks now and other than two non-consecutive weeks off (one for back pain and one for a nasty cold) I have been Bootcamp-ing it up 3-5 mornings per week and to be honest, on the morning I don’t go I’ve realized I’m A) grumpier B) More tired and C) I actually feel less fit (just in one day!).

Cheers to ass-kicking and sand sprints!

Why 5am is the new 8am. is a post from: Wayward Traveller

I’m clearly not very great at capturing a moment and immediately putting the words down on paper, I prefer to think of it as ‘living in the moment’ and attempting not to fall victim to the well-known stereotype of a blogger who only sees the world through the lens of a camera{phone} rather than experiencing it fully. Some would argue that I still spend most of my days behind the phone, but hey, work is still work, right?

Here’s one of my favorite things about living in Sydney. This city loves it some culture. Some call it snobby, but I see it as a door always open, if you don’t want to participate, there are plenty of other doors and windows around here to look through.

Each year since 1997, on the famous stretch of coastal pathway between Bondi and Tamarama Beach, for three weeks, local artists install some of their famous pieces for all to see. Some pieces are… interesting… some are beautiful and some are the kind of modern art that makes you mumble, ‘Well, if that’s all it take for me to get rich…’. However you choose to feel about art, this is still on exhibit to see. I’ve made it to this exhibit both years I’ve lived in Sydney so far, if all else fails, look at the immense blue of the Pacific Ocean sprawling out before you.

Even a short 10-minute walk from my doorstep to the start of the sloping incline that would lead me to the artworks wasn’t enough to convince me to make the trek on a particularly humid day, or enough to make me change my plans and get out on the path until the second-to-last day of the exhibit.

It was 7:15am on Saturday morning when my alarm buzzed. Usually I would shun an alarm at that hour on a weekend, but the brightness of an already high in the sky {slightly blocked} sun, and the extra two hours compared to my usual sleep regime, meant that I was ready for action.

Jenn and I made sure that we had a Bondi-perfect coffee in hand before we started the long walk to Tamarama, but we didn’t waste too much time, as to ensure that we didn’t get caught in a swarm of early-rising tourists. Our third companion was Jenn’s newly arrived (after 4 months of waiting) Chihuahua, Jameson. Much of the battle was trying to convince him not to claim each artwork as his own among the dog kingdom.

The stormy, dark clouds were a perfect backdrop for a morning of photographing a scenic route that we often take for granted on our hasty early morning runs.

Here is the view of Sculptures by the Sea through Instagram.

Until next year.

Sculptures by the Sea – Bondi Beach 2012 is a post from: Wayward Traveller

Hi.

Sorry I’ve neglected you. Or, well, I guess it’s mostly just me.

Thing is, I’ve stopped traveling and I guess that was a little bit scary. But the truth is, I’ve never been constantly in motion. I’ve always been an expat of sorts (serial or not) and I’m still just that.

So, here’s an Instagram tour of my new home.

Guess what my new home has?

A Beach.

A Farmer’s Market.

Hipsters.

Sunrises.

And these are a few of my favourite things.

See you soon.

Becoming Bondi Hipsters is a post from: Wayward Traveller

I’ve always liked to think of myself as a runner, when the reality was that, although a serial ‘brisk jogger’, a short-distance jaunter, I’ve never truly known sheer distance.

I stood packed shoulder to shoulder in the blistering cold of Sunday 12th of August on the street along Sydney’s Hyde Park and all I could think was, ‘what was I thinking?’. My bladder was getting more full by the moment and my wishing it away wasn’t helping. My decidedly elite workmates bounced lightly on their feet next to me with anticipation of broken personal records and defeating Heartbreak Hill.

I considered walking home.

Then the loudspeaker announced that the race had officially started and the block of Sydney-siders began winding sideways around the corner of William Street and just like that we were off. All I could think was that I’ve really got my nose into it now, but what could I really do, walk off the course?

As the first pit stop approached my Nike+ GPS chirped that I’d ran my first mile. That seemed like a good enough excuse to hop in the line for the (still shockingly clean) porta-potty. Sure it probably added 10 minutes to my time but now I can be even more proud of myself when I shave extra time off next year.

Bladder empty and breath caught, off I trotted and straight into the face of hill #1, so I picked up my pace and put it behind me. A few Gatorade stops, a high-five from a resident smurf which left my hand covered in blue paint and a few transitions from running to walking and back and I realized and I began the ascent onto the dreaded and famous Heartbreak Hill.

Until I started calling myself a Strategist at work, I would have never stopped to think that strategizing was something that I even did but as I started up the hill, my brain said ‘Stop now, save it for later.’ Maybe it sounds like a copout, but honestly why use of all my energy running up a 2km hill when I knew that reaching the top still meant I had another 5km to go. So, I slowed my pace and my breathing and tried to keep my walk steady. A kilometer or so later I was looking back across to the city I had just run from and it looked small in the distance.

Smiling to myself I broke back into my jog and on I went. I started to get the feeling that I was nearing the ocean and getting even more excited about my accomplishment. And when I saw the 11km maker pass me by I knew that finishing would be a breeze. I cruised downhill and watched as Bondi Beach came into view. I could see the hundreds of thousands of other runner who had finished and were in the process of finishing and I was on my way to join them. Winding around Campbell Parade past the main drag of Bondi I knew the finish line must be steps away. Good thing too, as I was gasping for breath. I ran and ran and started sucking in the air fiercely and began panicking wondering when I might actually see the finish line. Finally, there was the ticking clock and volunteers were handing out gatorade and participation medals, so I sprinted right through the finish line and grabbed my medal with a huge smile and enthusiastic ‘Thanks You’ to a volunteer who was much less excited than me about the howling wind and cold winter atmosphere.

Quickly finding my workmates and fellow runners, we jaunted off to reward ourselves with a beer. As we sat on the floor of the packed local Beach Road Hotel, our musles got stiff and our stomachs growled angrily and we decided to call it a day and head home to recover.

I had promised I wouldn’t sign myself up for another run and end up miserable all weekend in anticipation of the pain, then I went and signed myself up for the 9km Bridge Run across the Sydney Harbour Bridge and through the Botanic Gardens. I mean it’s only 9km right?

City2Surf – Sydney’s Famous 14k is a post from: Wayward Traveller

As I browsed around the website of the Cambridge Hotel, located on the hippest side of one of Sydney’s hippest suburbs, Surry Hills, I could hardly sit still in my seat at work. I had to spread the word – posting the link on Lorenzo’s Facebook page with the caption ‘get excited’. The Cambridge website will lead you to believe that it is a beautifully renovated, boutique hotel, living up to it’s name in a hip part of town. When you step foot in the door, you’ll see it mostly lives up to those expectations.

Reception has friendly staff ready to greet you. I actually couldn’t tell if Sarah at reception already knew who I was or if she was just that nice to everyone. Based on our similar experience at check-out with a different GSA, I’d believe it’s the latter. The staff is just flat out nice, and hospitality is more than just a job description to them.

There isn’t really an excuse to complain about anything when you get a mini-break from your six other housemates and a bed to sleep on with clean, crisp sheets or a view of the city off your balcony. Lorenzo and I snuggled up for a nice Friday night in with some room service and special weekend movies (Bridget Jones’ Diary if you must know)!

Our Saturday was spent traipsing around IKEA as Lorenzo and I just got approved for a new flat at the start of the month and it’s furniture time! Anyone who’s ever been in an IKEA knows how you feel after leaving IKEA… let’s just say that by 6pm I was diving into the bed and again, beyond thankful for control of the remote and some peace and quiet.

However, being smack in the middle of Surry Hills meant that we couldn’t spend another weekend night snuggled into hotel sheets (even if we kinda wanted to). Nope, we rugged up to face the chilly wind and headed the few blocks to Crown Street where we chose an old favorite for dinner, Pizza e Birra. It’s the only place in the city where I get stuck in a cultural time warp, one where I can’t decide if I’m better off speaking English or Italian, and the only place yet that can make Lorenzo truly forget that he’s half a world away from the homeland. After a belly-busting, winter-inspired meal of hearty pastas, pizza and red wine we waddled to the Clock Hotel for a night cap. We almost made it back to the hotel when we passed the corner Irish Pub, The Porterhouse, being a big fan of the Irish (and pubs) we couldn’t pass it up. Besides we knew our crisp, white sheets were waiting just across the street.

We had a weekend full of rest and relaxation, a nice little stay-cation if you will.

As we were checking out, with plans to head up to the famous Sydney café Bill’s, the GSA at the front desk suggested a small café just on the next block called The Goods. He identified it as the one with the flowers in the sign where the name should be. It wasn’t hard to find and after only a few seconds of consideration, we opted to save the inevitable queue at Bill’s for another day. And the decision was was a treat with fresh juice, delicious coffee and tasty breakfast options.

I don’t doubt that if you needed anything during your stay at the Cambridge that the friendly staff would not hesitate to offer you an array of suggestions. Plus, being smack in the middle of one of the best suburbs in the city, you can’t really go wrong. There were at least three or four new restaurants and bars we would have loved to try, but unfortunately we only had two days and five meals, so our hands were tied, we had to pick and choose.

I have no complaints about our stay at the Cambridge, but the only thing I will say is that boutique and modern in the common spaces looked slightly like upscale hostel to me. I like upscale hostels, but maybe not every guest would see it the same way.

Question? Send The Cambridge a tweet or find them on Facebook.

Disclaimer: The Cambridge graciously hosted me for the weekend, but all opinions, as always, are my own. 

The Cambridge Hotel – Sydney, Australia is a post from: Wayward Traveller