The Great Wall. Words and images by Jonathan Camí. Published in Local Paddo

Words and images by Jonathan Camí. Published in Local Paddo

The great wall

Photographer Jonathan Camí documents the final days of a lost treasure.

I like old walls, those everlasting barriers that hold or protect something worth holding or protecting. I probably developed an interest in ramparts during my reckless youth, when I was living next to the old Roman city wall in my hometown, Barcelona. Knowing that those ancient stones, one on top of another, had been there for more than 2000 years sparked my imagination and curiosity.

Sydney is not like Barcelona. Besides the lack of Roman history and other obvious facts, this city is addicted to knocking down anything that looks slightly old and replacing it with something newer, bigger and with tonnes of concrete in it. I used to believe an old wall stands, one way or another, forever. But no, definitely not in my adopted city.

That's why, when I heard the news about the demolition of the old seawall at Shark Beach so that it could be rebuilt from scratch, I had the urge to get my camera and preserve in images that little bit of Sydney before the wrecking ball brought havoc to such a beautiful place.

Nielsen Park and Shark Beach are an intrinsic part of my Australian life. Not far from my apartment, it's where I go swimming all year round, it's where my kids have learnt to swim, it's where my family and I enjoy the chilly water and the quietness of the bark in winter and embrace the craziness of the summer weekends. A perfect place to drink a coffee by the sea or fight with the kookaburras for the fish and chips.

During the hot season, I love the familiar noise of big Mediterranean families having a barbecue on a Sunday. There are the old ladies dressed in black sitting in picnic chairs. The men, in white singlets and a shadow of curly hair on their shoulders, are constantly enveloped in smoke, while grilling the meat. Beautiful salads cover the tables and lots of kids run amok around the park and the beach.

This human landscape brings those old stones into the city's back memories of my childhood summers in Spain, and seeing the same in Sydney is a good antidote to my perpetual homesickness.

Sadly, the Sundays picnics, our swimming spot, the fish and chips and the kiosk by the beach, the joyful sound of kids playing and kookaburras singing, have disappeared and have been replaced by grey wire fences, warning signs,

heavy machinery and the sound of heavy piling.

Barcelona, Rome and Paris don't demolish and rebuild old constructions; they patch them up and incorporate those old stones into the city's personality. How better would this town be if it had kept the retro-futuristic city monorail, the traditional landscape of terrace houses, the Spanish-mission style houses in Vaucluse, the seawall at Shark Beach - all knocked down in awe of modernity.

One thing remains very Mediterranean in Nielsen Park, though. The budget for the project and the building timings have blown out to more than double thanks to dubious political decisions. The first construction company awarded the contract left the project right after the demolition was finished and the council has taken months to find another company to continue the job.

The park closed in autumn 2021 with the promise of reopening one year later. Now the new estimated finishing time (subject to weather and latent site conditions) is autumn 2024.

With my images I have tried to get a glimpse of the park that lives in me, a nostalgic farewell to it. I tried to capture those early mornings, the locals exercising, the kids playing, the beautiful landscape, the birds - all gone for a long time as a result of a wall being too old for the Sydney standards.