S is for Sydney

An extension of our New Zealand motorcycle tour in 2000, Judy and I spent ten days in Sydney, Australia. With too little time to see other long-admired, but distant Australian sites, we concentrated on doing one area well. 

We quickly found a room through the Original Backpackers Hostel at their sister hotel, the Bernly, which was well-located, in the middle of everything at King’s Cross. The train station was up the block along with internet sites, cafes, bus stops, X-Rated establishments, and even a big grocery store in a shopping mall.

Week-long transportation passes gave us unlimited use of the trains, buses, and ferries. Those passes proved to be a great investment as we could get all over the city and outlying areas. Sometimes, we just hopped on a ferry to anywhere so we could explore new areas and catch cool breeze while we were at it.

There was plenty to see in Sydney. The city was to host the 2000 Olympics in the fall, and we visited several venues at the Olympic Village, including the Aquatic Center. Manly Beach, Taronga Zoo, and the Sydney Aquarium at Darling Harbor were also on our list. 

We toured the Sydney Opera House, that spectacular iconic building with many steps, heavy concrete work, and miles of glass and tiles.  Those "winged" roofs are all tiled. While there, we overheard the symphony orchestra rehearsing. The next evening, dressed in our fancied-up motorcycle gear, we saw a musical called “The Sunshine Club.” The play told of the Aboriginal people enduring continued prejudice and segregation after they returned from fighting side-by-side with the white Aussies during WWII, similar to America’s black soldiers. But, it was a treat to experience an outstanding performance in the Drama Theater of the world-renowned Sydney Opera House.

No trip to Sydney would be complete without climbing the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Yes, there’s a tour for that. Even though we stood atop the highest girders at the summit of the bridge, where the New South Wales and Australia flags fluttered in the wind, we were ultra safe. 

 

The guides prepared us well. Before stepping onto the bridge itself, we saw a video about what to expect and were given a breathalizer test.  The tour company provided a special one-piece jumpsuit, and after removing all jewelry and emptying our pockets -- nothing to flap, fly off the bridge, or catch on a protrusion -- we were almost ready. Then, the safety equipment:  adjustable waist belts with a fail-safe latch that would hook onto and slide along the safety cable during the entire climb. Next we moved the length of a simulated section of the bridge so we could learn about the step climbing and how to travel along the cable with our tethered latch.

 

The climb would take us 1,439 steps. Our route traversed the approach span and catwalk, then over the north half of the bridge to the summit, across the bridge and back.  We walked and stood above eight traffic lanes, two pedestrian walkways, and two train rails.  Whenever a train crossed beneath us, we could feel the vibrations in the handrails.

 

The views were absolutely spectacular on this pleasantly-warm, breezy day, and the clear skies afforded us panoramas all the way to the Blue Mountains.  Since no one was allowed to take their personal cameras, our guide would stop us occasionally and take individual and group pictures.

By the time we reached the summit, we were old hands at this climbing thing and were able to release the handrails from our clutches and walk spryly along the catwalk as we returned to our starting point.  The Bridge Climb was great fun and, though the idea of it was stressful, it felt safer than some our street-crossing ventures.

Though our time in Sydney was brief, it was chock-full of history, new knowledge, adventures and sights,  and encounters with unusual characters -- human and four-legged.  

~ xoA ~

Q is for Queenstown

Postcard photo from Skyline Chalet Restaurant

As a retirement gift to myself back in February of 2000, I took a motorcycle tour of New Zealand. Judy went along, but rented a car to give me a worry-free, passenger-free ride. This trip offered us new sights and thrills each day as we criss-crossed the South Island. One of our stops was Queenstown, a well-known resort town in the Otago Region.

We arrived early one afternoon, and following days upon days of cold, windy, rainy weather, we were delighted to change into shorts and sandals and slather sunscreen all over.  That night, our entire group took a gondola up to the Skyline Chalet Restaurant, overlooking Queenstown and Lake Wakatupi. It’s a place that features bungee jumping off the platforms outside the dining area.

Two nights in Queenstown gave me a chance to have a day off the bike. On our full day of sight-seeing, I rode with Judy in the tiny, sliver Toyota Echo (passenger seat on the left) to a nearby historic village called Arrowtown.   

It was famous for gold prospecting back about 150 years ago.  Judy had mastered shifting left-handed and did great driving on the “wrong side of the road.” I was content to be a passenger and let someone else handle the vehicle.

Arrowtown's main street

 While many of our other motorcycle buds were chasing adventure in the "adrenaline-rush, thrill-seeking capital of the world," that night, we booked a cruise to on an old Steamer Ship, the T.S.S. Earnslaw. 

 Also known as Lady of the Lake, she'd been steaming around Lake Wakatipu since 1912, when she carried stock and supplies to the stations on its shores. Touring the vessel, we got to see the furnace downstairs and the hands shoveling coal.

At our destination, the Homestead, we survived another lovely buffet dinner, where we came away stuffed -- really stuffed. One woman on the return cruise who was from England said, “I am calling Weight Watchers to let them know I’ll be coming!” The evening concluded with a sing-along of old, familiar tunes before returning us to the dock.

Though Queenstown is noted for excitement and adventure, by most measures, our time there was pretty tame. With plenty of thrills as natural and random occurrences on the New Zealand roads, I was just fine with how we spent our days in Queenstown.

~ xoA ~

O is for Olduvai River

Tanzania was part of our 2004 Africa Safari tour. Adventures are a given, but this one was an anxiety-laden water escapade.

 

Dressed in our khakis and bush hats, camera and binoculars strapped on as methodically as gunslingers of the old West did their guns, Judy and I were sprayed up with Cutters "safari perfume" and ready to embark on our first full day in the Serengeti (a Maasai word that means "endless plain").

Descending into the Olduvai (ohl- DOO-vigh) valley, we bounced along toward the east entrance of Serengeti National Park, on the usual dirt and gravel roads that pass for thoroughfares on the Tanzania road maps. We came upon a large truck and several safari vans stopped, blocking the road in front of us.  

Our guides, Yusuf and Peter, seemed to know what the problem was right away. The Olduvai River, now a swift, deep, and wide waterway had encroached over the road, making it impassable.

 

Only a minimum of rain had fallen in the preceding days, but somewhere in the mountains, the rainy season had broken out in full force.  The road we were on was the only possible route from Ngorongoro into the Serengeti, so there was nothing to do but wait and hope that the water receded.  The guys estimated a 30 to 40-minute delay.  

As we waited, the stalled parade lengthened with all manner of vehicles and people of all nationalities lining up behind us.  Everyone got out of their vehicles and made the pilgrimage to the river to investigate.  Driver-guides gesticulated and spoke in rapid Swahili, attempting to make some sense and order out of the situation.  The rest of us helped by pointing upriver and down, adding our two cents' worth in a United Nations of languages.

Three hours later, and after one brave (or crazy) soul had waded across to the other side and back again, the road was still invisible.  While waiting, we compared notes with other tourists and took the opportunity to meet and visit with the Tanzanian travelers.   

Many were on the bus that had pulled up behind us.  It was a public transport from Arusha to Mumosa, and we guessed that the prescribed schedule prompted the driver to want to attempt the crossing.  But, his passengers rebelled.  A Tanzanian teacher from Mwanza said that they told him they hadn't prepared their children to be left parentless, so the bus would need to wait. 

With the arrival of the local police and some army personnel, the reckless daredevil safari drivers were forced to cool their heels.  So, the walking, talking, and pointing continued.

 

While we munched on our box lunches, brought along for the day's journey, Yusuf, Peter, and a couple of other driver-guides located an area downriver that looked promising as a passable route.  At the same time, an Aussie driver who was stopped on the other side of the river, attempted crossing there.  Once he was seen rocking and bouncing across the 3-ft. deep expanse of rapid water, a stream of vehicles followed.  We dashed to our vans and made ready to go: windows up, safari top down, and seatbelts unfastened (in case we might need to escape).  

Our driver took off overland, through bushes and small acacia trees to get us in position for the single-file, down-stream river crossing from our side.  Our front tires hit the riverbank and we were on our way.   The water sloshed all around us, rising over the running boards and tires, but Yusuf forged on, skillfully negotiating through rocks and dips on the river bottom and amid the swift current.  As soon as we reached the rocky shore on the other side, whoops, cheers, and applause for Yusuf erupted, then we turned our heads to watch as the other van for our tour group successfully followed in our tracks.

Shortly after we were back on the road, another crossing that, by then was nothing more than a small stream, was in our path.  There, on the roadside, sat a trashed safari van with its windows broken out.  Our guides had learned that this van was caught in the rushing current and tipped over on its side early that morning.  The French tourists and their driver had climbed out of the water-filled vehicle by opening the topside doors and were safe.

Nothing looked so good to us as our Serengeti boma did that night.

~ xoA ~