My wander walk
Through Luna Park Sydney
THE sounds came first. I could hear carnival music, children’s laughter, excited squeals and terrified screams. Then the face. The eerily dilated blue eyes and shimmering white teeth of the historic Luna Park Sydney entrance.
It awakened the little girl in me who used to wander Albert Park during Hibiscus festivals in the mid-2000s, pink candy floss in hand, wishing against all hope that they might decide to make the festival permanent, and I’d get to ride a sizzler every day.
Of course, I was aware amusement parks existed abroad, but I’d never been abroad and didn’t expect to be anytime soon. School holidays spent overseas were things you only heard about because someone in the next classroom went somewhere. So, my best bet was blind hope.
My first trip to Sydney a few months ago, I owed it to that little girl with the candy floss to check out Luna Park.
I sped into a jog towards the teeth of the giant Old King Cole inspired face, excited to explore and relieved to see the line wasn’t too long.
The woman behind the counter strapped my day pass band around my wrist and I was set to go on as many rides as I wanted! I rushed past the gift shop, the food and dessert stalls, the carnival games. We had all that back home so they could wait.
I headed straight for the first roller coaster I saw. The Boomerang.
The only time I’d ever ridden a roller coaster before was a small rackety one for children that one time in the early 2000s that the Hibiscus Festival had one available. I’ve always wondered why it never came back the following year, but I digress.
I scanned the barcode on my wristband at the entry gate and climbed into a seat at the front of the train. A handful of teenagers got in a few seats down, playfully teasing the one of them that was fidgeting with the lap bar, doubtful of its ability to lock him into his seat.
The ride eased forward and up a slope, then shot downwards and through the track’s twists and turns. “Pretty tame,” I thought, as the ride slowed again. It came to a stop mid track, before shooting backwards instead. Back through all the turns, twists and slopes in reverse this time; thus, the name.
This hadn’t quite been the excitement I was hoping for, so I headed next for the biggest coaster they had, the Big Dipper. Now that was a roller coaster worthy of the name; a crazy ride, but over in a flash thanks to its 72 kilometre per hour top speed.
As I exited that ride, a parade started up. Dancers in 1930s attire tapped and spun their way through the sparse crowds. I bought some chips and sat down at a picnic table to watch their performance.
They were fantastic, the clacking of their tapping shoes adding to the music as they moved. But I didn’t watch them long before something stole my attention.
As the young performer feigned exhaustion, sighing, wiping his brow, and hunching over in exaggerated movements, a seagull snapped at my pack of chips.
Now, I’m no great lover of birds, but this little white feathered fiend was bold, and I like go-getters. I shooed him, but he only flapped his wings at me and tried again. I took a chip out of the packet and watched as his beady little eyes followed it.
I threw it towards the gull and to my surprise it caught the chip mid-air, easily snapping it into his beak and swallowing it before it could land on the table. “Even the birds here have a knack for the performing arts,” I thought, soon after realising I’d just given them the secret to a free lunch.
Two minutes later I had half a flock on the table around me, performing for their salty rewards.
I might have only eaten 6 chips myself.
I ran out of chips, and they abandoned me when they realised, so I decided to take a walk through the games area of the park. The open-mouthed clowns that you throw plastic balls into for prizes looked as though they were straight out of an old movie.
I looked up how old the place was. October 4, 1935. “The Sydney park opens to immediate success using rides relocated from Glenelg (Adelaide) and continues to be popular during World War II,” the official website read.
I pondered at how many people might have walked the same paths, finding joy and escape in all the childlike wonder the park had surrounded itself with. How many parents hoping to make their child’s birthday exciting, how many teenagers on dates, how many soldiers in the 1940s hoping to make lasting memories with loved ones before deployment?
I spent all day at Luna Park enjoying the same magic they probably had.
I rode every ride they’d let me onto, some of them several times. One, called the Sledgehammer, that swings a vertical 360 degrees was where I spent most of my time, exiting the ride and immediately lining up for it again about four times.
I walked out of Luna Park that afternoon with a satisfied grin, a propeller hat, and a pink candy floss.