Holy Crap, I’m in Australia.

Can we just talk about how expensive public transportation is in Australia?  Ok, maybe not all of Australia, but I was blown away to learn that a train ticket from the Sydney airport to the center of the city was $15 one way.  We’re talking a slow 15 minute train ride.  It doesn’t even cost $15 to go from Walnut Creek to SFO via BART, and that’s a good 40 miles.  So yeah, that was my first introduction to Sydney (apart from that whole Who’s on First business): sticker shock.

That said, it was totally worth it to finally get to see the Australia I only see on postcards (metaphorically — not sure I’ve ever actually received a real post card, let alone one from Sydney).  After checking my luggage at the airport I hopped on the train to head to the Circular Quay station.  Why Circular Quay?  Because according to the rudimentary map plastered on the wall of the train station that looked like it had been drawn by drunken, possibly color-blind, Kindergartners, it looked to be where the Opera House and Harbour Bridge were at.  And and I was hell-bent on seeing that fucking Opera House on January 1, 2011 if it killed me.

And it almost did.  The heat!  Holy wow!  Between the fact that I was in jeans, hauling about 15 lbs of hardware on my back, and a stuffed purse that I didn’t dare check, I was feeling the drain.  Stepping out of the airport I did a double take.  I must have stepped out next to a running bus engine exhaust, right?  Nope.  That’s just Sydney.  Hot, humid, with a blazing sun that just seems to beat down on you harder than any sun I’ve felt before.

But it felt good.  The sweat dripping down my back and legs didn’t feel great, but just the fact that I was in the warm sun and sweating at all felt new and fresh.  And I must say, for all my cynical pissyness, the Sydney Harbour totally lived up to the hype.  I just think it’s absolutely beautiful.  The pristine blue skies, the deep blue water, the sexy-ugly Opera House, and the rather imposing Harbour Bridge make for a unique and distinctive skyline.  Sitting by the water and soaking it all in (and trying to hide my embarrassment from taking dumb pictures of Matt and Josh), I felt a lot like how I feel whenever I see the Golden Gate Bridge.  My heart skips a beat, my stomach drops a little, and I get a goofy grin on my face.  I’ve never been able to describe why I do that, it just happens.

It felt really nice and after all the travel travails and distractions, I finally was able to stop and internalize the enormity of this trip, the ten years that got me here, and how life is just truly and magnificently weird and fucked up, in all ways good and bad.  It felt dumb to think me coming to Australia for a six-week jaunt was “enormous” in any way.  As I’ve found in my hostel-hopping, people do this shit all the time.  But I know it’s a big deal for me and I guess more specifically, “to” me.  I just never thought I’d have the opportunity to do anything like this for the reasons I’m doing it.  It’s a big step for me, I guess, so it was nice to finally stop and realize that.

And then I drank.

Who’s On First.

First order of business in Sydney: Figure out how the hell I was going to get to Perth.  I had obviously missed my originally scheduled flight to Perth and Delta didn’t do much in helping me rebook that flight.  So I walked to the counter agent, told them I needed to book a flight, and she said that it would actually be cheaper for me to do it on via internet, which I could access at the domestic terminal.  I head over to that terminal, wander about like an idiot looking for an actual terminal, and find nothing.  Believe me when I tell you this whole “me wandering about and not asking questions” thing would become quite the theme of the trip so far.  More on that later.

I finally ask the info desk and they tell me I can access the internet form inside the terminal.  I’m thoroughly confused.  I don’t have a boarding pass to get me through security to access the internet because I need to access the internet to buy my ticket to get me a boarding pass, which I can’t do because I can’t get through security because I don’t have a boarding pass.  You get it right?  Well the kind Virgin lady (capital V, folks) had no idea what my problem was.  She just kept telling me that I could just hop on the internet in there.  This was straight up “Who’s On First”, only way less hilarious because I’m actually experiencing it.

I take a deep breathe, try to process what she’s saying, and then take a stab in the dark.

“Wait, do I need a boarding pass to get through security?”

“Oh, no.  No boarding pass necessary.  Anyone can access the terminal past security.”

[Courtney internal monologue: "WHAT THE EFFING EFF, WOMAN?!?!?!? WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST SAY THAT???"]

“Oh, perfect.  Thanks so much for your help!”

So yeah.  Thank you Australia for reminding me what air travel was like pre-9/11.  Not only did I not need a boarding pass, my shoes stayed on and I could basically bring a keg of gels onto the plane if I chose to.  Of course, me being the American, the lack of TSA-standard security (how sad that it’s actually a “standard” for anything) TOTALLY FREAKED ME OUT.  “But….shoe bombs!  And…gels!  You don’t know what could happen!”

Yeah, I got over it the minute I realized I cleared security in less than 30 seconds.

So I hopped inside, copped a squat in front of Hungry Jack’s (a.k.a., Burger King), popped open my laptop and bought me a ticket to Perth later that evening, which would allow me some time to go into Sydney and actually see something.

Oops.

It’s a bit dumb to start a blog, tell people you’ll update it, and then…not.  So I’m dumb.  But, as I have been trying to do my whole life, I will make a fair attempt to rectify this now.

Has it really been two weeks since I left?  Time is absolutely flying by and to be frank, I’m not sure where it’s gone.  I think I would have blogged more about the trip except that I’ve been knee deep in the tennis since I landed.  That aspect of the trip has been absolutely fantastic (I won’t bore you with the technical details; check out FD for those) but when you’re at a tennis site for a minimum six hours a day, coming home to write about it for another 4 hours or so, it makes for very little actual seeing of the Australia.

In case you haven’t heard, I had a bit of a showdown with Delta before I even landed Down Under.  Skip ahead if you’ve already heard this.  My flight out of SFO was delayed, causing me freak out a bit (a beer or three may have been involved) about whether I would be able to catch my connecting flight to Sydney out of LAX.  After multiple inquiries, I was assured by the Delta gate agent that I would have “no problem” catching the flight and in fact, they knew I was coming because my name was on the connection list.  Gravy.  Multiple times I asked, multiple times I was reassured.

So you can imagine my losing of the shit when I sprinted off the plane at LAX, down 5 gates to my flight, only to see the doors closed, no gate agent, AND MY PLANE JUST SITTING THERE WITH THE JETWAY STILL ATTACHED.  That’s right.  Despite the fact that Delta knew they had five connecting passengers coming, they closed down the flight mere minutes before we landed.  Way to go, Delta!  You’re fucking idiots!

And with that, my grand plans of spending New Year’s Eve in Sydney, ringing in what I hope to be an amazing 2011 watching a rather ridiculous and unnecessarily excessive amount of fireworks exploding over Darling Harbour, I was going to be on a plane over the Pacific.  And instead of just being told I was never going to catch my connecting flight and thus staying the night in SF with friends or Walnut Creek with family, I was stuck in a hotel room near LAX with a view of a beer billboard and windows that rattled as planes flew by.  Oh, and they gave 18 dollars to eat, which I blew at McDonalds because, well, I just wanted to see whether or not I could eat $18 worth of McDs.  Turns out I can’t and trying to do so gave me the Kimmis.  All in all, a fantastically crap result.  Like I said, Way to go, Delta.  You’re fucking idiots.

But once I got my wits about me (e.g., drank 2 Bud Light tall boys in the hotel) I calmed down.  I had no reason to complain.  I was on my way to Australia for six weeks.  Bitching and moaning was simply tempting the universe to get all Dharma Initiative on my plane.  And trust me, despite the fact that wearing cargo pants all the time would totally be my jam, I don’t look like Kate when I don’t shower regularly.  So I decided to shut up, be grateful, and be happy.  See Tom?  I choose happiness.  And vodka.  And Chaka Khan.

The flight to Sydney was uneventful, which would have been great except for the fact that it was New Year’s Eve.  I mean, shouldn’t they pass around some champagne or something?  Or, I don’t know, even just pop on the PA system for a sec and let us know that it’s 2011?  Nothing.  Dead silence.  I know this because I watched The Social Network twice in order to stay up to see my fancy Casio, which I had set to Sydney time, strike midnight.  I mean, it’s a digital watch so it didn’t “strike” anything.  The crystals moved to form a “12:00″.  But…whatever, you know what’s up.

So that’s how I got here.   NEXT!

Ready to Start

That’s Matt. He’s coming along to keep Josh company when I’m busy. Seemed like the right thing to do. He’s also my designated drinking buddy. Josh is a bit of a teetotaler. Wuss.

SFO –> LAX –> SYD. 19 hours until I stop shivering. Not being able to wear a jacket to the airport has bitten me in the ass. Thankfully Sydney should thaw me out in 4.6 seconds. That’s the glory of chasing summer.

Matt’s thirsty and wants another round. Gotta run.

Gournals.

Locked and loaded.

These are going to be a bitch to lug around.

Weird.

I have never been one to worry about my own personal safety of the security of my belongings.  I grew up never locking my car and without a key to my own house.

But with 14 days until takeoff, I am all of a sudden freaking out about not so much my personal safety (DEATH WISH!) but for the security of my belongings.

If someone steals my laptop I’m not going to be happy.

But really.  How does it work at a hostel?  Can people access my bags while I’m dead asleep?  What about when I’m not at the hostel?  Is there a secure area I can leave my stuff?  How about trains?  Will I have to sleep hugging my backpack to my chest?

These are not normal Courtney-thoughts.  These are the thought of a paranoid.  I am rarely, if ever, a paranoid.

Oh well.  Fleeting thought I’m sure.  Off to REI to buy some luggage locks and a taser.

Yo.

But Who Will Be My Pleepleus?

I have decided that I want a travel mascot.

It has to be something small, rugged, and slightly better than average on the photogeneticness scale.  I don’t want him ruining my pictures of Sydney Harbor.

It must be something that is not so generic that it looks like I’m carrying around a teddy bear like a pedo, but not so outlandish that I’m not allowed into restaurants because I am, in fact, a weirdo.

It must be an appropriate calling card for me, but it cannot scare small children and cause their mothers to scoff in my general direction.

Stay tuned…

OZ 4 ME

In six weeks I leave for Australia for six weeks. Why am I going to Australia, I pretend you ask?

Because I can finally walk around in board shorts without looking like a ‘tard.

Destination Vacation

Aussie Open, baby!