Shop till you drop in Sydney

They say you can't go back. We had plenty of time to ponder this as the 14-year-old and I attempted to get back to Auckland after a weekend in Sydney. "I didn't know," marveled Monika, surveying a hand swollen from carrying over-sized boutique bags, "that it was possible to develop shopping injuries." If shopping was an Olympic sport, we were its exhausted but triumphant elite athletes.

All we wanted was to get rid of a suitcase straining with our not insignificant contribution to CER, get back on that Air New Zealand 777 with the individual TV screens and watch a soothing episode of Little Britain.

Instead we ended up trapped in a sort of nightmare airline reality show. It took three trips through customs and about five hours of standing in the same check-in queue to get aboard an old 747, 16 grueling hours after our original departure time.

Never mind. Getting to Sydney was a breeze. We employed the user-friendly House of Travel website, offering a range of flights and accommodation that can be booked in real time, plus information and advice.

As we disembarked in Sydney, a 4-year-old Kiwi patriot burst into an impromptu haka. "Wait till there's more Aussies around," prompted his Dad. "Show 'em what you're made of."

We approached our shopping weekend in a similar spirit. God wouldn't have invented accessories if He hadn't intended us to spend money we don't really have on things we don't strictly need. If you believe in Intelligent Design (and I try to keep an open mind) those department stores didn't just happen.

Our apartment at the Medina Grand was perfectly located for spending in all directions. A quick walk to the endless shops of the central city one way, a stroll to Darling Harbour, China Town and Paddy's Market the other. It was also near the Town Hall, where, hours after the execution in Singapore, a lone protester wearing a sign - "Nguyen Dies For All Addicts" - kept his vigil.

As always in Oz, things are strangely familiar - the taxi driver needed a map to get us to the city centre - yet oddly foreign. The lift at the Medina contained this thrilling wildlife warning: "Be careful when opening your balcony door at night as there will more than likely be moths gathering there."

Disappointingly - we'd been hoping for an opportunity to call in the moth equivalent of the Crocodile Hunter - only one moth gathered on our balcony.

Forced to seek excitement elsewhere, we headed for the Centrepoint shopping centre and adjacent Pitt St mall, a vast pedestrian precinct where you can check in but, if you are accompanied by a 14-year-old, you can never leave. Street entertainers, like moths on a hotel balcony, gathered there too: a lady folding herself into an impossibly small glass box, some didgeridoo players, angels singing Christmas carols and a shoe-shine guy with a sign advising that Jesus loved us.

Ah, the joys of real Are You being Served? department stores. There was much exclaiming at the uniformed "Monopoly man" guarding David Jones' door. And at the store's serious Christmas decorations.

The food hall was simply a work of art. Take a high stool at the Panini Bar, the Oyster Bar, the Sushi Bar etc and watch a chef prepare your lunch. Or you can go and find your daughter yet another iced chocolate.

Service was a delight. Dragged to the Myers make-up department by the irresistible force of the word M.A.C, I was forced to admire the effortless charm with which the young assistant clothed in black, make-up brushes slung around his hips like six guns, eased Monika into a chair for a product demonstration and me to the counter to cough up.

Thanks to the nice ladies in David Jones' swimwear department - "Need another size, darl?" - I managed the dispiriting business of buying togs with minimum distress and humiliation.

Nearby was the architecturally glorious Queen Victoria Building, surely one of the most beautiful shopping centres in the world. It's decorated for the season with a 24m Christmas tree sporting, apparently, 15,000 Swarovski crystals. We spotted Joe Bananas, designer to the likes of such understated dressers as Elton John and Billy Connolly.

One day it will be shown that C21 Western civilisation runs not on oil but on the fashion sense and spending power of 14-year-old girls. Witchery, Kookai, Supre, Jay Jay.

Many tiny tops and a pair of well-priced Chuck Taylor low tops later, we head out in search of an inexpensive dinner in the crackling humidity of an approaching thunderstorm.

One Darling Harbour place looked promising but we were put off by the sight of a diner asleep in his fish and chips: a fellow shopper who failed to pace himself, possibly. We ended up at Blackbird, a boho cafe where we ate off chipped metal garden tables overlooking the harbour. Back to the Medina to discover that Australian TV really is crap.

By morning Sydney was sunny and scrubbed clean. On the train to Circular Quay I got emotional at the sight of the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House: I shop, therefore I am Australian.

We strolled to the touristy Rocks Market and popped in to the Museum of Contemporary Art. According to Austrian artist Erwin Wurm, fat was a "sculptural gesture". The centrepiece of his exhibition was a Porsche plumped up with Styrofoam.

A sign contained this unlikely sentence: Please Do Not Touch the Fat Convertible.

Off by train to Newtown. The suburb's shopping precinct, King St, is near the university and has a K Rd vibe.

We bought bags and saw a small dog wearing the skin of a dead cat. The dog's beloved late playmate, was our charitable explanation. "Effing sick," was the opinion of a large and very aggro passerby.

Exhausted, that night we opted for an early session of Harry Potter, in which, mercifully, no one shopped, and al fresco dinner in a nearby cafe as night fell.

Sunday. You have to screw up once (my daughter would consider this a savage underestimation in my case) when travelling. Put wrong by a website, we discovered that Paddington Market was on Saturday. Never mind. I'd been before and all I bought was a lurid Foucault a-go-go T-shirt - "She loved him in theory but could she find a place for him in practice?" - that no one will let me wear.

So on our last morning, it was off to Paddy's Market instead - a vast, covered, temple to teenage tat. Tip: go to the markets and outlet shops first. This will save you finding the dress you paid A$70 ($74.80) for on sale for A$20 less at Paddy's. Upstairs there were outlet shops. There was no escape.

When Monika insisted on changing into her favourite Paddy's purchase while we were still on the Monorail, I realised the retail madness had to stop. One last swim at the Medina and we checked in at the airport. I'm a nervous flyer at the best of times. I found the announcement that a bird or something had smashed the windscreen of our plane so jaw-dropping that my daughter had to physically shut my mouth.

We heard this at 6.30pm. By 11pm we were still standing in a queue to be told what flight we were being assigned the next morning. It had been hours before we had so much as a drink of water. Then another queue to be assigned a hotel. We fell into bed at 1am and were up again at six. These things happen - but the process was ridiculous. Air New Zealand, there has to be a better way. Still, we were sad to leave. No minor glitch could ruin our weekend of getting reacquainted with Sydney. And each other.

At the duty free shop on the way over, the young Japanese assistant asked if I was travelling with my daughter. "That is my dream," she said wistfully. She ran after us with a gift of candles and incense. "My mother is 60 now. Maybe later." I hope she gets the chance.

As for us, we'll worry about the Visa bill later. Some things really are priceless.

* Diana Wichtel and Monika Barton flew to Sydney courtesy of houseoftravel.co.nz.


Getting there
Air NZ, Qantas, Lan Chile, Emirates, Pacific Blue, and Aerolineas Argentinas all fly from Auckland to Sydney.

Where to stay
Prices range from the Crest Hotel in Paddington for $114 a night to the Sofitel Wentworth for $318 a night.

Eating
Check out the Spanish Quarter on Liverpool Street, the Italian-inspired Norton Street or perhaps seafood at Cockle Bay, The Rocks or Darling Harbour.

Shopping
Sydney is a treasure-trove for shoppers, with favourites like Pitt St Mall, Myers, David Jones, the Queen Victoria building and Galleria plus funky designer stores of Oxford Street and Paddington. Bargain hunters head for Market City, Birkenhead Point or weekend markets at The Rocks, Paddington and Bondi.

Shows
See a show or take a back stage tour at the Sydney Opera House. Capitol Theatre in Haymarket or The Lyric and Showroom Theatres in the Star City Casino are home to mega-hit musicals, like Dusty The Musical which will run from March 22 to May 28. But don't forget to book in advance.

Further information
To find out more about Sydney visit www.houseoftravel.co.nz/destinations (link provided below).

Special deal for travel readers
Travel readers can save 20 per cent on their accommodation when they book online with www.houseoftravel.co.nz. Enter the code "herald13" in the e-voucher field, to receive the discount on any hotel in New Zealand, Australia or the South Pacific, when you book your flights. This offer applies to the first 100 to enter the code, and will expire on December 27.