BEING THERE

Anyone visiting Sydney for the first time might be surprised at the absence of kangaroos in the streets. Koalas and frill-necked lizards are equally invisible in the metropolis, but that's not to say you won't find strange creatures in your travels. Eccentric characters abound in the inner-city suburbs. (The eccentrics in other regions are less easy to spot but they are equally numerous.)

From cross-dressers to fetishists, from savagely anti-fashion to stylistically divine, it is all on parade in the Sydney streets. A young man wearing a large, studded dog collar walking down Oxford Street (the gay concourse of Sydney) hardly gets a glance, and an elderly woman overdressed in a 50s hat and coat, wearing explosive red lipstick and a sombre, black handbag, walks unremarked upon in the heat of a summer afternoon in Kings Cross.

But perhaps some of these are artists: Sydney is full of artists, from those that call themselves visual or performance or street artists, to the 18 carat, genuine visual, literary, sculptive or filmic artists and of course, a fair share of con artists.

In fact, the city's art life is as vibrant, dynamic and interesting as its restaurant life which compares favourably with any city in the world, and surpassing most (if not all).

It is impossible to briefly describe the detail of Sydney's cultural fabric: the daily broadsheet, The Sydney Morning Herald, publishes Metro, a special lift-out on Fridays, with listings of film, stage, ballet, opera, art, music, galleries, dancing, exhibitions, the singles scene, photography, rock, jazz, country, blues, museums, walks, talks and every other form of entertainment. It runs to some 30-40 pages and they use very small type.