OUT OF ORDER

I've got way too many papers to keep track of and realized that I'd neglected to enter our adventures in Sydney. So - her is Monday, October 20. To bed at 9 P.M. means up at 3 A.M. Still getting used to things here. So a bit of dozing, a bit of street noise, and a general givingitup around 5 A.M. when my hero goes off in search of coffee and returns with a lovely French press. Ah, bliss. We walk toward the harbour, consult various maps, and arrive at the Bridge Climb after a stop off for some above-average yogurt, muselix and fruit. Good food is a little hard to come by. Thus fortified, we join our group to climb the bridge going over Syndey Harbour. We have fun meeting 6 new friends, only one of whom is from the US. To get things going properly, I announce that I am not a lover of heights but that I'm going to project lam and gain the summit without issue. The leader suggests I take first spot, just behind him. excellent plan, that. We're then treated to a lovely bit of Aussie organization and excellent tutelege, get hooked up,literally, to the guide wire and, in our flight suits, headsets and strapped-to-our-bodies foul weather gear, off we go. It's gloomy with rain forecast, but we had none of it, thank you very much. First test, walking at height on the mesh wire footpath across several lanes of traffic. The walkway is wider than a balance beam, but it would not accommodate anyone extra chubby. Soon I'm face to face with test number two, stairs steep as the up arrow, yes, that would be 180 degrees up, terminating on a small platform, then another up arrow with small platform and repeat twice more, one person at a time. I wanted to rush but kept banging my shins, so it was steady as you go. There, oddly, in the open air with firm steel beneath my feet, i quite liked being truly on the bridge in spite of the open sides. yes, water below here. Good steel hand grips and the lovely steel tether made it a good walk that I really enjoyed. At the summit, 443 feet about the Harbour, I was fine until we crossed over from one side of the bridge to the other. I was pretty unhappy when we hung out in the middle and I decided that the tour guide was a perverse ass. I locked and loaded on the horizon while Ron pointed up, down and all around, commenting and asking questions. I was pretty much practicing sensory deprevation at this point, recovering only enough to espy the four sets of descending ladders that lurked ahead of us. Off goes the guide, who'd again decided to be a good person, and here are the stairs. Okay with the first stairs but then there's that goddamn platform wherer you sidle to the next set of stairs and you do have to sort of send your foot into space and teh hand rails have to be searched out. At this point, my beloved guide wire gets twisted as I'm poised on the second ladder but cannot go either up or down. There is literally no one in sight. Good sense overtakes me, welling down the panic as I waited for my hero who said, "Just do this and do that". I obeyed although loosening my grip on the hand guides while I was necessarily in the straight arrow position was counterintuitive. I'm going down this ladder! Of course you can see that it all worked out and, yes, I did a little speed climb down the last part of those bastards, barking shins be damned. I was very busy congratulating myself on completing the climb, which was, actually, pretty damned memorable. Now it's mid-morning so we take a self-guided walk of The Rocks, Sydney's most historic area, settled by the convicts and the British soldiers in 1788. We had a great lunch outside at the Gumnut Tea Garden - isn't that the best? We then walked to the Opera House for an informative tour accompanied mostly by Americans. designed by Danish architect Joern Utzon, it took from 1959 to 1973 to build and cost $102 million. Cheap by today's standards. Sadly, Utzon never saw his completed work, but his firm is now in charge of all planned renovations which are being overseen by his son. He is now 90 and now longer travels. Our guide and the place are wonderful. Such beautiful construction. We loved the tour. I can't say why, but we walked home, me pretty much dragging ass and just a little ill-tempered. Deciding to hike a distance in my flip flops was not me at my cleverest, but it did make the solace of our room that much sweeter. We ate at a fast food place (it had to be very close to the hotel!) and remaked on the hoards, throngs, masses, sea of human beings with the crowd kind of undulating. The people were almost all young, almost all Asian, and almost no one spoke English.

Daintree and Environs - October 22

Awake at 4 A.M. Alas poor neighbors since every sound the human body is capable of making could be heard by all cabin occupants within our row. I wonder as to their dispositions when Ron heated up the coffee water (everything instant) in a machine that put out decibles akin to a leaf blower. He apologized that the coffee was probably not quite up to temperature since he had to turn off the pot prematurely. At first light, the rain forest came alive. Think oo oo ah ah ah ah. The birds made such a ruckus and in the bass clef. We tried, but simply could not see them because of the dense tree canopy. Our gratis breakfast included some wonderful stuff - great breads, lovely home-made type yogurt, good coffee (yippee!) and pretty, dainty bites of tropical fruit. The best yet. Then off for a nice hike and many tries at getting a photo of the swimming hole turtle. I didn't swim although it looked wonderful and crytal clear. Our locatoin was a portion of Queensland on the east coast almost where the road ends. Ron got a photo of a kangeroo rat, one of the family that lives on the premises. Lots of animals only found here. Much moisture. My skin and hair were thrilled and dewy, but so were our clothes. We left the lodge and drove down the mountain, again took the ferry across the river, and drove to Mossman Gorge, on the south end of Daintree. Several people joined us to enjoy the scenery and to bathe. The water was refreshing and cool. I eased in for a swim, getting into mid-stream where the very swift current plucked me up and propelled me, pretty much against my will. I was able to take refuge behind a large rock, but could not climb up onto it. I did manage to get enough purchase to shove off and fling myself toward the shore where I gained a much-welcomed toe hold. As Ron pointed out, I am a strong swimmer so that even if I'd been swept downstream, I'd have made it to shore, albeit somewhat banged up. I didn't take comfort. But, I'm really glad I did it and, except for a few wild-eyed moments, I really enjoyed it. We then set out to find the secret swimming hole. We followed the road in, only to discover that it meant putting our car interally into the stream to cross over. This worked only because the water was very shallow at that point. we parked along the road and were alone except for a few passers-by. Very beautiful place with rushing currents on one side and still deep water on the other. I was content to admire the water from the road and to splash about only up to my ankles this time. Then on to Port Arthur for lunch, stopping in to talk to an interesting shop owner specializing in Aboriginal art. I am developing a huge liking for it. Ron, not so much. Once back in Cairnes, we walked along the esplanade in search of "take away" for our dinner. Challenge of the day: Finidng some place to get food that pleases both of us when we're tired and cranky, and the streets don't go through and there's one round about after another and it's hard to remember to look right and stay left. But, no worries and friends again in a minute or two!

Sydney to Cairnes October 21

Okay, then, up at 4:30 A.M. for a 7:15 A.M. departure to Cairnes. Good news, no international terminal aka Dante's Inferno. Bad news, our flight of 3 hours can be characterized by the word "wailing" as in crying child who's parents, quite dear, were beside themselves trying to deal. They were from San Francisco and GOD ONLY KNOWS what possessed them to travel with a toddler. Time spent walking, waiting, searching - the usual - then off to the city to book our Great Barrier Reef tour and to shop, dealing with the minor challenge of the day. The handle broke off Ron's suitcase, locking in the extended position. Major challenge of the day: Ron driving an unfamiliar car in an unfamiliar locale on the wrongside of the road which contained endless roundabouts with me, the reluctant navigator. P.S. He wanted me to share in the experience which all started well but took a turn, literally, when I failed to yield properly. I never drempt that person would be going in the same direction as was I. Total elapsed time with me at the wheel = 3 minutes. After our shopping, we got down to our lovely drive to Daintree National Park, stopping at Port Arthur (the site of my brief turn at the wheel) to take some lovely photos of the Coral Sea and then to Mossman where we sought directions to our lodge adjacent to the park. We determined that the route included, was was not limited to, a ferry ride across the Daintree River. I tried to get a few photos, but there was no going down to the water's edge. Think crocodiles. A beautiful day going into what may be the oldest rainforest in the world. Hana-like. More stopping for directions mostly to reassure ouselves because, as I pointed out to Ron, we were pretty much far flung into the middle of who knew where. An unexpected gravel road to our lodge where we found our laid back host who showed us, upon check in, a fabulous swimming hole with resident turtle and a pathway down to what he described as the cleanest water anywhere. We explored a bit and then to dinner (fine dining with disappointing food) where our server turned us on to a little known swimming hole near Mossman which we planned to explore en route back to Caines.

October 19th: DRIVING TO TOWN AND THEN SOME

There is, of course, a line for the taxi and we're routed to a very friendly cab driver with a station wagon. He talks with a raid fire sing-song Bangladeshi accent and recites a tale regarding finding someone's mobile left in his cab for which the owner's offered him $500 when it's returned. He didn't say whether or not he'd be accepting the reward, but only that he'd be returning it promptly. The whole business of his extreme honesty is called into question at the hotel where he soaks us for $50 American plus a nice tip. I was too tired to ask the pertinent question at the airport: "how much for the trip to St. George Street?" So we're here. Our hotel is small but adequate with a very friendly staff and it's called the Pensione so it must be charming. Note: It's been refurbished and has a great shower. Good one. We leave our luggage until our room is readied and set off in search of a tour of Sydney Harbour. Gosh I love those AAA Guide Books - small enough to take in a purse and they have proven invaluable. The Harbour turns out to be much easier to access than Australian cash which we need even to get on the bus. Damn Versatel. Challenge of the day: Figuring out the money and the bus and where our hotel is located once we've left it. Everyone is happy to help us even to the point of making change for us on the bus when they aren't supposed to. We take the bus to Circular Quay where we've opted for a wee harbour cruise. We instantly see the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. Both are very beautiful. Neither is enormous, but are right-sized for the location. The cruise is lovely, the narration informative, and the weather quite wonderful. Sitting in the sun, my eyes close a few times while we're returning to the dock. In the resting state, I'm dreaming of lying down. (My mother always claimed that babies need to lie down to stretch themselves and that they could grow quite desparate if denied. I understand it.) En route home, we know we need correct change for the bus, so we purchase a postcard, here and a drink there, still holding out the money for them to take what they need. Later we see that the denomination is prominently displayed on one side of the coin although the smallest coin is $2 and another very large one is 25 cents. Sydney has provided a beautiful and perfect day with throngs of people who are all pretty pleasant. Lots of ethnicities, languages and cultures seem to converge on this spot. Reminds me of Key West meets Santa Monica but with really poorly dressed people. I can't quite figure out why there is literally no one who looks put together and why so many people are in hot and clingly polyester. Eh gads, I feel the hot flash rising. Ron and I fit right in to the less than fashion conscious crowd. A treat not to worry about appearances, really. When I speak to the shopkeepers, I have to repeat myself and ask them to repeat themselves, quite often. I read in my guidebook that the often rapid-fire speech and endless but entertaining colloquialisms are all part of "Strine" - that would be Australian English to you, mates. It's fun once you get into the rhythm of it but when it's fast, it's furious! So we enjoyed the cruise boat which was lightly peopled and just right after the crowds at the airports. And being on the water was bliss. Grabbed a snack en route home since we got off the bus prematurely. Like I mentioned, we couldn't exactly remember where our hotel was. The bonus was passing by a Starbucks and scoring a cup of java, as sister Linda would say. Not up to standards, mate, but it was still pretty tasty. For dinner, we walked down to Darling Harbour and found the ubiquitous Subway place. Lovely area with a Chinese Garden that I would have liked to visit, but it was closed. We got back to hotel and were in bed by 7:30 P.M. since we were out of gas and wanted to be fresh for our exciting Syndey Harbour Bridge walk the next day. It's all good in Australia!

SYDNEY AIRPORT

Word of the day: Surreal. We arrive inside the Sydney Airport, tamping down panic - it's hot and crowded. Again with the endless mounds and carts of luggage that creat a great need for space around each traveler. People are pushing things in front of them, pulling things behind them, or using a 2-armed approach wherein their bodies are flanked by at least one piece of luggage per side. So we queue up for the passport check. We seek our luggage, working our way from one carosel to another. We join a swarm of people and luggage seeing that everyting and everybody must eventually funnel down into ONE NARROW LINE where only ONE MAN looks us over for something undetermined in order to route the hoards to another series of lines. Here, an inspector ascertains that we're not smuggling in tainted food stuffs. One such official picks Ron and me out of the line, asks us if we have anthing forbidden, we say "no", and he passes us on our way with nary a glance at or into our luggage. We race for the exit doors. Ah, sunlight!

Surviving the Plane Ride - October 19

Somehow, we wake up on the plane and it's two days later. Reality matches perception, in this case. I have spent many hours in the middle seat with no arm rests to call my own and no possibility of getting comfortable enough for a night's sleep. Drugs do enable a fitful 6 hours but at the expense of my poor neck. Upon awakening, I was nicely diverted by watching Sex and the City - amusing enough for airplane fare. Apologies to you who really liked it. The woman next to me slept the whole and, get this, NEVER GOT UP TO PEE! Not once on the entire flight. How the hell is that possible on a 15-hour flight? I, on the other hand, went at least 5 times, as much for the change of scene as for physical necessity. I was in awe of her bladder. Also, I forgave her slight encroachment into my "area" after we started talking a bit. She felt free to use both arm rests. And yes, I broke my isolation rule this time because the flight was really too long to ignore my neighbor. She was a brilliant woman which I determined when I saw her working a difficult sudoku without writing anything but the answer in each square. Now I know three people who work them this way. Annoying twits. My seatmate was awake for the evening meal. Ron didn't get any food but I can never relate to bypassing a meal. After all, who knows when one might next be able to eat. I figure it's a "just in case" thing, even when it's airline food. So the seat mate ordered fish (always risky and on an airline? It did call into doubt my earlier assessment of her being a smart one), ate one forkful and declared it an abomination. I, then guilty, tried to hold the little plate closer to my mouth so she couldn't see that I was busy consuming my chicken dish in its entirety. Soon after, we all fell into an exhausted stupor and the plane went obligingly dark and droned away to lull us to sleep. Then, my poor twisted and knotted neck awakened me at 8 A.M. and I go in search of coffee, watching with despair as the steward prepares a cup of instant and hands it over as if it's a something to smile aobut. Thank God the breakfast had brewed coffee and, you know it, I ate that bad boy until it was gone. At least Ron and seat mate joined me for that meal. More on seat mate. She's originally from England but has lived in Australia for years. She said she wrote dictionaries for a living and was a linguist. Was I in my glory or what? When I told her my dad used to read with a dictionary at hand so he could look up and make notes on unfamiliar words, she asked if I had kept the notes. I felt like a bad daughter for a few minutes, but got over it, somewhat irriated that she'd called my daughter qualities into question in the first place. We talked quite a bit about the US and our political scene. She commented on our "terribly tarnished" image around the world. God that's sad. And since I know bupkis about the Australian governement, I was madly trying to remember if they have a president or a prime minister but wisely decided to forgo mentioning it altogether. Safest. We bid her a fond good-bye and struggle off the plane, red eyes. stiff backs and all. Let's get happy! We're in Sydney!

WE LEAVE HOME

We depart for the airport at 9 P.M. and arrive at the Tom Bradley Terminal AKA Dante's Inferno. The words of the day are "Endless Schleppage". The question of the day is "How much stuff do people need to take when they go on a trip?" Apparently, an incredible amount. Next question: How many queues can we wait in before we actually board our plane? Apparently, an incredible amount. To paraphrase Bette Davis, travel ain't for sissies. So we get on the plane at 11 P.M. and we're off an hour late.

Reflections on my Sixty-Second Birthday

As my mom used to say, I am startled when I pass by a mirror and see an older person staring back. This is because I feel as I always did on the inside. These days, I cry for the beauty in this world instead of from anger and frustration. I am working on being grateful for what I can do physically rather than dwelling on what I can’t. As my Aunt May used to say, I am working to improve my “self talk”. Age has brought me more wisdom and patience, and taken some of my physical strength and stamina. I still love and like my partner after 41 years of marriage. Although I live in Southern California, my motto is “Let’s not rush”. Like Anne Frank, I still believe in the goodness of others. My world would be empty and I would be nowhere without my loved ones. I am so lucky that people love me. I want to read every single book that I find even slightly interesting and am saddened by the fact that I don’t have time to do so. I am more selective about the people with whom I spend my time. There is nothing like a positive outlook! I am more willing to appear ridiculous. I feel slightly egotistical inviting my friends to read this blog, but - see the above comment. I want to travel to every continent in our fabulous world and, really, what could be better than planning a trip?

This I Believe

There are two ways to go in life. We can operate from love or, the alternative, operate from fear. I choose love. It’s a simple concept. Simple, but not easy, because it means that I cannot dismiss people who do not think like I do. It means that I must be tolerant of viewpoints not my own. It requires that I search my heart for prejudice and remember that God wants me to recognize the divine in my fellow beings, each made by His hand. It requires that I allow others to do as they think best without criticism, regardless of whether or not I agree. It means I must give people the dignity to fail, even if those people are my children. It requires that I replace my harsh thoughts and words with acceptance and softness. These actions often seems impossible, particularly in this time of national discord and despair. Operating from love means that I must do my best but then be willing to let go of the outcome. It means that I must avoid judgments. It means that I must think and act with compassion even when a person is not particularly lovable, pretty, happy or pleasant. It means that I must move as close as possible to unconditional love. With my many faults, this is putting me to the test. But I also have some excellent advantages, including being able to learn by my mistakes. I have taken in some wisdom over the years, and often find opportunities to be a mentor to others. Although I am highly opinionated, I have been humbled more than once by rushing to judgment based on another’s appearance, manners, or beliefs only later to be shown that there is a wonderful person or even friend where I could not have imagined that one existed. I am blessed with a close family and loving friends. I am a member of a spiritual community. I know that I am loved. I have been given enormous blessings. With these gifts come large responsibilities, including the commandment to operate from love. I pray for the wisdom and strength to do just that to the best of my ability. I’ll end with a quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer: “The ultimate test of a moral society is the kind of world that it leaves to its children.” Let me leave a world wherein I practice love, even when it’s hard to do.