Locked out of Heaven

‘Cause you make me feel like

I’ve been locked out of heaven

For too long, for too long

Yeah, you make me feel like

I’ve been locked out of heaven

For too long, for too long, oh-oh, oh-oh-oh

Bruno Mars. Locked out of heaven.

Bruno Mars is in town. And so is George Ezra. Macklemore, Elton John, Sting, and Ed Sheeran are lined up to play soon, and it seems safe to say: Sydney is ready again to party! After two years of lockdowns and pandemic restrictions, rain and more rain, the city seems to be bursting with energy and more people than I have seen since my return. Which is not hard since I was literally locked up here in heaven!

Sunday morning. Easy. 

Birds chirping (gross understatement. These birds are tearing the morning apart with the ruckus they are causing right in front of my bedroom window). 

Sun rising (at least I think she is rising. Another day of grey cloud-covered skies and a light drizzle). 

Getting a coffee and walking to the beach – my Sunday morning routine. My weekend heaven. Except for this time, I was locked out of heaven – literally! 

Rain jacket, money, keys… I unlocked my apartment door from the inside, but the door won’t open. I try turning the key – first gently and then with growing impatience. Try pulling the door, lifting the door, and pushing the door. The deadbolt won’t budge. I am officially locked inside my place. Which is not heaven or paradise – at least not at that moment.

I try a knife; I consider climbing down from the balcony only to quickly discard that option, looking down from the second floor I am at. It is early in the morning, and the building is still asleep (which I find surprising – doesn’t anyone else hear the birds? Maybe you tune them out after some time?). I text a friend – still asleep. I text my colleague, who owns the place and is currently in Austria, having a beer with his brothers. “Try again when you’re sober!” they advise jokingly, forgetting about the time difference. I am left to my own devices.

And so I call a locksmith – of course, it is Sunday morning, and the number I call is not very happy to talk to me. But he has a heart, and a couple of hours later, I hear his voice below my balcony.

 “Hey! Lady! Throw the key!” he bellows. I comply, and soon after that, I hear keys rattling at my door from the outside, mixed with a generous dose of Aussie swear words I hadn’t heard. The language barrier adds another level of difficulty to the already problematic situation.

“Lady! You got a Philips?” muffled, yelling through my apartment door.

“Sorry, a what?” 

“Ah, for fuck’s suck – a Phillips! A crosshead!”

Still not sure what the man behind the door, whom I have never met but who’s yelling and cursing at me, is referring to, I am going to take a brave guess.

“ A screwdriver?”

“ Yes, for Christ’s sake. You got one?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so?” (After all, this is not my apartment, and I wonder what the voice behind the other door makes of me. But then, what intruder tries to get out of a place.)

“Jesuuuuuuus!.. A string?”

“Excuse me?”

“A string!”

No string either. No string for the G. (no g-banga, no fart slicer… Gosh, the Aussie slang can be so much fun).

This was getting a bit awkward. By the time I had cut the string off my sun hat, I hear my neighbour’s voice. Never met him before either – now I had two strangers talking in front of my locked door. No idea what they were saying, as this was muffled Aussie slang now, and I was clearly not part of the convo any longer. Finally, I hear my neighbour’s voice coming from the balcony, calling me to hand me a screwdriver. Hi, nice to meet you, neighbour. There was no time for pleasantries.

Long story short, after much screwing and unscrewing, rattling, pushing and more Aussie swearing, I was free! Time to meet my saviour – drenched in sweat from the humidity and a job well done. For a moment, I consider throwing my arms around him out of sheer gratitude, but I quickly change my mind. Several thank-yous and a cheque for 385 Aussie dollars would have to do. Maybe a bottle of wine for my mystery neighbour later. But for now, I was going to enjoy my new-found freedom!

With 100% pure sunshine in the forecast, I decided to enjoy that new-found freedom to the fullest and planned a few trips for the following weekend: an excursion to Palm Beach lighthouse with my class. We are exploring explorers, after all, and this was a good excuse to get out of the classroom and into the sunshine and take them on a little hike to Barrenjoey Lighthouse. Twenty-three kids marching one by one (except for a few who always stray) along the beach, up the smuggler’s staircase, to the foot of the lighthouse. Wind blowing, sun shining, the ocean glistening around us, watching them sketch the sandstone structure in their little notebooks…this is why I am a teacher – for days like these.

Right after school, I wheeled my carry-on to the bus stop to take the bus to Bondi Beach. The annual outdoor art exhibit Sculptures by the Sea was on, and I was looking forward to spending the night at Bondi and enjoying the walk along the art pieces the following day. Heaven. Except that thousands of others had the same brilliant idea. The iconic exhibit, which transforms the coastline from Bondi to Bronte Beach into a two-kilometre sculpture park and features 100 sculptures, has an estimated 220,000 visitors each year. And so it was my turn to march along beautiful and intriguing pieces of art one by one. Deep blue skies, endless sunshine and not a cloud in the sky. Hurrah! Hurrah!

And to finish off a perfectly perfect week in a perfect way, I bought tickets to George Ezra, a UK singer unknown to me until my son recommended his music. Feeling empowered by my newfound freedom, I took a bus from my sleepy hometown of Newport to the big city. I have been to the city many times before, but this was crazy! Dirndl-clad girls and fake Lederhosen-wearing guys were stumbling to the Oktoberfest. People dressed up in scary costumes made their way to Halloween parties. Or the porn expo that was going on as well? Looking at some outfits, I wasn’t sure. 

And George Ezra fans, young and old, lining up at the concert venue at Darling Harbour. People were ready to party! The place was bursting with people and with energy, and it felt like everyone had been locked out for a while. People were singing and dancing and laughing and screaming. It was a heavenly madhouse. I just sat on a bench for a while and enjoyed the energetic and crazy atmosphere. This surely was paradise, and we all seemed to have been locked out for too long!

Cheers!