There they were, about a dozen or so, spread along the rooftops about 100m ahead, above where I was headed on foot. Police with rifles raised, snipers.

Not what you'd expect at 6pm on a Monday in Sydney's Darling Harbour.

This wasn't a film shoot. These weren't stuntmen in bulletproof vests. And what they held in their hands were not props. They were real rifles.

Four of us had left Happy Hour at our Harbourside hotel to walk to dinner.

Something was up, you could feel it. There were police officers everywhere, poised, on alert.

The police presence on the ground as we approached the International Convention Centre was enormous.

So many young police officers, male and female, and plainclothes personnel as well. Standing in groups of two or three, all around. Watching, and waiting. For what, I wondered.

With so many people, tourists, visitors and locals alike, milling around the harbour front or making their way to the various cafes, bars and restaurants, this was a fragile, possibly tenuous, definitely not-your-normal Monday evening sort of situation.

All the while, two helicopters hovered overhead, occasionally taking off for a reconnoitre, then returning. Their noise was a little reminiscent of Apocalypse Now.

Blame my imagination. Blame my heightened sense of Something Not Quite Right.

Then, the lightbulb moment. It suddenly occurred to me that the President of Israel had arrived in Sydney earlier today.

Now it made sense. What's the bet he wasn't actually here at the ICC?

The public walkway was crowded, and hubby and I were uneasy, though our dinner partners ahead of us were blissfully unaware as they hungrily forged ahead towards our Chinese restaurant of choice.

Not much further along, we were all stopped and asked by an armed police officer if we were attending the imminent meeting inside the Centre, and the answer being no, we were diverted to another pathway through to Chinatown where we spent the next delightful, anxiety-free hour eating, drinking and catching up with our friends.

Before we meaningfully avoided the uncertainty and scariness of the return walk by using the Light Rail, a first for me!

How great is an opal Card.

Hubby and I had come to Sydney earlier in the day, ostensibly for an exhibition, Ron Mueck Encounters, at our gorgeous Art Gallery of NSW.

We knew of President Herzog's visit, and therefore dutifully checked out Live Traffic for possible road closures.

We were also aware of the possibility of unrest, and violence at Sydney Town Hall, but we weren't going to be there, so all good.

We didn't know however, about the ICC gathering, and neither did most people, no doubt for security reasons.

We could have gone to the city just for the day. I could quite happily spend an entire day at the Art Gallery, especially a rainy day. Which it was.

But weeks ago we had decided to make our trip an overnighter, so that we had a bit of time to see for ourselves what had been happening in this lively part of the city since we'd last been here, quite a few years ago.

Barangaroo, an eye-watering assortment of very high rise apartments and skyscrapers blotting out the sky, more coffee shops than customers, many more bars, and myriad construction sites, that's what's happened.

The beauty of our Harbour though, still remains, though becoming cluttered.

What is also unchanged is the fun of getting out on the water in one of our iconic ferries. It's always a must do for me.

If you find yourself in need of an awesome art experience, do make the time to at least check out the Ron Mueck exhibition, only in Sydney at the Art gallery of NSW, until 12 April.

Mueck, born in Melbourne in 1958 but working in the UK, is a sculptor whose work is unparalleled for its exquisitely crafted realism.

He started as a puppet and mask maker, and earlier in his career had collaborated on productions with the likes of Jim Henson of Muppets fame.

As one newspaper reported about Encounters, you'd be forgiven for thinking the sculptures are alive.

How did I find out about the Exhibition?

I can happily blame my phone for this. My beloved phone is always telling me of opportunities not to be missed, things to go to, things to see and do. It's my pocket What's On Guide.

My phone though, regrettably, didn't tell me about unknowingly finding myself in a potential hot spot, walking apprehensively through banks of police with copters overhead and snipers on standby. Just to get dinner.

An innocent abroad, thankfully not caught up in any mayhem, and in hindsight, keen to tell my tale.