The passing of the Olympic bandwagon gives visitors an unrivalled opportunity to sample some of Justine Hardy’s favourite Bondi hang-outs.

On my recent visit New South Wales basked in a state of bliss as it awaited the arrival of that big old torch, jogging in with a gnarled athletic veteran to light the eternal flame. Finally, true blue Ozzie jingoism was officially set alight when Sydney and Australia became the centre of the sporting universe. It’s a theory most Sydneysiders have held for decades, with their Bondi surf.

So that made September 2000 a bad time to go to Sydney, unless you were a Nike representative or an archery fetishist. But it does make Sydney a great place to go right now, post games, after the circus has moved on, when the bunting has come down, but while all the great, glossy and grand things put in place for the Olympics still have the shine on them.

There is the speedy Eastern Distributor that gets you from Kingsford Smith Airport to the centre of town at Woolloomooloo in about ten minutes flat. Possibly immigration will have responded to the ‘let us welcome our international visitors’ campaign and will have dropped the jackboot immigration act. The frangipani, gardenias and jasmine will all be in flower for Christmas. Perhaps Sydneysiders will be so relieved to have got rid of the Nike reps and the archery fans that they may be happy to no longer have the eye of the world focused on their city.

If this does happen then it will be possible to get a table at Hugo’s on Bondi Beach again without having to book weeks in advance; to be able to sit out looking over the beach; to have a jolly tartan rug wrapped around your knees in the event of the slightest night chill coming off the surf; to look out over the sweep of Bondi and to be inspired to things of greatness by a bottle of Margaret River cabernet sauvignon; to dream of love and romance while watching the spume back-lit by a low moon; to catch sight of the occasional mega-bucks movie star, out for just the same kind of evening of winey dreaming as you, whilst in town to make a trillion bucks movie at the new Fox Films supa-studios right in the middle of the city.

And by post-Olympic Aussie autumn it may also be possible to have a long breakfast at a long table at Jones the Grocers on Campbell Parade, again on Bondi, without having to queue for the best coffee in town for half an hour. Once more you will be able to watch the Sydney supermodels bolting wheatgrass juice over the top of your cappuccino spume and your chocolate and cheesecake muffin. And once again there will be a clear view to the surfers bobbing like so many shiny seals on Bondi’s big waves.

Best of all, as a result of the Olympic-improved roads, it now takes even less time to drive out to Cottage Point Inn through North Sydney and out into Ku-Ring-Gai Chase National Park. Out among the gum trees and over the tops of ridges and edges, so often seen in panning shots of Tom Cruise at speed in Mission Impossible-in-Sydney mode. Not a Nike in sight, just water and trees, trees and water, waiters and food on huge white plates; ricotta and sorrel soufflé with Balmain bugs on the side (and if you don’t know about Balmain bugs, you just haven’t done shellfish). I felt a bit queasy on my last trip out there. I had been so busy rubber-necking the Mission Impossible views on the way that I was dealing with advanced travel sickness. I skipped the first two courses but had recovered enough to have fig and green tomato tart with brown bread ice cream, and then another one. I love Sydney in the autumn sun, water, trees, big white plates, a fig-filled belly and a smile of deep affection for the waiter with the Nikes on.