Sydney Harbour and Harbour Bridge

It's like a dream. I can't believe I'm here. Sydney Harbour. The Opera House. Who would have ever thought I'd be staring at it? Breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking. And the weather, gorgeous, pales in comparison. I booked a 4:15 Harbour Bridge Climb today. The sun sets about 5 pm, so I'm excited to see the cityscape at dusk and into the night. Cat, my customs official, recommended I hike the bridge. She did let me in the country, so here I am.

Quick word to the wise: if you're going to climb the bridge, and are on vacation like me, don't have more than one beer at lunch before doing so. I just joined my group and there's apparently a breathalyzer test. Right. If you blow more the 0.05%, no climbing for you.

The bridge climb preparation is quite an affair. Having signed a health and insurance wavier and passed the breath test (phew!), you are zipped up into a gray jumpsuit, your belongings left in a locker. No cameras, no spare change, no wallet, the climb has strict regulations, and understandably so. From the highest point, anything dropped onto traffic passing below could cause serious damage.

In the next section, you are equipped with a belt and rolling ball belay, a headlamp, fleece, radio and headset. With a trial run climbing metal ladders, familiarizing everyone with the belay, and a bit of instruction from our guide Chris, off we went.

A group of seven, we were two Aussies, six English and one American. Scratch that. Two Americans, including our guide. I have to admit, I was excited at the prospect of listening to the Aussie accent during our three+ hour climb. But, as it turned out, Chris was from the States. "Which state?" you ask? Georgia. Macon, GA. Small. World.

Somehow in life, I have no fear of heights. I enjoy climbing, love being up in the air. But of the women, I was in the minority. Lucy, the girl behind me, had asthma and a serious fear of heights. The climb begins just underneath the bridge and roadway along a metal grid see-through catwalk. Then you ascend maybe ten vertical ladders, cars whizzing by you on the roadway. Pretty cool.

Up at the top, to the Aussie flags blowing in the breeze, we watched the sun say goodbye and listened to Chris' stories about the city. Given that you cannot take a camera up, your guide takes all photos of you on top of the bridge. Then you have to buy them at the store once back at the bottom, my photos pending. The view is amazing. And the climb fun, though nothing strenuous. But to see the city behind you, the harbour under your feet, it's worth it.

Observations

Walking through Central Station, the Hare Krishnas and Jehovah's Witnesses are having a turf war! It's like West Side Story, only their weapons are hand cymbals and Awake! magazine.

So Woolworths is a huge chain here, which is surprising. The company in the US and the one here apparently unrelated, I'm shocked a company would choose this name to open a store, launch a brand. But when talking to people about it here, they know nothing about the segregation or sit-ins and boycotts in the 60s in the States. The sign out front even reads welcome. I guess we all have our own history. And I am half a world away, in a different hemisphere, among new generations.

And there's Krispy Kreme here. All of sudden, I'm 13 in the back of someone's dad's van cruising down Ponce to the main store in Atlanta.

And can we talk about another observation Australian? A friend of mine Paul, he's from Melbourne. And he's a bit obsessed with coffee. And now? I get it, Paul. Even at the junkiest spot in the CBD, the coffee annihilates any New York breakfast cart's. It is an art form. And my vow from back in the Cameron Highlands to drink tea instead of coffee? I take it all back. I bow down to the Aussie coffee gods. And will make many offerings.

Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. They drive these cars here, like an updated El Camino. Or some sort of scary blend of a sedan and pick-up. I am not a fan. But I fear I am all alone in that. They're apparently called Utes (yoots), as in utility vehicles. Oh, they make me giggle!

CBA

I met an old friend today for lunch. It's not so much that either of us is old, thank you very much, but that I've known her now almost half my life. We shared details of our lives over bowls of soup.

Originally, we met the first day of university, a long time ago now. The two years we were both there happened to be some of the most personally embarrassing, disappointing and trying moments of my life even still. It has always been difficult for me, feeling somewhat trapped by those memories, as though to her I've never been anyone different or beyond who she knew then.

A different person I am in many ways, still the same in some, I wonder if she feels the same. We grow. We change. We are at best vague reflections of those memories passed. And all in all, it's more comforting to know a person for a long time, I think, than to strike a match and watch your friendship burn out. To see the changes we all go through, input or none. To share.

And when I look back on it, she taught me how to share. At Runk Dining Hall (the horror!), she always used to nibble off my plate. To the point where I'd get more of things in order to accommodate. Looking back, we should have shared a meal today, in honor of those days.

Whatever happens, I'll be happy to know her, however long it may be. It's funny to think that someday we may be staring at each other across a table, grayed and withered. Til then, and even then, nothing but the best, girl!

Customary?

Ever heard of the Australian Inquisition? Neither had I. Until this morning. Boy did I get stopped at customs and searched. For over an hour. I'd asked the quarantine people (idiot!) about a stupid bag of pistachio nuts the bartender gave me last night. For free--ain't nothing in life for free. And they snagged my immigration card and mucked it all up. Awesome. Guess I'm the lucky one from this flight to get inspected. Me and my mouth.

Customs unpacked every single thing, from my purse, from my luggage. And then twenty minutes later, I got swabbed. Well, my stuff did, not so much me. And upon return, I was pleased to learn that my bag tested positive for narcotics. Oh really?!? Who knew my folks had using my bag to smuggle narcotics in and out of Singapore? Where the punishment for drug smuggling is, yes, execution.

Second swab of a different area of my bag, the bag itself carted off to be x-rayed, then came the rapid-fire. "Who are you staying with in Sydney? What are you planning to do in Sydney? Why'd you book your visa only three days prior? Where have you been traveling? Alone or with friends? What do your parents do in Singapore? Have you taken drugs since traveling? Anything recreational? Do you have any drugs on you?" My responses harried. "I have two Advil Liqui-gels in my bag..." Nerd. "Do you have any friends in Sydney? How did you meet them? Where did you go to university? What do you do for a living? How do you make your money? How much money do you make a week?" This cannot be happening. And on no sleep on the overnight flight, and two cups of coffee. Can you say edgy?

My turn, "So what if the second swab comes up positive?" My customs agent replies, "Then, we'll have to do a third and final swab." And me, "What if that comes back positive?" Her: "We'll deal with that when it happens." Great.

Back to her. "Do you have anything in your pockets?" My answer, "Just my baggage claim check." "Do you have anything strapped to you under your clothes?" And the best of the best, "No. I am not a smuggler. I am no mule!" Yes, I said that.

Blood pressure through the roof, you hear stories about people slipping things into your bags but it's in Bolivia or Kazhakstan or somewhere really far away from me right now and far more developing a country than Singapore or Australia, right?? Is this really happening?

"So, miss, the second swab came back negative." "WHAT?!?" "No, no...I said negative! You've been very cooperative with all your answers. Thank you for that. You're free to go." Shaking. I was shaking. So, my customs agent's name was Cat as it turned out. And she intimated, "You've nothing to worry about if you're innocent." HA! Right. I've traveled a fair amount of the world and never had that kind of treatment, innocent all the while. She then started helping me repack my bag. "Woah woah woah!" I pretty much shouted. "Please, please, step away from my bag. Don't touch my stuff, no offense. I've got it." After that kind of scare, I'd rather deal with my stuff with mine own hands.

As I entered the bathroom to gather myself, on the verge of tears, I turned to my right, and on the wall was a syringe disposal. The irony. Welcome to Sydney.

Fall in May

It smells like fall. "And the leaves that are green turn to brown..." (Simon & Garfunkel). Nice. Clean. It feels like late October. Football, pumpkins, sweaters, cider. Wait...it's May?!? Funny how the weather can confuse.

Sydney's fall is funny, with New York's as a touchstone. Some people are in full winter gear, hats, scarves. Others in summer dresses and flip-flops (thongs, as they call them). It's hot in the sun, cold once the sun sets. And at first glance, the city is much more culturally mixed than Singapore. Multicultural, even among native Aussies (pronunciation: Ozzies). I like. I have to admit, the people seem a bit more tawdry here, though. Bleached out beach culture, fashion trendier than classic. More LA than NYC. Granted, I've only been here for 6+ hours. Who am I to judge?

I'm having a Kilkenny at Paddy Maguire's, in homage to South Park. The bartender is from the Czech Republic, working, from what he says, among Irish. How is it that all over the world the bartenders are Irishmen? I guess we do what we're good at. And we do what we like. The song Joey just came on in the music rotation. I'm defecting.

Here's the next plan. To live spring and fall only. Travel the globe chasing the two, or perpetually escaping hot and cold. Forget the extremes. I'm going to live moderation in the moderate. Ha. What a laugh. To travel to spots all over the world that would allow me to live out those two seasons only for the next two years. Nothing dieing, dormant. Only life anew and the hint of winding down. Then, I'm off! But I wonder. Would you then spring forward in October? And fall back in May? Oh, me. Time is constant, regardless of who keeps it.

On dasher

Classic. Another classic move from this one.

Chilling, doing some writing, after a lovely salmon fillet and salad, my moms asks, "So. What time is your flight tomorrow?" I'm headed to Sydney for a week or so. Lackadaisically, I wander over to my email to check. "It says I leave Tuesday at 00:25 hundred hours!?!? WAIT...that's just after midnight, right? I'm leaving in a couple of hours??" Mad dash to pack. Thank god she asked.

A drink in hand, belly up to the airport bar, I've made it. Man, I am off my game. And here I'd thought I'd have a day or so to get an itinerary set for Sydney. Guess not. Going to dive right in. But I am the luckiest girl in the world. I can go anywhere. Do anything.

Chinatown

We spent the afternoon in Chinatown. Just inside the doors of the People's Park complex, you're hit with quite a strong odor. Tiger balm. It's referred to as the perfume of choice for the mature Chinese woman. And I'm guessing a whole of lot of them must shop here.

To Yum Cha for lunch, it's Singapore's most well-known dim sum spot. All sorts of steamed delights. Barbeque pork, prawns. Tasty. Chinatown in Singapore is much nicer than Chinatown in New York. Or Kuala Lumpur, for that matter. I picked up a few things here and there, a mahjong set being one of them. And you thought I was joking...

We closed out the day visiting the Buddha tooth relic temple. We did a quick stroll more than an intensified tour. As it stands, the tooth has been proved not to be from the Buddha's mouth. But those who believe believe still. Along the left side of the temple, workers were loading a truck full of orchids to be tossed. What a shame to see something of such beauty and rarity chucked in the back of a pick-up.