I had practiced for this trip with a flight to Japan (roughly over 5,000 miles) being the longest distance covered between stops, as I’ve been to Guam (the farthest place from home at the time). I paid for the liveaboard (a boat with beds, snacks, and diving) so that passengers can stay on a reef or near other sites without worrying about land, for a week!
I planned a few days in Sydney before we fly up to Cairns, so that we could adjust our sleep schedule to accommodate up to four dives a day, with the possibility of a night dive or two. We booked a room and forwent the rental car, even though pushing through a road trip sounded enticing (we can do that next time). I found numerous national parks within a three-hour drive of the city.
We had an evening flight out on Thursday, and had planned to arrive at the airport four hours before (the earliest the airline will accept checked bags for an international flight) and take advantage of the lounge (that doesn’t exist). Our Uber driver kept us entertained, talking about his leaky boat and the health issues he’s overcome at 70. We visited the USO for half an hour instead.
After security, dinner. Our flight is delayed by half an hour. Our 90-year-old neighbor’s son, both of whom we’ve never met, came to our door looking to borrow ketchup. I’m not sure who sent them, but they don’t know us that well. If you need ingredients from us, they shall pertain to baking, peanut butter, or spices. We’re not as saucy as we used to be.
When we arrive in San Francisco, I’m getting alerts that our flight to Sydney is boarding. The internet says that if 20 people on the same plane are late, then the airline can wait for up to 15 minutes. We’re on the back of the plane, and the airport map says it’s 28 minutes between gates. I thought the crew would make an announcement, but when they didn’t, I did. Another passenger also asked people to be nice and get out of our way.
I wasn’t the only one running through the airport to catch this flight, unconcerned with whether our bags would make it. I almost took out a kid, and the mom scolded him for being in our way. I arrive at the gate, panting and reaching for our passports, which we didn’t need as the machine can just verify with a picture of our faces. I would’ve been fine with this scenario had we taken off immediately.
The plane looks like we could get upgraded to First Class or stretch out in the rows in economy, but that’s only because this is a full flight, one that will wait over 80 minutes after the scheduled departure time to ensure all passengers are onboard, as there’s a standby list as well. We will sit next to an active duty Army guy who plans on retiring in two years and finishing up 35 years of service.
I read, and Caleb knits between meals, and we struggle to sleep, as usual. The kid behind us is starving but also complaining loudly about how disgusting everything is (without trying it first). I was grateful they slept through most of the flight. We declare our dive knives through customs and enjoy the train ride, talking with locals, into the city of Sydney. Caleb takes us on a scenic route to the hotel.
The 50-pound bags rolling over uneven sidewalks are so much fun, but at least I didn’t heft them up the stairs out of the train station with a lift nearby. Caleb notices how green their capital is, and that’s from the city planting trees and the neighbors’ gardens, with the friendly residents who acknowledge us as we pass by. The hotel manager wins the best check-in.
We had been soaking wet, dripping all over the lobby in the Midwest, and had to wait for the hotel’s restaurant to open to find some relief. This guy offers us coffee and breakfast upstairs, while giving us a queen bed (twin mattresses together), and then the keys hours early so we can shower, put our feet up to reduce the swelling, and enjoy the afternoon.
We start with a walk by the base, as Caleb is hoping I can see the same view he was afforded here years ago, when he still worked. Then we visit the Art Gallery of NSW (New South Wales) with free access to the permanent exhibits. We are escorted to the man giving his 45-minute tour to one woman, and I last only a few minutes before I wander off. We can return when I’m not worried about passing out while not being able to pay attention.
Caleb thought lunch on the water would be nice, but the meal for two, starting at $100+, along with the fine dining aesthetic, is enough for us to settle for a table across the street, with the water still in view, at the Woolly Bay Hotel. We order a few things from the tasting menu, and I’m delighted with the burrata surrounded by peas and stone fruit. Sodas are listed as post-mix. I get a lemon-lime bitters (a carbonated lemonade).
Being so close to the Royal Botanic Garden, we walk there next. Here, the locals refer to their white ibis as (trash) bin chickens. Lots of bees, some blooming flowers, and fun birds, like the noisy miner near a man without shoes and his pile of bananas. There’s a beautiful public fountain with drinking spots for people and baths for those with wings: rainbow lorikeet, Australian magpie, and sulphur-crested cockatoo.
Mentally, I want to watch the sunset at the Opera House, but physically, we were exhausted before we got off the plane. We’ve got stairs and streets to maneuver back to the room with an adorable balcony and a warm bed waiting. I climb in.
