Farewell Sydney...

Saturday, 10/22/99

Again, my bags are packed and ready to go. IÕm up early, in great anticipation, waiting for room service to deliver breakfast. Then itÕs off to Sydney Airport, and homeward bound. ItÕs been a most amazing experience, and I must admit a twinge of sadness at leaving, as IÕve become quite fond of Sydney. If I couldnÕt live in the Bay Area, this would be a strong second choiceÉ

The project, for me, crescendoed to a whirlwind conclusion. Last Sunday, Ron told me I was budgeted for a maximum of 40 hours to conclude my business. (Of course, that didnÕt last long.) In addition, he, Bob, and David were going up to Linda MayerÕs family farm in western Queensland on Friday, for a weekend of outback adventures. Initially, I had hoped to wrap up my 40 hours in 4 days, take Friday off, and head happily home on Saturday. Most of that came true, but I actually wound up working 12 hour days and still going in to the office on Friday.

Friday morning, I saw the boys off on their quest for kangaroos and took a cab into Acer, where I gave Hawk Chueh a complete curriculum and additional helpful hints for the final training sessions. My other documents (the User Reference Guide, Job Guides containg Standard Operating Procedures, and various PowerPoint slides) had already been delivered, so I was done by 12:30.

I cruised the building and said my various good-byes (you canÕt be ten weeks in a place without some bonding), and then I went for a final stroll through Olympic Park. I had hoped to get a peak inside Stadium Australia, but you have to take a tour, they wonÕt let you wander the huge (100,000+) facility. So I wandered over to the Heritage CafŽ, to say good-bye and grab a last flat black.

The cab ride back to Sydney was shared with a gentleman who runs press operations for SOCOG, the Sydney Olympic committee. Originally British, he came to Australia as a journalist for Reuters, but when they wanted him to move on, he left Reuters instead. IÕve heard that story repeated fairly often. ThereÕs probably even a defector on the Taiwan team: Daragh, who is Irish, may well be inclined to remain in Australia rather than returning to Taipei. The cab driver, although thoroughly Aussie, was of Russian descent, and he told stories of his parentsÕ life in Manchuria.

Back at the Sheraton, Janet had left a voicemail message with a couple of last minute souvenir requests. It was about 2:30 pm, so I plotted my itinerary for my last afternoon and evening in Sydney. Janet wanted more beeswax candles. That meant a trip out Oxford Street. I headed south on Elizabeth and crossed into Hyde Park at the corner. Walking briskly through the park, I noted the heat of the spring sun under ozone-depleted skies. Sydney might not be quite as hospitable in the heat of the summer, say January or February. On Oxford I began to notice how heavy the foot traffic was: not on a scale of mid-town Manhattan (the streets and sidewalks arenÕt big enough), but denser than youÕd typically find in San Francisco. Weaving through the pedestrian flow, trying to maintain my pace and stay on schedule, I observed more aging gay couples during the weekday--I guess the successful young singles are more abundant on the weekends.

After scoring JanetÕs candles, I headed back to the Sheraton, but as I returned through Hyde Park, I saw a young mother wading with her three toddlers in a reflecting pool before a large monument in the park. It was a Woodstock moment. (As in the music festival, not the home town.) There was an innocent freedom to the scene that I could not truly imagine in a contemporary American city. If not the police, then another concerned citizen, but there would be someone who would not allow those children to have fun in a public place. (Indeed, there are signs in Hyde Park that prohibit skateboarding, but I never saw them enforced.) But that sight stopped me in my tracks.

I chose a nearby bench along the parkÕs central promenade and stopped a moment, just to quietly appreciate where I was. I saw another couple sitting across the way who might be Janet and myself in fifteen or twenty years. Other shoppers resting on their way, office people on break. Tourists and Sydneysiders alike passing by in steady streamÉ

Back on my agenda, I dropped the candles in my room and made a quick run down to David Jones for a bottle of Elderton Shiraz. It was nearing 4 pm as began to prepare for my final walkabout in Sydney. I wanted to stop by Didj Beat and get a CD for Ethan, and I wanted to get some final photos of the City. It occurred to me that I might get some nice shots of the Opera House from the Harbour Bridge. Checking the paper, I found that the sun would set at 6:14. I had a mission.

On my way down to the Rocks, I stopped by BogartÕs Tobacco Shop and picked up a Cohiba, another one of those things we just donÕt get at home. Walking toward Circular Quay, I discovered, at last, that the attractive walk lies along Pitt Street, rather than George. At Didj Beat, I picked up a copy of ÒTermite GroovesÓ and said good-bye to my friends there. Then I wandered through the Rocks, from the waterfront up some obscure stairways to find the footpath across the Harbour Bridge.

There is a $100 tourist event called the Bridge Climb which allows you to climb the upper arch of the bridge span, to view the City and Harbour from the peak of the bridge. Sorry, not for me. IÕm not good with heights, and the sidewalk is free. After a climb of several flights of stairs to get to the footpath, the walk itself is quite mellow. You share the bridge with the cars, but the pedestrian lane is well insulated from traffic; the trains run on the opposite side of the traffic, and the bicycle lane is on the far side of the bridge). In short time I reached the middle of the bridge, so I continued across to North Sydney. The bridge didnÕt seem as long as either the Brooklyn or Golden Gate Bridges, but thatÕs a very subjective judgement--itÕs been many years since IÕve walked either of those bridges. Definitely not as windy as the Golden Gate.

I got back from North Sydney as the sun was sinking toward the Blue Mountains in the west. My feet were beginning to ache, but I had to walk back to the hotel anyway, so I thought IÕd go back to Darling Harbour first. >From there I could catch a some final twilight shots of the skyline and get something to drink. Taking an alternate route, I passed the Sydney Observatory and descended through a park and down a series of stairs to Sussex Street. I followed Sussex along the wharf area back to Darling Harbour.

Once I got there, I was overcome by hunger as well, so I decided to check out the Turkish fast food, which seemed relatively common in Sydney. I canÕt quite recommend the Doner Kebab roll, a sort of burrito-like concoction featuring thin slices of meat shaved from a mysterious hunk of meat rotating on a vertical spit. But I ate it and enjoyed it, watching the sunset colors reflected off the IBM building and the corporate neon crowning the glass castles of downtown Sydney.

Looking back on Sydney, IÕm very thankful for the opportunity IÕve had to taste a full measure of life in this distant yet familiar environment. And IÕm even more grateful that I was able to share much of it with Janet. And IÕm so pleased that I could share these experiences with all of you. ItÕs still kind of weird for me: being one of the ÒsuitsÓ, living a lifestyle I could never afford in my real lifeÉ. A business expense, written off in weekly missivesÉ.

And now it comes to an end. Back in the Bay Area, reunited with my loved ones, I can relax and reflect. Thank you all for coming with me on this long, strange trip.

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