The Rocks stand as testament to Australia’s colonial heritage, minus the rats and general slumminess of the old days. Today, the suburb on the foreshore of Sydney Harbour is altogether swanky but with a still colonial flavour, preserved in the sandstone, slightly European-feel architecture that’s now thoughtfully potted with local trees.

Famous Aussie author Bryce Courtenay writes of the 18^th and 19^th century Rocks as swimming with rats, disease, hookers and drunkenness (well, that last bit hasn’t changed), and it makes me wonder whether the convicts and scoundrels that reputedly frequented the place had any idea how upscale and ritzy it would become.

Momentarily I give in to my self-destructive side and allow myself a torturous peek into a real estate agent to see how much a shoebox unit goes for in the Rocks these days. No less than $700,000 a pop, it seems.

For those of us not (yet) on this sort of payscale, there are other options. Like going to local restaurants with BYO grog and just ordering an entrée, which I’ll admit I’ve been know to do. Or throwing about a few spirited lines in favour of the fatherland amongst the German bar staff of the traditional Bavarian Löwenbräu, which often brings about a few free pints to chug back.

Alternatively, there’s the 24-hour Pancake Place that, well, operates 24 hours. This fact brings joy to many a late-night (or indeed, early-morning) reveler in the Rocks who can’t resist a chocolate stack as a sweet and swish alternative to the usual dirty 3am kebab.

During daylight hours, the Rocks is still well worth a visit for its spectacular views of Sydney harbour.

Today, there’s a mammoth cruise liner parked alongside the restaurant row, and the opera house is a stone’s throw (granted, a feat best reserved for someone with a good arm) across the water.

If you walk around the Park Hyatt (swallowing rivets of envy as you skirt a smug-looking pair having their wedding shots down there) there’s a trim little park where travelers sunbake and couples take picnics, and you can all but touch the harbour bridge. If you were freakishly tall. Like, fifty metres tall. Still, it’s beautiful.