Travel Biography - Week 97.

San Diego - Hostel Life.

After arriving in San Diego following a 13-hour Trans-Pacific flight from Sydney, then a short 30-minute hop from Los Angeles, I approached the hostel where I would stay for the next ten nights, the HI AYH San Diego Downtown. Since 1995, the hostel has moved from the third floor of the YMCA building on Broadway to an unoccupied three-storey block on Market Street, in the heart of the Gaslamp District. Since the hostel owners, consisting of two or three young men in a business partnership, no longer had to share the building with another organisation, they imposed their own rules. This included a new security system. Instead of a metal key that gave me access to the bedroom, a code was typed onto a keyboard fixed outside the main entrance door, along with a bell for first-time arrivals.

Horton Plaza, San Diego.

Sandy the Tyrannosaur, Horton Plaza.

Sandy's mate, Horton Plaza.

Another change made was a curfew imposed in the hostel member's kitchen. Instead of 24-hour access, as was with the former site, the kitchen closed for the night around 11.00 pm and opened at 7.00 am.* There was even talk among them of introducing a duty for all members, but this was scrapped. With competition, especially from rivals Rucksackers North America with their Banana Bungalows, introducing a morning duty would have eventually paralysed the business.

And all this I became aware of due to forming a good standing with the owners, one whom I befriended. Hence, I was able to ask questions, including why they decided to move. His answer was that the YMCA building was a hundred years old, and they were concerned about how much longer could the building have been useful. In addition, I was the only guest who was shown the unoccupied 2nd floor. During normal use, the elevator never stopped at this level. Instead, everyone was lifted to the 3rd from the 1st-floor reception. In 1997, AYH San Diego Downtown was a single-floor hostel as was its previous site on Broadway.

By showing interest in the business, one of the owners led me to the lift, and I watched him unlock the second-floor push button. The elevator halted at the second storey and its doors opened to reveal an unfurnished floor consisting of a central aisle leading off to rooms on each side. The bareness of the interior indicated that it hadn't been used for some time, and it was like looking into a new house immediately after being given the keys.

The room I bedded down in was a typical hostel dormitory like most other hostels. Sharing the room was a young Dutch backpacker, around half my age, and like me, travelled solo. However, after crossing the States by Greyhound, he was due to take a bus to Los Angeles Airport to board a flight to Hawaii. I had to admire him for covering such distances at a young age. In 1973, when I was twenty, my parents allowed me only by the skin of their teeth to backpack on my own to Italy, and that was with the persuasion of a family friend (Week 3 of this Biography.)

This young Dutchman, I assume a student, was quiet, kept himself to himself, and apparently a loner. However, one evening, he opened up to me and recommended the indoor swimming pool and sauna located in the basement of the YMCA building on Broadway. Indeed, I knew the place, as I had already visited twice in 1995. But for his benefit, I pretended that I knew nothing of it and asked him to throw some light on the facility, so I too could visit. Like in 1995, and two years later, I paid another visit to the sauna, then thanked the student afterwards for suggesting it to me. Indeed, in 1997, the basement facility was still there before closing down permanently a few years later.

In all, the atmosphere in this new hostel on Market Street never held a candle to the 1995 experience in the old YMCA building. There was less camaraderie in this new place than in the old. In 1995, I made friends easily as they suggested various local venues to visit. Locations such as Mission Beach, SeaWorld, the Old City, and even Little Italy were all suggested by different people, all in the member's kitchen and adjoining dining room. I hadn't forgotten the Australian builder and two Scottish brothers, whom I played table football with. Also, I haven't forgotten the young Jewess whom I protected on the bus journey from San Diego to Santa Monica.

But here, the guests kept themselves to themselves and I was left to fend for myself. Fortunately, there was a wall advert for La Jolla and I was already aware of the zoo at Balboa Park.

Another view of Horton Plaza.

This species of Palm Tree seems unique here.

A U.S. Navy ship is a Public Museum.

New Plans, New Sights - And Trouble.

Since 1995, I have rated San Diego as one of my favourite cities, along with Jerusalem in Israel. Abundant with palm trees, some species seemed to be unique to southern California. The weather was warm and balmy and contrasted with the winter coolness of Sydney. Especially in clothing. Gone were the tracksuit bottoms and woolley tops. They were packed away in my rucksack. At last, shorts and button-up summer shirts or tank tops became the norm once again, the same dress style I wore in Singapore and Northern Queensland.

Having visited San Diego already, it was easy to revisit the popular sites again, such as the SeaWorld and Mission Beach, as well as the Old City. However, I also wanted to visit somewhere new, some "virgin" locations I have yet to see. North of San Diego, for example, is the coastal town of La Jolla (pronounced La Hoya) and the city's zoological gardens, an area of outstanding beauty. The hostel also hires out a bicycle, and renting it for the day was also on the cards, but this time without the soaking I received from the stormy weather at Byron Bay. 

I have yet to visit other locations outside San Diego, including the town of San Luis Obispo with its coastal Arroyo Beach, a ten-mile cycle ride from the town. Also, Santa Barbara with its wide, sandy beach backed by the mountains of Rattlesnake Canyon with its hiking trail and a creek with the same name.

In the city itself, there has been little change since 1995. Except for one issue. The railroad track that runs through the gardens and which was easy to cross was now fenced off on both sides. I could imagine youths playing on the track, even walking along it and putting their lives at risk. A tram could appear suddenly and with hardly any warning, as these carriages tend to run quietly. 

However, it was one afternoon while I was walking along the Embarcadero that fronts Ruocco Park that I saw something extraordinary. That is, stones balancing precariously on a beach sloping into Tuna Harbour. A very skilled artist created these stacks with remarkable ease and I watched as he balanced one stack after another. There was nothing magical about these stones nor any adhesive used. Each stone was balancing on another.

Horton Plaza on Broadway was a colourful square that once included a superstore where I did my grocery shopping in 1995. However, two years later, after some searching, I saw that the store had closed down, but the surroundings had retained its beauty. It was a few hundred metres from the YMCA building. When I paid another visit to the plaza, there was a huge sand model of a Tyrannosaur. Hence, I nicknamed the model, Sandy the Tyrannosaur. Next to it was a sand model of another lizard, along with a few other models.

It is those artistic skills that delight the eye and have made San Diego unique, along with its abundance of Palm trees, all flourishing in balmy subtropical sunshine. But should the reader begin to think that Paradise Lost was at last found in southern California, unfortunately, there was a bit of a dark side, mainly at Ruocco Park, a small area of greenery west of Market Street and fronting the stony beach at Tuna Harbour, south of the main wharf.

One evening, I was walking along the wharf towards Tuna Harbour as I was making my way back to the hostel. In the park were several police officers standing around, talking on their phones. However, lying on the ground were some youths, handcuffed and protesting as the officers kept them under restraint. Whether they were tourists or locals, I couldn't tell, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were local. Then again, British tourists, especially football fans, always had a shady reputation whilst overseas, tainting all of us with a UK passport with the same tarbrush.

What they did to attract the attention of the Police, I would never know, for I had no right to ask or to interfere with their duties. Neither had I learned of the fate of those arrested. Therefore, I kept a safe distance and minded my own business as I made my way to the hostel to prepare dinner.

It amazes me, coming to think of it, that there are those in a group under arrest, and the Dutch backpacker sharing our hostel dorm. Both were very much the same age, yet their behaviour and their fates couldn't have been more different. As the Dutch backpacker prepares to fly to Hawaii, these young men could be facing a least a night in a cell. And so, the ins and outs of international travel.

However, it was on another evening, long after dark, that I was taking a walk along the wharf. It wasn't very late, but as I arrived at Ruocco Park, I saw how deserted it was. I paused to look around. Presently, a police officer approached to ask me some questions. He wanted to know my name, where I came from, and where I was staying. I gave them my name and explained that I was staying at an AYH hostel on Market Street.

Did you know that you're on privately owned property? And the park is now closed for the night? the officer asked.

Of course, I never knew. During the day the park was open to the public. I was trembling inside. Would I end up like those men did the other night?

When the officer learned where I was staying, he told me to beat it, and I was free to return to the hostel. I had already eaten earlier, before the late evening walk, and all I wanted to do was relax in the lounge, safe from whatever was happening outside. I suppose these officers were well-trained to tell the difference between ignorant innocence and deliberate trespassing.

These stones were carefully balanced.

The artist performs his skill.

Then again, funny things could occur with the authorities in San Diego. On the same evening after arriving from Australia, I was strolling casually along Broadway, feeding memories of my previous visit two years earlier and pitying the closure of the YMCA hostel I loved so much. Walking a few metres in front of me was a uniformed security officer with a large bag of popcorn. Suddenly, and perhaps believing that nobody was looking, he threw the bag onto the sidewalk and carried on, leaving the food abandoned and in good condition.

I waited a moment to see if he would return for it or whether another passerby would pick up the bag. But neither occurred. So, I picked up the bag of perfectly good popcorn and enjoyed a feast free of charge!

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*This was in 1997. According to the Internet promotion, the hostel has come a long way since then.

Next Week: A cycle ride to La Jolla.

Travel Biography - Week 96.

Preparing for the Trans-Pacific Flight.

As I headed by bus for Sydney's Kingsford Smith International Airport, I turned around for the last glimpse of the city and Australia. I was at the furthest place from home, and the record will stand for life. Would I be back? At the time, I thought that was a possibility. At the back of my mind, a plan for another Round-the-World trip for the year 2000 was already formulated. Little did I know that a future turn of events would keep me from boarding the aeroplane at the turn of the Millennium.

As I was vacating the city hostel, at the reception, I made a Book-a-Bed-Ahead reservation for HI AYH San Diego. This was possible, even across the ocean, as both hostels were under the umbrella organisation - Hostelling International. I felt sorry to leave Australia altogether, yet anticipating another stint at the YMCA building in San Diego, so I thought, a repeat of the experience two years earlier in 1995.

It was at this southern Californian hostel that the concept of visiting Australia began. As narrated on Week 63,* I shared a bedroom with an Aussie builder who had a work contract in the States. After his contract ended, he did some backpacking before flying home. That was when we met, and it was he who planted a seed in my mind. If he, who was from Australia, could travel the world, why couldn't I?

And so, the seed the bricklayer had planted in my soul flourished, growing into a fruitful tree, increasing my knowledge of the local geography, and learning about places I had never learned about at school. In 1997, I was in Australia for just shy of six weeks, and that was after a five-day stopover in Singapore. At the time, I couldn't decide which was the better of the two continents - Queensland or California. And this indecision was constantly brought to my attention by my late parents after I returned home. They kept asking me which I preferred if I had a chance to emigrate, Australia or California. Looking back over 26 years, at present, I would have chosen Queensland, mainly for the Great Barrier Reef and tropical environment. However, on the downside, the Aussie summer, especially around Cairns, isn't particularly nice during the monsoon season. Swings and Roundabouts...

Inside the Foyer in the Opera House, Sydney.

View of the Queen Victoria Building from "the Gearstick".

At Sydney's Kingsford Smith Airport.

Preparing to board the flight to Los Angeles.

I arrived at the airport terminal to check in for a Qantas flight to Los Angeles. At the check-in desk, a female assistant asked me whether I was aware of the United States Visa-Waiver Green Card. As a British passport holder, I was a qualified recipient, ending a moment of near-panic as she stapled the green card in my passport.

While I was waiting at the departure lounge, my thoughts were on the YMCA building at Broadway, Downtown San Diego. Fond memories from two years earlier. Would I have a similar experience this time around? Another Aussie builder, perhaps, and this time, telling him of my experience Down Under. I dug into my small knapsack (as my main rucksack was being loaded into the luggage hold of the 'plane) and took out the hostel reservation voucher. I had to look hard at it. If I recall, the YMCA was at Broadway. This hostel booked was at Market Street. I felt my spirit drop a rung or two. What was going on?

Eventually, all on my flight were called to the gate. As I walked through the glass-panelled corridor, I saw two Boeing 747 planes parked side by side. One was bound for Los Angeles. The other was for London, and I wondered where the stopping point for refuelling would be. After all, the outgoing flight I was on was to Perth, Western Australia, with a refuelling stop at Singapore, where I alighted.

Unlike the London-Singapore flight which was almost empty save for a handful of Singaporeans, this flight out of Sydney was almost at full capacity. I noticed a large group of young people looking as if all were dressed in a scouting uniform, sitting on the other side of the aeroplane. Although I didn't speak to any of them, by their conversation, I got the gist that they were an Aussie group out on some form of expedition. Due to the duration of the flight, now and again I rose from my seat to pace the length of the 'plane. Like that, I kept the blood flowing and avoided the possibility of leg cramps.

We took off around 6.00 pm local time on July 4th, 1997. The flight was a 13-hour overnighter, landing at Los Angeles around 12.00pm on the same day as take off. By crossing the International Date Line midflight, the plane had gone back in time - literally! After all, at the earlier 12.00 pm on July 4th, I was walking the streets of Sydney. When I was in Australia, I was nine hours ahead of London. In California, I was eight hours behind London. Also, during the flight, we crossed the tropical belt and the Equator itself. As a result, we also crossed from winter into summer, back into the Northern Hemisphere from the Southern Hemisphere.

The Trans-Pacific Sydney-Los Angeles route was once the longest non-stop commercial flight in the world, according to the Guinness Book of Records. However, by the time I boarded the flight in 1997, the honour of being the world's longest was taken by the New York-Johannesburg non-stop flight. I believe that the record is now held by the Singapore-New York flight, covering 15,349 km or 9,537 miles.

Since the airline was travelling faster than the rotation of the Earth, like on the London-Singapore-Cairns flights, the darkness of night was of an unusually short duration. It was already daybreak when a break in the clouds revealed the Hawaiian archipelago beneath us. It was early morning of July 4th, the same time of the day and date I was still in bed in Sydney city hostel. A couple of hours later, the Californian shoreline appeared beneath us, with a full view of Los Angeles LAX International Airport. The 'plane continued to fly inland, looped around to land at the airport, commencing the third stage of the 1997 Round-the-World journey.

Cloud cover over the mid-Pacific near Hawaii.

LAX International Airport was seen just before landing.

The Skywest plane was ready to fly me to San Diego.

On to San Diego. 

Journeys bring contrasts. I had just completed the longest direct flight in my life. After landing, I saw that the border security, like that in Cairns, was strict, and insisted on emptying my rucksack after claiming it from the carousel. As within Cairns, when a Bible fell out with the rest of the gear, the officers were taken aback and became more respectful. It's this cultural prejudice that gets me at times and is quite capable of putting a dampener on what was otherwise an exciting, adventurous experience. For example, had I been dressed in a suit and tie and carried a traditional leather suitcase, I might have passed through border security like a breeze. But a long-haired, casually dressed backpacker, feeling and looking tired, having just got off from a long flight - it took the presence of a Bible to show them that we pose no threat to society.

I need to get to San Diego, as my bed for the coming ten nights was reserved there. But to hassle with the buses was a little too much, especially in Los Angeles. The city bus terminal was on the other side of town from the airport, and I was in no mood to look for and change local buses to reach the Greyhound Bus terminal. Therefore, it was my turn to ask the border security officers where I could buy a ticket to board a domestic flight to San Diego.

I arrived at the domestic departure terminal. Here, a row of desks represented different airlines that took off from this airport to all domestic destinations. I approached the first one and asked about the flight to San Diego. The person cautioned me that the cost of this particular airline is $100 one way, and advised me to go to the next desk where the price was cheaper. She was right. The price for a Skywest flight was around $60 and within my budget, thanks to the past six weeks of hostelling instead of hotels, buying groceries and cooking my own meals instead of visiting restaurants. By then, I could travel in some style.

The departure lounge was tiny compared with the international terminal. After buying a one-way ticket, I had to sit and wait for a time before the next departure. Eventually, a stewardess led the few of us, a single backpacker among a small group of American businessmen, to a small, propellor-powered aeroplane.

Everything about this coming flight was a contrast to the one I had just completed. While the Sydney-Los Angeles flight was the longest I had ever taken, lasting more than 13 hours, this flight was the shortest I had ever taken, covering ninety miles in just thirty minutes. Inside the Skywest airline, it was small and almost cramped. I was allocated a seat right at the back as if my presence was an embarrassment to the group of suited men who shared the flight. When the stewardess offered all of us on board a choice of refreshments, I was the only passenger who ordered a coffee. Why not? It was covered by the price of the flight ticket.

I had just finished the coffee when the plane prepared to land after flying over the coastal region. After landing, I was left to collect my rucksack from the tiny carousel without the need to pass through any security barriers. Nor was there a need to show my passport as I made for the exit, the journey over.

From the airport, I walked along the wharf to the city.

Approaching San Diego

The city of San Diego is seen from Broadway Pier.

The difference between winter and summer wear.

San Diego Airport is located north of the city, but south of SeaWorld and Mission Beach, the two venues I had already visited. The footway ran along the coast, and it wasn't long before I arrived in the city from the airport, already feeling warm and sweaty in the subtropical summer sunshine. I approached the Broadway Pier and turned inland, walking through the Broadway. After a couple of blocks, I arrived at the YMCA building and entered through the open door as memories of the glorious 1995 experience rushed back. But this time, it was all sad. Across the foyer was the AYH reception desk, closed down and abandoned. Fastened on where I would have paid the fee was a notice saying that the HI AYH hostel has moved to Market Street. So my reservation voucher was right all along. There was no printing error.

I found Market Street a few blocks south of Broadway. I came across the hostel, and without a code issued at reception, I had to ring a bell to be let in. Indeed, American hostels were tighter on security than those in Australia. I was let in and took an elevator to the third floor of a three-storey building. And that was automatic, as the lift didn't stop on the second floor.

I presented my voucher to the receptionist, and after submitting my name and nationality, I was allotted a bed in one of the dormitories. I chose a vacant bed by the window, where the top floor offered stunning views. I was surprised later that evening when I saw fireworks let off at and around the wharf. Another piece of information to educate me further. July 4th is American Independence Day, another little fact I never learned at school. Perhaps our teachers didn't want to admit that the USA gained independence from none other than Great Britain. And it took a worldwide journey for me to learn that.

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*To read about my first account of my arrival to San Diego in 1995, click here. 

Next Week: Life in San Diego Continues.

Travel Biography - Week 95

Of the six weeks spent Down Under, I found that taking to city life in Sydney was straightforward. Not that I had never camped out in the sticks under canvas, but always preferred to bed down for the night surrounded by masonry. Yet, my wife Alex was always keen on outdoor camping, but after over 24 years of marriage, has yet to set foot inside a backpacker's hostel.

Hence, the City Backpackers in the heart of Sydney was the largest hostel I stayed at in Australia, but not the largest in the world. That honour goes to HI-AYH New York City, featured in the Guinness Book of Records, where I stayed for over a week in 1998. 

Sydney City Monorail.

As I saw it, Sydney was so characteristically similar to London, that I have referred to it as London-by-the-Harbour. Unlike Singapore, little had changed over the following years. The Business District was already fully developed, a cluster of modern, tall office blocks overlooking the harbour estuary and across Darling Harbour. Further back, the streets were dominated by Victorian-era buildings, including the handsome shopping mall, and even the City Hostel itself, a former office block from the same era.

However, there has been one significant change since I arrived in Sydney in 1997. That is, the demolishing of the Monorail, which was fully operational in my day. Trains ran one way along the single track, forming a closed circuit suspended high above the streets, and serving eight stations spaced around the ring. The monorail circuit enclosed the Business District before crossing the waterway on the Pyrmont Bridge and passing through the Darling Harbour shopping precinct before returning back to the Financial District, thus completing a lap of 2.2 miles or 3.6 km. The Monorail was decommissioned on June 30, 2013, after just 25 years of service since opening in July 1988.

The main reason for such a short lifespan was due to its unpopularity with the locals, as it was at least 5.5 metres above the main streets. There was also the possibility that the Monorail didn't draw in as many tourists as hoped, thus with financial setbacks along with local unpopularity, it was decommissioned 25 years before its official closing year of 2038. In other words, the Monorail survived for just half its planned 50-year lifetime.

The Monorail Train glides above Pyrmont Bridge.

View of the single-track seen from the rear of a train.

On board the train passing over Pyrmont Bridge.

One morning, I took a ride on one of the Monorail trains, boarding and alighting at the same station, completing a full lap of the circuit. At 21 mph, the trains ran smoothly, having tyred wheels. By choosing the last carriage, I was able to see the track the train ran on from its rear window. The most spectacular view was when the train rolled along the pedestrian Pyrmont Bridge and the track was 5.5 metres above the walkway, thus giving fine views of the waterway as it approached the shopping precinct.

The Rocks, Harbour Bridge, and the Opera House. 

The Rocks were where Sydney had its beginnings. From 1788, the first settlers were Prisoners of His Majesty's Service, or POMS. From there, the city began to grow, especially during the reign of Queen Victoria, spreading out like a fan surrounding the river estuary. For many of its early days, the Rocks began to look like a slum estate, with visiting sailors, hard living, and prostitution. In a nutshell, the Rocks was a rough estate until the 1870s. However, by 1997, the Rocks has become a popular tourist spot. I spent an hour or two looking around and taking in the history of the area, with the famous arch of the Harbour Bridge looming above.

At the Rocks.

The Interior of the Queen Victoria Shopping Mall.

Castle Clock inside the Queen Victoria Building.

Manly Ferry sails towards Circular Quay.

And that was thanks to the Builders Labourers Federation in the late 1960s and the early seventies, many of the old warehouses were saved from demolishment and instead, modernised whilst retaining their historic look. The older, more original warehouse buildings in that area were retained rather than demolished for redevelopment. By 1997, the area has become a popular tourist spot.

And the bridge itself. One afternoon, I bought a ticket to ascend the southeast tower or turret, one of the four structures, two at each end of the arch. From there, I enjoyed a magnificent view of the harbour waterway with the Opera House in full prominence. Had it been summer, there would have been a flotilla of boats crowding the waterway. But I was there in July, hence their winter, when the only boats seen were ferries and cruising boats. If only I was there by midnight on December 31st. The harbour would have been crowded with privately owned vessels as well as the Opera House packed with spectators, all watching a magnificent firework display exploding from the arch of the bridge in the warm, summer air.

I must have spent a considerable amount of time at the turret lookout. The sun was preparing to set, and the structure's long and almost indistinct shadow almost touched the Opera House as it fell on the Manly Ferry as the ship pulled out of the Circular Quay. I was fortunate. The southeast turret was accessible to the public on certain days of the week, and I took full advantage.

One evening, I crossed the bridge on foot to get to the harbour's north side. Whilst doing so, I compared this bridge with the other world-famous bridge I walked along, the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. While the latter was just a road bridge which carried Highway 101 from the city to Marin County, and featured a sidewalk, the Sydney Harbour Bridge carried a main road, a railway line, a cycleway, and a footpath. The Golden Gate Bridge is 1.7 miles or 2,740 metres long and is held up by suspension. By contrast, the Sydney Harbour Bridge has a total length of 1,149 metres, therefore shorter by 1,591 metres than the Golden Gate Bridge, and it is held up by a single-span steel arch.

When I arrived at the other end, I saw that here everything was so different. Instead of tall office blocks, I arrived at Kirribilli residential estate, a quiet, middle-class housing area very much the same as I saw at Palm Beach. Not far from the northern end of the bridge was a small shop where I bought some refreshments. The quieter, more sedate area of Sydney had made me almost forget that I was still in Australia's largest city.

And there was the Botanic Gardens, an area of greenery south of the Opera House and with its small, separate peninsula jutting into the estuary east of the Opera House. This small peninsula is the home of Mrs Macquarie's Chair, a stone bench set on a summit and offering views of the Harbour. However, although I did stroll to the tip of the headland, I didn't get around to seeing Mrs Macquarie's Chair itself, but I still enjoyed splendid views of the waterway, the Opera House backed by the Harbour Bridge. A splendid view during sunset.

As for the opera House, I entered the building twice. The first time was on the day I arrived in Sydney. In the morning, the building was closed. But by the afternoon, the doors had opened to allow visitors in to browse around (but not in the theatre itself) and to make bookings. During my first visit, I didn't consider attending any shows, as I was never theatre-oriented. However, after returning from the Blue Mountains National Park, I considered whether I would give up an evening to watch a show. I was in the Concert House, what appeared to be the larger building of the two. I bought a ticket, the cheapest one on the market, to watch that evening's piano concert.

That evening, I entered the theatre, dressed not in a suit-and-tie, but in my daily tracksuit befitting an Australian winter. I wasn't refused admission, however, I still had to follow the instructions printed on my ticket. I found my seat, right on the back row and at the highest and furthest point from the stage as the vast cavernous interior allowed. Yet, when the piano started to play, the sound came across so loud and clear, even over a distance without any echoing. This goes to show how advanced the acoustics were in such a large building. At first, I couldn't make out the tune, but as other band members joined in to sound a crescendo at the climax, I came to realise the meticulous skill needed to produce such a piece, and this skill was recognised by the whole audience. When the performance ended, we all stood up to applaud the musicians, making the air in the theatre electric with excitement.

How long the performance lasted, I wasn't sure, but it must be over an hour. There was even a half-time interlude which allowed me to check out the interior more thoroughly. After the end of the show and as we were making for the exit, I mentioned to a passerby about an advert for Puccini's Madame Butterfly opera held in the other building, as I was familiar with the story of this devoted Chinese ladylove patiently waiting for her fiance to return to marry her. When she found out that he married someone else whilst away, the Chinese girl committed suicide. And since the show was scheduled for the following week, I wouldn't be able to watch it, as by then I'll be across the Pacific in San Diego. Just then, a young man, apparently a student, having overheard, approached me and backed my desire to see the opera. I was surprised at his keenness.

Botanical Gardens seen from the Westfield Tower.

View from near Mrs Macquarie's Chair.

At Botanical Gardens, Sydney.

Archibald Fountain, Hyde Park, Sydney.

Another venue I visited was the Queen Victoria Building on Georges Street, further back from the quay. This building is topped with a cathedral-type dome, and although it houses a modern shopping mall, it is brimmed with history. There was one museum-type exhibit within the shopping precinct, the Foucault's Pendulum. The idea behind this swaying plumbline is that as the Earth rotates, the arc made by the swinging ball at the end of the line appears to rotate. It would be most effective at the Poles. Nearer the Equator, the rotation was more restricted, as I found out after returning to it after a couple of hours. There is, or was, a longer version of the pendulum housed in the Science Museum in London, hence I was already familiar with it here in Sydney.

The Lookout Tower Eye, better known as the Westfield Tower, or as I affectionately call the Gearstick, was, I believe, the highest skywalk in Sydney at 250 metres of the 309 metres from the ground to the tip of its spire. From it, I could make out both the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House, each on either side of a tall office block that was obstructing the view of the Quay. From the other side was a splendid view of Hyde Park with its hexagonal Archibald Fountain. Also, St Mary Cathedral was nearby, adjacent to the park. A ticket allowed me to ride the fast elevator to the circular glass-panelled observation floor. Afterwards, I decided to attend mass at St Mary's, and after the service was over, the Bishop singled me out to give a personal greeting. I thought that was a wonderful gesture.

Soon, I would be vacating the Sydney City hostel to make my way to the international airport.

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Next week: an overview of the trip so far as I prepare to fly to California.

Travel Biography - Week 94.

Sydney so far.

I have narrated the earlier days after arriving in Sydney, Australia's largest city. After spending two days and a night at the Blue Mountains National Park, I returned to the City Hostel. At Darling Harbour, I bumped into two Chinese students who were backpacking Australia, whom I had already met in Brisbane. After they had gone, I took a ferry from the Circular Harbour to Manly, a coastal town north of the city and built on a peninsula connecting North Head Sanctuary with the mainland. Hence, Manly has two beaches, one on each side of the land strip.

Last week, due to a lack of foresight, the corresponding photos of Manly weren't ready for inclusion. Therefore, in this week's blog, I have included them along with those of the next venue.

The Corso, Manly Town Centre. From Week 93.

Manly Beach. Note how we dressed, it wasn't warm!

Manly Cove, on the opposite side of Manly Beach.

On my way up to the cliff walk at North Head.

North Head Cliffs.

Sydney is blessed by having natural beauty surrounding it. The Blue Mountains National Park is one of them. It's sixty miles or 100 km west inland, However, there is another National Park, the Kuringgai Chase National Park. To the east of Kuringgai, a long, slender peninsula stretches north/south parallel to, and east of an inlet, the Pittwater inlet penetrating south for 13 km or eight miles, separating the two landmasses. The slender peninsula consists of two beaches, the oddly-named Station Beach facing west towards the inlet, and Palm Beach, facing east towards the ocean. Both Palm Beach and Station Beach terminate with the forested mound at its northern end, Barrenjoey Head with its lighthouse, around 27 miles or 43 km north of Sydney Circular Quay, and accessible by bus all the way, or part bus part ferry, the latter was the route I used to arrive there. Palm Beach, with its boathouse made famous by the TV crew, was the setting for the teatime soap, Home and Away.

A Day Trip to Palm Beach.

I was fortunate to pick a warm, sunny day to get to Palm Beach. This meant, for once, I could go dressed in a singlet for a top, the same way I dressed for Singapore and Cairns. After breakfast, I made my way to the Quay quickly by boarding the City Line train from the Sydney Central through platform, to the Quay Station in readiness to board the ferry to the other side of the Harbour. From here, it wasn't difficult to find the appropriate bus stop for Palm Beach.

The bus ride took about an hour. From the terminal bus stop, it was a short walk to get to the base of the peninsula with the ocean lapping gently at Palm Beach. At the other end of the sandy strip, Barrenjoey Head terminated the sandbank.

Both the geography and the geology of this peninsula, as I walked along, have made me wonder whether Barrenjoey Head was once an isolated island off the coast of the mainland before the ocean deposited sand to eventually form a land bridge between the island and the mainland. Such geological phenomena have always intrigued me. A shorter and wider sandbank formation looked to have also occurred where Manly now thrives, connecting the one-time island of North Head to the mainland, long before any settlement was founded on it.

This sandbank formation isn't unique to Australia. More recently, I took my wife Alex to Llandudno in North Wales, UK. The main geological feature, other than its two beaches, is the Great Orme, a huge limestone mound offering picturesque views of the town with Little Orme to the east, and even the Isle of Man on a clear day, over 60 miles or 100 km across the Irish Sea from its summit. The whole town of Llandudno is built on the short, squat sandbank joining Great Orme to the mainland. But this I know, the Great Orme was once an island off the coast of Wales. It could be difficult to imagine where traffic now winds its way along the busy streets of the town, marine life once thrived beneath the waves which lapped between the two separate landmasses.

Palm Beach peninsula seen from Barrenjoey Head.

At Palm Beach. Behind me is the southern mainland.

Palm Beach. Looking north towards Barrenjoey H.

Barrenjoey Lighthouse.

And that was how Palm Beach, north of Sydney appeared. The slenderness of the peninsula wasn't so apparent from the summit of Barrenjoey Head. Rather, from that level, it looked a lot shorter and wider. As I strolled along Palm Beach itself, I was able to recognise the scenery where the cast of Home and Away was filmed, especially when I became a fan of the soap during its early nineties heyday. I then found the start of a trail which ascended the mound on the northern end of the sandbank. From where the lighthouse was situated, lovely views were enjoyed.

I spent a good few hours at Palm Beach before boarding the bus to the ferry. This included strolling along Station Beach (which I formerly referred to as Pittwater Beach). It was narrower, looked shabbier and more weed-strawn than the sandy strip on the other side. Yet, to me, it was equally intriguing. Unlike the main beach, this one boasted a boat jetty and boathouse which featured a cafe - a familiar site to all soap fans. When not filming, the cafe was open to the public, and although there was hardly anyone around, save the assistant, I still enjoyed a coffee as I sat and absorbed the experience.

And here was something I found rather surprising. That was the scarcity of people. Indeed, I did see a few souls strolling around, even a lone fisherman on the jetty during the early evening, not long before the sun was due to set. Yet, this location was made famous, not only in Australia, but in the UK, and perhaps Europe and America as well. (When I was in France in 1989 with a friend, we stopped at a cafe with a television showing the rival teatime soap, Neighbours, with French subtitles. Perhaps Home and Away had the same viewing range?) Hence, when I arrived at Palm Beach, I was expecting crowds of tourists to populate the area, especially in escorted groups, admiring the site of the filming. Instead, it was nothing of the kind. I just about had the peninsula to myself.

The walk also allowed me to see how the Aussies lived in rural or suburban environments. At the southern end of the peninsula was a housing estate. Each property was fully detached and set in its own gardens, and each house looked slightly different from its neighbour. The housing estate looked very much like what I saw in California, a middle-class residential estate, as according to one travel documentary I watched on YouTube, Aussies have a dislike for apartment blocks.

I thought how wonderful it must be to live in such an area, right on the coast, yet, on ground high enough not to be threatened by high tides, and also on firm rock that hardly ever erodes, even in a storm. It was a beautiful place to live, always within easy reach of the beach. On the downside, the car is essential for getting about. Palm Beach is on a remote section of the coast, and although there were frequent buses to the city, there was no railway line nearby, hence no station for commuting. And just a ferry sailing from Station Beach is Kuringgai Chase National Park, itself a large peninsula covered in what looked to be forest and with isolated beaches sloping into Pittwater Inlet. Although I could see this wild area from the summit of Barrenjoey Head, there were no plans to visit the Park, even if I might have had a desire to hike along the trails.

First of all, Kuringgai Chase N.P. is huge, around 150 square km, or 58 sq. miles. Some of its trails were actually roads used by vehicles, and what were designated walking tracks were paths wide enough to give access to a vehicle, cutting through bushland rather than a proper forest as was with the trails cutting through Blue Mountains, Byron Bay, and Whitsunday Island. I had no real desire to hike through a track with a high risk of a car horn beeping from behind!

Looking South along Station Beach at Pittwater.

The Boathouse and Jetty at Station Beach. 

The Boathouse seen from the Jetty.

Barrenjoey Head seen from Station Beach.

A lone fisherman at Palm Beach.

Back to the City.

When evening arrived, I boarded the bus back into town. I could have remained on the bus until it pulled outside Central Station, but that would have been a long, monotonous journey. Instead, I took the same route in reverse as the outgoing journey. I alighted at the ferry terminal and boarded a boat for the sailing across the water to arrive at Circular Quay. From there, at the harbour station, I didn't have to wait long for a train to whisk me underground back to Sydney Central after a few other stops along the way.

For the next two or three days, I remained in the city. Although, to me, it didn't hold a candle to Cairns, Port Douglas, or the Great Barrier Reef, there were plenty of things to see in the city itself. I will go into detail about city life next week before concluding the whole journey on the Indo-Pacific Highway from Cairns to Sydney. After that, the rather extraordinary trans-Pacific flight from Sydney International to Los Angeles when I literally go back in time!

But all that is still yet to come. Meanwhile, after settling down in my dormitory, there is grocery shopping still to be done. This was normal. Usually, I shop in the evenings, buying groceries for both the evening meal and the following morning's breakfast. I also find time to attend the hostel launderette, although this could be at any time of the day. There is, however, one regret. That is, I wished that I stayed in Australia a lot longer, like some of the other backpackers who are on a gap year. I have come across these people throughout the entire stay. Most were college students, but unlike me, they weren't permanently employed, and in general, they were still living at home. Looking back, had I not flown the nest, chances were that I could have spent a year just travelling, perhaps taking in South Africa, possibly making a cross-border journey into Zimbabwe to visit the Victoria Falls, then spending several months in Australia and New Zealand, and maybe set foot in South America or Mexico before ending in the States.

Wishful thinking.

Or was it really? Had I come from a wealthy family, indeed, all that might have been within my realm. Were these long-stay backpackers from wealthy families? Not necessarily. At Sydney Hostel Reception, there was a desk for those looking for temporary work. Fruit picking? No, thank you. From what I have heard, one has to work hard and fast to keep up with an unrealistic schedule. A round peg in a square hole. Instead, I have learned to be grateful for what I already experienced, and believe me, it was a wonderful privilege.

And there is still more to come.

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Next Week: A look at city life before take-off to California.