Exploring the Nightlife

The countdown begins at 8.30pm. “One, two, three and may the best hermit win” yells the overly enthusiastic MC. The silver bowled prison is overturned and now several crabs face the challenge of scrambling to the outer edges of the racing circle the fastest.
I have stumbled into Scubar, Sydney’s bar down under, to escape the sweltering heat. Located off George Street near the hustle and bustle of Central Station, Scubar has a reputation as one of Sydney’s most legendary party venues.
Around me crowds of people begin to whoop and holler as they cheer on their favourite crab. I am pushed from all angles and struggle to hold my position as my boisterous bar mates jostle for a better look. Drinks are sloppily spilt on the floor as the MC encourages everyone to cheer for their chosen crab or one with the best name.
All too soon race one is over. The MC declares ‘Mr Crabs’ as the winner to which several crowd members boo. A young man clad in a Hawaiian shirt, shorts and lei eagerly bounds up to the stage to collect his prize.
Before the crowd can disperse the MC urges people to enter the following race. He promises the prizes are even bigger and better this time. Slots are quickly filled up and within minutes the silver dome holding the crabs emerges once more. Having paid my $2 race entrance fee (guaranteeing me exclusive naming rights) I join the others hustling for a position at the front. The dance floor comes alive with the scuttle and crawl of tiny crustaceans with rainbow painted shells. Last out of the bowl I spot Usain Bolt, who appears stunned by the sweaty and animated crowd. He staggers to the left, then to the right before stopping dead still. I see a pink-shelled hermit inching closer to the edge of the circle. I beg Usain Bolt to pick up the pace, yelling useless encouragements at the little critter. My screeching unfortunately has no effect and Usain Bolt never makes it across the line.
The racing continues for three more rounds, but after Usain Bolt’s dismal performance I don’t risk entering again. Instead of betting on the crabs I put my $5 on a delicious kangaroo pizza. As I watch from my table I see eager party-goers from Holland and France grooving on the dance floor with New Zealanders and Australians. The vibrant mix of cultures, accents and personalities is electrifying. I wash my mouth- watering meal down with a gulp of cider, grateful for its coolness, as more bodies stream through the bar entrance.