The nine-hour flight from Hong Kong to Sydney took off at midnight. We both were plenty tired but also filled with anticipation. For Elena, this was her seventh visit. For me, it was my first.
Elena suggested I watch “The Green Book.” I did. Great film. It deals with the racial patterns of the deep South in a most interesting way. No wonder it received so many awards.
After the film and after drinking an orange juice mixed with Champaigne, I was plenty tired, but I never seemed to be able to get my body in a position where I could get a sound sleep. Hence, I woke up a dozen times and went to sleep slowly and gradually each time I woke up.
At the Sydney airport, we deplaned on the tarmac and took a three-minute ride to the terminal. From there, things went very smoothly. I had paid $20 and applied for a visa a week earlier. The key question was, “Have you ever been convicted of a criminal offense?” I elected to say “no” even though I was quite aware that I had received three driving convictions during the last forty years. I felt quite sure these were not the kind of “criminal” offenses that the Aussie authorities were interested in. My visa was approved online in two minutes and electronically attached to my passport. Hence, when I did the electronic border patrol procedure, I was immediately welcomed into the country of Australia by a machine. Super! Along the way, someone asked whether I had anything to declare (fruits, meats, esp.). When I responded “no,” I was told to take lane 5 that let me out of the airport. So simple. So easy. No nasty waiting in any lines throughout.
Our cab took us to Hotel57 in 40 minutes. The mid-afternoon traffic was light. Our room was euphemistically called a “shoebox.” It was 2 x 5 meters, clean, modern, and cramped. There was no place to unload our clothing; hence, we developed the strategy of living out of our single piece of luggage for the entire four days that we were here. And we could never open both of our suitcases at the same time or else there would be nowhere to move.
After taking a refreshing shower, we walked in the neighborhood that was called Surry Hills. Three-minutes to the West was the central station for the trains. Two km. to the North was the famous Opera House that is set on a rocky peninsula that is surrounded on three sides by water. To the East we found an endless array of small two-story houses. These houses have a tiny front lawn and no backyard. There is no space between houses. Yet, each one is different and has its own charm. Part of that charm is the second-floor balcony that has an ornate wrought iron grill that prevents anyone from falling over the edge into the tiny garden below. See pics.
Exploring on Thursday
The following day, I did my five-minute yoga on the floor of our shoebox at 7 am while Elena was in the lobby making two coffees. After my yoga, I put a sandal to stop our door from slamming shut, and did my Tai Kuan Do for five-minutes at the end of the hall that led to the fire exit. Then Elena returned, and we drank our coffee and chatted about what we were anticipating for Thursday.
After a quick shower, I dressed in my khakis shorts and headed for the train station to the West. I had purchased an Opal card at a 7-11 the night before, so I did not have to calculate fares or to wait in a ticket line. So I swiped my Opal Card and the barrier to the platforms opened majestically before me.
But now the trouble began. My helpful front desk clerk at my hotel told me to go to platform 27. I began at platform 4 and I walked and walked and came to platform 24. Then I found no signage for 25-27. So I asked an information person who carries a clipboard and is hired to take care of lost causes like myself. He told me 27 had been discontinued two years ago when Harry Potter visited Sidney. What I needed was platform 21. This I found in short order. I got on the train and made my way to the upper level seats. The isle was packed, so I ended up standing on the stairs.
This worked just fine for I was positioned right in front of a handsome fellow in his early thirties. I confirmed that I was on the right train. Then I asked whether he was pleased or disappointed by the decision of Parliament in 2016 to allow the marriage of same-sex couples?
“Pleased. I should say so.”
“So what inclined you to see this as the right move?”
“I know quite a few gay and lesbian couples. Their aspirations are very much in harmony with what we have always meant by marriage. Hence, it seems not only proper to extend to them the right to marry those whom they have chosen to love.”
I agreed with him.
“This is my stop,” he said as he got up to say goodbye and to leave the train. I took the empty seat that he left behind.
Arriving at the Circular Quay
In a few minutes, a mellow voice announced, “The next stop is Circular Key.” I asked someone whether q-u-a-y was pronounced “key” and not “kay”. “Oh, yes,” was the reply. So I identified one of the hundred words that the Aussies pronounce quite differently.
Three minutes later I ordered avocado burger at Hungry Jacks which goes by the name Burger King in the USA. This consisted of a thick slice of avocado and a thick slice of tomato between two toasted buns. A few tables away a dark-skinned girl of five was asking her grandmother for “chicken nuggets.” She did this three times. And each time her grandma explained that chicken nuggets are only available at McDonald’s. I was amazed at her American English and that of her grandmother as well.
Since the small dining area was empty, save for the three of us, I asked grandma about her granddaughter’s use of American English. She explained:
We came from India some years back with our daughter. Now that she is married, her granddaughter has caught on to American English [as spoken by her family] more than the Australian English that she hears on TV and when with her playmates.
At just this point, it began raining cats and dogs. One could hear this as the rain pelleted the plastic roof. So this set the granddaughter to singing, “It’s raining. It’s pouring. The old man is snoring. . . .” Once again, she did this is perfect Midwestern English.
She didn’t get the final lines quite right, however, so I sang them rightly: “Bumped his head and he went to bed and couldn’t get up until the morning.” The little girl was amazed that I was singing her song using the same accented English as she was accustomed to hearing. She blushed and looked straight at me without saying a word.
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