Sydney, New South Wales, Australia – Day 1

The day that doesn't end, but in a good way... sort of

What’s jet lag? Four movies, half an Ambien, five hours of sleep and a couple episodes of “Californication” later, I landed in Sydney via V Australia Airlines at 7am Monday morning local time. (Critics opinion here: I watched Russell Brand host some kind of MTV awards show earlier this year and thought he was an absolute idiot, but he was pretty damn funny in two movies I watched on the way here. Or maybe ANYTHING would have been funny while trapped in a giant tin can for most of a day. At any rate, the recovering addict who somehow landed Katy Perry helped pass the time. Thanks for that, mate.) Alright, enough Siskel and Ebert.

I saw a familiar face at the baggage carousel in Sydney, that of Callaway staff pro Stuart Appleby (“Mr. 59”), who is from Australia. We waited in line and went through the bag scan together and, although he now lives in Melbourne, he seemed pumped to tell me all the things to do in Sydney. At any rate, yeah, random encounter halfway around the world with PGA Tour Pro that I know from work. 

Sydney Harbor Bridge at sunset.

You know what’s awesome, when the handle to your luggage breaks two hours after you land for a two-week trip to another country, leaving your extender pull-handle stuck open. Sweet. Something tells me I’m not done with this situation. No idea how I’m going to check my bag on the next four flights between here and Los Angeles two weeks from now. Suggestions welcome. Or send me a hacksaw.

Rumor has it the best way to get acclimated with a new time zone is to embrace it. Since I’m so great at following directions, that’s what I did. After sleeping 4-5 hours on the 15-hour flight from LAX, I stayed up all day until 10pm on Monday and saw a lot of the city. With the help of an old friend who grew up here (thanks, Duncan), I checked off Darling Harbour, where I’m staying, then had lunch in Chinatown before more “walkabout” from there.  

This is why the chicken never crossed the road.

One observation I’d like to point out here is that Aussies seem to be in turmoil as to which side of the sidewalk to walk on. They drive on the left side of the road and the escalators that go up are on the left side of any train station (I came about a step from learning that the hard way), but they still sometimes go right on you on city sidewalks. It sometimes leaves you doing the awkward dance move with strangers coming at you. “You going right? You sure? Ok, I’ll go right, too, then and we’ll be cool. Oh, shit, he’s going left now. Wait, you went left at the last second, mate, and now we almost hugged. What the hell?” Someone needs to get this nailed down and everyone needs to stick by it.

From there, we checked out a sort of animal park mall that sits along Darling Harbour. Obviously, I don’t mean that it’s a place for reptiles and kangaroos to shop for shoes or the latest fall fashions. This place is set up like a mall, so—for $35—you just stroll through rooms filled with “the most venomous snake in the world,” an outdoor kangaroo viewing area, and the star attraction: Rex, the 45-year-old, 15-foot saltwater crocodile. Evidently, Rex eats a dead chicken that the zookeepers drop into his mouth only once per week. My gut says Rex is not on a self-imposed diet and that he would eat whatever you dangled above his dome any time during the week—arm, leg, small dog, large dog, giraffe, Yankee fan, whatever…but they say we lucked out by being there for the once-a-week feeding. Obviously, the zookeepers know their business. All I’m saying is I wouldn’t stand on the edge of his tank after he chowed on the bird just because they think he’s “full.” The feeding was impressive; let’s just say Monday was a bad day to be a dead chicken dangling above zoo-kept crocodile. 

Like any crocodile feeding would, this one made me thirsty. So we adjourned to a bar along Darling Harbour for a couple of pints. To give you an idea of how long I had now been awake on four hours of sleep since Saturday morning west coast time, try doing this math (like I’m doing right now): when we sat down with our pints at around 2pm Monday afternoon local time, the NBC Sunday night football game back home was on television at the bar.

After a stroll through the financial district, we arrived at The Rocks, a cool, old-style section of town with narrow streets and a fair amount of pubs. We staked out a rooftop spot at a pub called The Glenmore. The sun poked through after a cloud-filled day, lighting up the seascape of Sydney Harbour below, which consists of the iconic Sydney Opera House, the Sydney Harbor Bridge and a multitude of ferries crisscrossing between them; it’s one of the most spectacular cityscapes in the world (that I’ve seen). Stockholm is right up there, but this is amazing, too. You start thinking that these people are lucky to live here, even if their housing costs and rent prices lie somewhere between absurd and ridiculous. The day that would never end finally did a few hours later, but not without a stop at Australia’s oldest bar, then the opera house bar below the Sydney Opera House (you probably figured that out, didn’t you?) and another meal, this time at a Malaysian restaurant.

Before I sign off, I have to give some credit here to my father for a witty email that he sent after I dropped him a line from Sydney. It read: “The internet must be extra fast down under. I received your email Monday at 7:52pm, but you sent it on Tuesday at 10:52am. What a time warp! Please send me tomorrow’s Megabucks lottery numbers. Thanks. Ed.” Yep, genius. And, yes, that’s all it said.

Coming soon: a trip to Bondi Beach and one of the most spectacular coastal walks you can imagine. And some seriously sore feet. And more beer. Of course.