By early Saturday morning it was obviously another scorcher. The sustained Sydney heat wave continued on into its 6th day.
The morning felt pretty warm - borderline blast furnace. It was the sort of heat that killed your appetite. Hunger? Food? Not even a concept. And I love breakfast. It’s my favourite meal. But this morning the only concept is “Must cool down.” So I walk down to the beach.
The sand was hot by 9am and there wasn’t the usual relief of cool air at the water’s edge. The only truly cooling place was underwater. Soon as you got out, you stepped back into an oven, and were instantly hot and dry again.
But did I do the sensible thing? Drive to dance class?
Oh ho boy, no!
Emit more greenhouse gasses and contribute to even more shocker days like this? Contribute to the problem of global warming?
Not this little black duck.
I will do the right thing and bicycle across the city. It won't kill me.
Stupid. crazy.
I think it nearly did kill me.
At every red light stop I had to sort of lean pathetically over the handlebars to catch my breath. Which I would have thought pretty unusual - I'm fairly fit, and the ride’s not that hard – if the heat hadn’t fried my brain. I was beetroot-faced by the time I arrived at class and my head felt very big.
The class itself was the easy bit – in a well insulated room with lots of electric fans – and the teacher gave a slower than usual class, owing to us suffering from the heat and all.
In the cafe afterward it was too hot to even think about eating. I sat with a wet towel on my head - ooh, stylish! - while the thick, stale air bleached the colour out of everything and a lethargically blew away all moisture. It made the city a desert.
But I'd become used to the heat by then. When it was time to leave I just thought I'd cycle home as usual.
Silly me.
I had to stop twice and sit down by the side of the road. I nearly passed out as I made it inside the air-conditioned Westfield. I slumped in an armchair with my head in my hands staring dumbly at the shiny stone floor. If I could just lie down there for a bit, to cool down and rest… But of course one doesn’t do that sort of thing. People would stare.
Meanwhile, my friend Vivi had also headed home from dance class on her bicycle. She had to stop at a service station for a slushy which she downed too fast and gave herself a crippling brain freeze. She collapsed onto the counter, waiting for one side of her face to regain feeling while the gormless cashier had no idea what to do.
Elsewhere in the city, Jay was trying to have a beer with a friend, but he just "lost the plot" and went home.
Back at Westfield, I eventually wobbled down the escalator to the supermarket for a cold juice. I planned to swig a litre of cold sugary goodness and be completely cured. But after two sips my stomach just said “No way”. Which I would have thought was weird if I hadn’t also lost the plot.
I googled it later. Apparently my organs were starting to shut down. At the time, I just thought I was being a wimp. It was hot, sure, but I’m a Sydney girl. We’ve had hot days before.
Turns out it was 42 degrees Celsius - that’s 107 Fahrenheit - the sort of temperature that causes authorities to issue “Extreme Heat Warnings”.
Or an average June day in the hottest place on earth, Death Valley, California.
Anyhow, I got back on my bike and somehow made it home where I mostly lay very, very still.
Sometime after 7 pm when it had cooled to a balmy 33 degrees I oozed down to the beach to lie in the water.
I was supposed to go Kay’s farewell party, but I was too completely fucked.
Instead I spent the evening horizontal, sucking ice-cubes, hugging a bag of frozen peas and watching the temperature slowly climb again. At midnight it was about 35 deg C and dead still.
Nary the hint of a zephyr.
Nary the hint of a zephyr.
Meanwhile, Kay was having a fine old time at her party, totally loving the gorgeously warm weather, as she told me later.
Sometimes it pays to have been raised in the Tropics.
