Climbing the harbour bridge with Bridgeclimb Sydney, views to Opera House in background Sydney bridge climb. Photo / James Horan, Destination NSW
Climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge is one of the world’s most iconic attractions, but it’s so much more than a tourist magnet. At its peak, Molly Codyre finds a new perspective on a city she thought she knew.
It takes 1332 steps to reach the summit of Sydney Harbour Bridge.
To get there, you make your way up steady inclines, vertical ladders and a series of lengthy staircases.
The buzzing of cars below you soundtracks the experience, as does the roaring of wind, the groaning of steel as it moves with the elements and, if the royal motorcade passes below you as it did in my time climbing the bridge, the whoosh of helicopters which, were you to look up, are terrifyingly hovering at the same height as you are.
It’s an iconic experience, one that photos in the reception will show you has been completed by celebrities ranging from Margot Robbie to Prince Harry and Will Smith.
Over four million people have climbed the bridge in its time, making it the most climbed bridge in the world.
More than 5000 people have got engaged at the summit and, perplexingly, 31 weddings have taken place on the bridge.
It is, without a doubt, one of the world’s most iconic tourist attractions. But there is so much more to this experience than just the mandatory, jumpsuit-clad photo at the top.
I am what I like to call a residential traveller. When I visit a new place, I like to experience it as locally as possible.
I avoid classic tourist activities in favour of dinky wine bars, graffiti-clad alleyways lined with vintage stores, farmers markets, and neighbourhoods that take a good few public transport stops to get to.
Climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge wasn’t even on my radar; it’s hardly a standard day out for a local (although, in saying that, there is a 91-year-old man who has climbed the bridge 132 times).
When I saw it on my itinerary for a trip to Australia exploring the modern face of the country’s food scene, I was less enthusiastic than the organisers probably intended, but I went ahead regardless, parking my preconceptions and judgment at the door.
Ascending the summit was a jittery experience.
My fear of heights roaring at full pelt, I was white-knuckled, gripping the railings with every ounce of my being as the wind threw my centre of gravity off balance.
Breathing through the terror, I eventually opened my eyes to take in the view that unfolded in front. It was gloriously distracting.
On the northern side of the bridge, Kirribilli Point blurred into the harbour in front. The Opera House seemed to float off the tip of The Royal Botanic Garden, while the skyscrapers of The Rocks and Circular Quay stretched into the bright blue sky.
To the west, I could see the sprawl of Balmain and Greenwich as the Parramatta River wraps itself around the suburbs’ fringes and, to the east, the city’s iconic beaches; Bondi, Rose Bay, Watsons Bay, and more. On a clear day, you can see all the way across to the Blue Mountains.
Like most mega metropolises, trying to understand a city while you’re lost in its maze of highways, streets and lanes can feel almost impossible.
But if you reach higher ground, a city unfolds itself before you, each idiosyncrasy and unique element fitting together like pieces of a living, breathing puzzle. That’s what it felt like standing at the top of the harbour bridge.
As the fear ebbed and the view came into high definition, I realised that this tourist activity provided me with the thing I always seek most when I’m in a new place – understanding.
Perhaps most surprisingly, standing at the top of that bridge, I learnt more about the city’s dining scene than I did in any restaurant.
I understood why, for example, in the glossy avenues of Double Bay, Neil Perry’s restaurant Margaret has an entire section of the menu dedicated to a blockbuster list of some of Australia’s finest seafood, while in the streets of Paddington, Josh Niland is turning the bounty of Australia’s waters into a revolutionary new approach to seafood cookery.
The two restaurants are, as the crow flies, just a couple of kilometres from each other, and they’re both run by iconic Aussie chefs who have made a name for themselves cooking fish and seafood, but their approaches reflect their environments.
Paddington, I can see from the bridge, is busy and buzzing; exactly the kind of environment you’d expect to find cutting-edge, genre-defining cooking. While the airy, tree-lined streets of Double Bay where houses take up space and the traffic is fewer and farther between, residents want sleek bistro dining from a chef who can turn a simple fillet of King George Whiting into a transcendental experience with just olive oil and lemon juice.
Looking at Marrickville in the distance I began to understand why, in a city made famous by seascapes, beaches and a stereotype of tanned, golden-haired surfers, residents in the city’s inner west pride themselves on a buzzing creative scene and a series of independent restaurants that are carving their own path, like the much-loved Baba’s Place which cooks Mediterranean food as it has been influenced by migration to Australia in a warehouse space full of personality.
While a glance over to where the white sands of Bondi Beach meet the Pacific Ocean, I could see why restaurants like the nautically accented Sean’s have been feeding hungry diners to a backdrop of one of the world’s most photographed beaches for decades.
The bridge climb was so much more than just a box-ticking exercise. It was part history lesson, part sightseeing excursion.
It provided adrenaline, information and exclamation-inducing views in equal parts.
But, more than that, it helped bring a buzzing, hectic city down to earth, providing an understanding of Sydney’s urban sprawl more than any day clocking up tens of thousands of steps on its streets ever could.