Coronavirus: sounds of silence reign in an alternate reality

Seventy-one days after coronavirus entered the lingua franca and began its frenzied swing through the human gene pool, silence now reigns in an alternate reality.

There was little travel to be had at Sydney’s usual bustling Central Station in the middle of the day on Friday. Picture: Jason Gagliardi

On the sort of shimmering autumn afternoon when the ­Emerald City should have been at its bustling, vibrant best, an eerie solitude was settling over Sydney’s most iconic public spaces.

Hours after Scott Morrison ­decreed a ban on gatherings of more than 100 people, everywhere was suddenly the sound of one hand clapping.

Empty streets of Sydney where the fear of coronavirus has taken hold. Picture: Jason Gagliardi

While most holed up in their homes or formed pockets of socially distanced resistance in pubs, the city’s main attractions were, in the main, empty. Seventy-one days after coronavirus entered the lingua franca and began its frenzied swing through the human gene pool, where were the smiling tourists with their selfie sticks, the be­suited throngs of businesspeople, the activewear armies of ladies who lunch?

A sullen silence hung over Central Station, where a handful of masked travellers made reluctant beelines for trains. The rattle and hum of Darling Harbour was subsumed by a strange stillness; on emptied plains of paving stones, the ferris wheel sat, unmoving, like a giant virus waiting for a host.

Art galleries echoed with absent friends. The Light Rail roamed, lonely, up and down ­George Street. Shoppers were sparse in Pitt Street Mall. And Martin Place was no country for old men or women.

John Gagliardi, 78, of Brisbane, alone in the Atelier restaurant, Darling Harbour. Picture: Jason Gagliardi

A whistlestop tour of this COVID-19 alternate reality began with a lunch at the Sofitel Darling Harbour with my father, John, a regular visitor. We were the only customers in the normally bustling Atelier restaurant, where staff crept about like clerics in an empty cathedral. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” John said. “You could have fired a cannon through the shopping mall next door last night. Everyone must be staying in their rooms.”

In the Pitt Street Mall, the Ugg Boot sign man stood superfluously as buskers busked to ghosts. A ­violinist who wished to remain nameless mourned more innocent times: “Pre-coronavirus, Sydney was vibrant and people were willing to stop and listen and enjoy the music. Now it’s very quiet. And my earnings are much less.”

In the MLC Centre’s formerly packed food court below Martin Place, tax consultant Suhal Naser, of nearby Bligh Street, picked at his salad alone. “I’ve been coming here for lunch for years; it’s pretty weird,” he said. “I feel for the shop owners, no one is coming, they can’t make rent or pay staff.”

Outside the law courts, the throng was gone. Peter Rogers, “60-something” of Redfern who has

Paul Rogers trying to sell his Big Issue at the law courts. Picture: Jason Gagliardi

been selling the Big Issue there for 10 years, was the lone inhabitant. “This time of afternoon, there’d normally be barristers running around in their wigs, people coming and going. Now it’s dead as a doornail.”

Outside the Art Gallery of NSW, Silas Mansell-Flag, 20, of Helensville on New Zealand’s North Island sat on the steps looking slightly dazed. “It’s quiet as, eh. But it was pretty good, got to see all the art without any crowds.”

He said he had no idea when or how he would get back to his country “but I don’t want to go back so it’s all good mate”.

At Circular Quay, a subdued procession of passengers wheeled their suitcases away from the ­Ovation of the Seas and their cruise to nowhere. Julie of Brisbane, who didn’t want to give her surname, explained: “We were supposed to be going to New Zealand and the South Pacific. But when we were almost at New Zealand, Jacinda (Ardern) pulled down the shutters so we had to turn around and come back. But it’s classed as a domestic cruise so we don’t have to self-isolate.”

Janice Bermingham, Jennifer Rose, Joan Walden, Sue Bushby and Denis Bermingham, all visiting from Adelaide. Picture: Jason Gagliardi

At the nearby Ship Inn, five friends from Adelaide were in good spirits despite having boarded a cruise that only got as far as ­Taronga Park Zoo. Joan Walden, Susan Bushby, Jennifer Rose and Denis and Janice Bermingham were supposed to be off to New Zealand on the Radiance of the Sea but instead had a week pottering around socially distanced Sydney.

“We had a night on board, with a nice dinner and breakfast, then they put us on tenders and took us back ashore,” Ms Walden said. “They took us off two-by-two, it was like Noah’s ark. We weren’t too chuffed at the time, but it’s worked out OK, we got our money back and we’ve had a lovely week exploring a very quiet Sydney.”

Ms Bushby added: “All the panic and the toilet paper hoarding, it’s a shame, it’s very un-­Australian. The bushfires brought everyone together, and now this virus is driving us all apart.

“What happened to looking after the vulnerable, lending a hand? What happened to good old Aussie mateship?”