A relationship rekindled

Reunions are always curious affairs. First comes the thrill of anticipation and all the excitement and insecurity that goes with it. What should you wear? What will they wear? Will they still look the same? Do I look fat? What if they’ve found God? Have I done enough with my life?

Next comes the butterflies, just minutes before you meet. Do we still have common interests? What if they’ve gone a bit strange? What if I’m not as interesting as I used to be? What should my opening line be? Then comes the moment when you spy each other from a distance, and in an instant you know that everything’s going to be just fine. As you manoeuvre for a deep embrace you start to wonder why you ever drifted in the first place, but give it little further thought because it all feels so right and you’re just happy to be back with a trusted friend.

I felt all of these emotions late Monday evening when I boarded the late departure from Singapore down to Sydney. While I had many a rendezvous planned with friends and clients, the real reunion was with city itself and a little e-mail arithmetic revealed that I hadn’t been to Sydney for more than four years. Was it still going to feel familiar? Would I feel at home? Or was there a perfectly good reason that it had fallen off my itineraries, and was I setting myself up for disappointment? All of these thoughts swirled around my head as I drifted off to sleep. I think I had a bizarre dream about the city but it might well have been somewhere else, as Sydney is not the only city prone to shark attacks.

Six-and-a-half hours later, I caught my first glimpse of the harbour through the clouds as we lined up for our approach. Sydney seemed to have shrunk with the passing years – the city had distinct borders and the airport seemed tiny. On the drive into town I noticed that the odd new building had sprung up and there was no shortage of housing developments in various stages of construction but for the most part, it all felt pretty much as I’d left it.

With my assistant Alexander riding shotgun (this was his first trip to Australia), we did a quick turn through the CBD, spun through Potts Point, made a pit stop for magazines in Double Bay, took in the views as we zoomed past Rose Bay and then headed out to Camp Cove to look back into the city. Heading south, we zigzagged through residential streets as we made our way to Bondi. For much of the journey I found myself apologising for the low clouds and London-like temperatures but Alex was mesmerised by the whole thing and seemed as if he was in a trance while we dined at Icebergs. While we gazed out at a lone surfer bobbing in the foaming surf, I remarked how calm and quiet Sydney felt in comparison to the cities where I spent most of my time – London, Hong Kong, Tokyo and Milan. Even though the restaurant was in full business-lunch swing it didn’t feel hurried and the conversations were sedate and hushed, which made for a rather alluring air of decadence. Feeling somewhat foggy-headed after two consecutive nights spent sleeping in the air, it was all too easy to join in and let lunch drift on as the clouds attempted to lift and more surfers took to the sea. Post-lunch, we continued our tour with Alex remarking about the beauty and scale of the place while I was still wondering how I was getting on with the city. Was it all working out? Or were we unlikely to be seeing each other again soon?

It wasn’t until early evening that I knew everything was going to be all right. I think the brighter skies played a small role in highlighting Sydney’s better features but it was an early round of drinks at my friend Robyn’s enchanting house that triggered a little nerve of envy – a clear signal that I was starting to feel mildly envious of Sydney life. A dinner at Universal and then a late evening walk around Darlinghurst had me and the city right back in our groove and on the way back to the hotel we were already conspiring about how we might engineer a longer stay.

The following morning saw me drift into my old routine – two flat whites to keep things off, a run along Circular Quay to the Opera House and through the Botanic Gardens, and then another coffee before heading off to meetings. On the streets the men seem better dressed than I recalled, there were even more micro-cafés serving up their special brews and a full day’s worth of appointments went perfectly to plan – no traffic, punctual starts and a business card culture (a formal exchange of cards at the start of meetings) that suggests that Sydney is doing more business with Asia than it is with Europe or the Americas.

I wrapped up my 48-hour visit with a breakfast at Bills and a tour of friends Nancy and Warwick’s recently expanded house with its Kengo Kuma-style garage door, and as I scrambled to get to the airport I was consulting the diary to see how quickly I could do it all over again. Sydney and I were just fine.

Tyler Brûlé is editor-in-chief of Monocle

tyler.brule@ft.com

More columns at www.ft.com/brule