Tim's Sydney '98 Page
There I sat. The dark and gloomy skies of a summer day in the Pacific Northwest had me thinking of other places I'd rather be. The upcoming trip to California I had planned for the end of the month would offer some relief from the rain. But now I had discovered a last-minute bargain airfare from San Francisco to Sydney! Could winter in Australia really be any worse than summer in the Pacific Northwest?
I decided to find out.
Some of my co-workers, however, were still shaking their heads in disbelief. I tried to explain to them the set of circumstances that had led me to make my move to the land down-under. Since there was a cheap flight from San Francisco to Sydney and I was already going to be in San Fran, it only made sense to take advantage of it.
"So in other words," replied a co-worker listening to my seemingly sensible explanation, "you figured as long as you were in San Fran you might as well just stop off in Sydney!"
It wasn't until that moment that the lunacy of what I was about to do began to sink in. After flying less than 700 miles to San Francisco I was about to take a 14,834 mile detour before heading back home again. Of course, having long since given up common sense when it comes to travel, this thought did not bother me. What was beginning to bother me, however, was the disconcerting realization that I had decided to go to Australia exactly three days before my trip was to begin. I would spend the first week in San Francisco and leave the following Monday night for Sydney.
That weekend I dashed to the library and grabbed several books on Australia. Obviously I was going to have to do something for the seven day trip but I knew virtually nothing about Australia. By Monday, I had worked out a plan: buy a guidebook, read it on the plane, and figure out the rest when you get there. The next day I left for California.
A leisurely 30 minute ferry ride from the Circular Quay put me in Manly,
a city bordered by beautiful harbour and
ocean beaches. After wandering through the area
and doing a bit of shopping, I hopped a JetCat that whisked me back
to the city centre in half the time of the slower ferry I had taken over.
A leisurely stroll through the Royal Botanic Gardens brought me to Mrs.
Macquarie's Point, named after the wife of former Governor Macquarie. From
there, I sat back and enjoyed a great sunset overlooking
the Harbour Bridge and Opera House.
As evening approached, my body was beginning to feel the weight of the last 24 hours. Having traveled abroad before, I knew the painful secret of beating jet-lag--staying awake that first day until a normal bedtime. After dinner, I forced my tired body back down to Circular Quay for an evening cruise of Sydney Harbour. By the time I stumbled back to the hotel around 10 PM, it was all I could do just to make it back to my room and climb into bed. Though it was a tiring day, I went to bed that night knowing I had won--18 hours of jet-lag was now at last behind me!
That afternoon I wandered through "The Domain" (part of the Royal Botanic Gardens) and stopped off at the Art Gallery of New South Wales. That night I returned to the hotel and prepared for an evening at the Opera!
While the performance of "Samson et Dalila" was outstanding, I couldn't help but feel a bit out of place. My evening attire of jeans and hiking shoes (the same as my morning and afternoon attire), seemed to contrast greatly with the expensive fur coat borne by the woman next to me and the tuxedo of the man behind. I wondered what the upper-crust of Sydney Opera aficionados must be thinking of the slovenly youth sitting ahead of them in the second row center. Ah well, we can't all be dignified--certainly not while on holiday!
Driving back toward the city that evening we checked out the construction progress at Homebush, site of the 2000 Olympic Games. The aquatics center and train station were open, but that was about it. The large stadium looked to be well underway, with its completion date only about a year away.
That night I grabbed a late dinner and headed off to bed. It had been a long day and I was ready to enjoy a relaxing weekend.
That afternoon I stopped off to see a friend living in Cronulla. We hung out in the area for the rest of the day. That evening, the cuisine was decidedly Ausie-American: Lamingtons and pizza from "Pizza Hut." That night we enjoyed one of America's most prized exports to Australia: "The Simpsons" . . . indeed, being an American means never feeling far from home!
As I sat in the airplane seat gazing out the window, it seemed a bit strange to be watching the sun rising above the horizon, ushering in a new day. After all, I had already seen the sunrise--and sunset--once before that same day. Alas, the time lost to the International Date Line was finally being returned to me. My 14 hour flight that departed at 1:00 PM would arrive in San Francisco at 11:00 AM--three hours earlier. This would make for the shortest flight (and the longest day) of my life.
Fourteen hours later I was back in San Francisco. My 14,834 mile detour was at last complete, leaving me only with memories of my trip--and plans for a future journey--to the land "down under."