The TBT/LAP Files: Last Days in Sydney

Manly Beach, Sydney

In a desperate effort to finish old travel blogs that never happened, I'm starting my TBT Files, or Throwback Thursday for the acronym-challenged. Instead of full blog entries, I'm really just posting pictures and describing experiences in potentially ultra-long captions. While I'm labeling this as TBT, it's really more like the LAP Files - Lazy Ass Procrastinator Files. Whatevs.

So one of the blogs I never finished was my trip to Australia. I left off with my jaunt to Blue Mountain. More importantly on this trip to Manly Beach by Sydney - I caught my first wave on a surfboard. Let's turn back time!

Opera House from the ferry. There's a sweet bar there, cleverly-named The Opera Bar. You could argue it's a touristy, but there are still locals who head over there after work. I loved it. Spectacular sunsets.

Took a surf class with Manly Surf School. Nothing like surfing on foam boards! #WhateverIFinallyGotUp

Better view of Manly Beach. Aussie's narrowly chose that name over Mildly Effeminate Beach.

Always cool to see these signs at the beach.

Asked this bloke to take a pic of me on the beach. So that went well.

The flags say "Enjoy Manly" - but why was everyone telling me "Be manly"?

Kangaroo Burger from Moo Burger. Tastes very lean, more gamey than cow. Was served with beets, as Aussies love beets more than Dr. Dre. I recommend trying, but cows are definitely tastier.

When I initially met up with these two for an evening of funzies, both of whom I'd never met before, I had just gotten back from hanging at the beach all day and was in board shorts and sandals. They looked at me with the same type of disappointment my mom does. I went back to the hotel and changed.

This was at the Ivy Bar. It's much like your typical Hollywood hot spot. Multiple club levels, infinity pool. Was definitely digging the pool. #YeahIGotIn
  

The locals responsible for showing me a wild Wednesday night in Sydney. They succeeded.

I hope this pic conveys how insanely large this newspaper is. I could use it as a blanket. Or a boat. That kid from "Big Daddy" would be set for life with this. #BedPeeingReference

I end with this picture because I think it's awesome. I'm assuming it's a joke piece, but I think it works on so many levels, like Hans Moleman's film "Football in the Groin." This was at the NSW Gallery. I don't know the artist nor the title, but I love it. I'll call it: "Oops."

Blue Mountain National Park: Australia Day Three

Three Sisters at Blue Mountain National Park

5:20 in the morning is early. I don't understand how my TV friends can do the morning shift. When I hear that alarm clock go off when it's pitch black, I get angrier than Lewis Black at the RNC. The Blue Mountain National Park is a two-hour train ride northwest of Sydney. For all intents and purposes, the view in this mountain range is nothing spectacular. It pales in comparison to the Rockies or even the Appalachians. The tallest part of the mountain is just short of 4,000-feet. In comparison, Jackson Hole, WY, is around 10,450-feet. Even some of the locals downplay the significance or impressiveness of the Blues.

Someone call John Lithgow

Its signature spot is the Three Sisters, a group of three pointy formations right next to one another. It looks like a poor man's version of Bryce Canyon. It's a fantastic sight to see, but nothing quite as grand as the mountains we have in the U.S. Speaking of grand, there's a Grand Canyon in the park, but to compare the Aussie version to Arizona would be like comparing Joseph Conrad's writing to mine. Honestly, did Col. Kurtz's creator have a blog? That big-word-using bastard. What a tool.

This will never get old.

Oh yeah. So I hate mornings. Took an early train out, it was relaxing to see some of the Australian countryside via locomotive/subway. Got to this adventure outfitter called High N Wild in the Katoomba area of the park. Depending on the weather, we were going to rappel, or abseil, down several cliff faces, then head into the Empress Canyon, jumping and navigating through narrow canyon walls, sliding down rocks, and abseiling down a waterfall. This is what I had fully intended to do, but it had been raining, and the canyon quickly fills with water making it too dangerous for excursions. While making my reservation the day before, I asked the manager the likelihood of canyoning, otherwise I might try skydiving one of the beaches. Homey told me we looked about 90% a go, then added skydiving is awesome, but you can do that anywhere and there's only a handful of places in the world where you can go canyoning. I doubt this is true, but it was persuasive enough for me.

I'm getting rope burn here.

The weather started off great, and we began our rappels with a dinky "cliff" the size of a McDonald's jungle gym. This was mainly to develop the proper technique. Then we moved onto a real cliff that involved about a 10-foot ledge, followed by a 30-50-foot drop-off. These heights are not precise and merely TV reporter estimations ("...looks like the length of half a basketball court. Bob, back to you."). On this rappel, I didn't hold the rope far enough below my butt and ended up getting rope burn right below my waist. Since my adrenaline was pumping, I didn't even notice the several-inch burn until we were walking to the next cliff.

Mid-air post-battery fiasco

The last rappel, which was anywhere from 120-200 feet, was legit. I tried to take a picture on the way down, but my stupid camera battery lid popped open! So as I dangled in the air, I tried to put the battery back into the camera with my free hand. I'm sure the guide was wondering what the heck was going on down there. Amazingly, nothing plummeted to its doom. After this mishap, I tried to shoot some video, but apparently did the rookie double tap. Didn't record anything. That's why if you checked out that video I cut, all you see is rope (attached again below).




After a quick lunch of ham and Australian avocado sandwiches (their avocados spread more easily than our Cali ones), we trekked to the bottom of the Empress Canyon and changed into wetsuits and helmets. The wetsuits smelled like Sex Panther, more on this later. The river water was cold yet refreshing. We walked along a creek through the canyons, riding down several natural water slides, and jumping down multiple rocks into shallow pools of fresh water. It was an incredible sensation, and I recommend it to anyone who gets the chance.

Can you smell the wetsuit?

Camera appears to have water damage

Seriously, can you smell those suits?

As we maneuvered our way through the canyon, we ultimately reached our 99-foot waterfall. I started abseiling down the right of the waterfall, which was super slippery, and lost my footing a couple times. At the halfway point, there's a small ledge to reset yourself, then you abseil down the face of the waterfall. It's blinding, rearranged my contact, and just pummeled me. It's a little unnerving because you can't see anything but suddenly feel the cliff right next to you. You're absolutely clueless as to where you are. The key is to keep your butt nice and low and have you legs practically even with your waist, but it's tough when the waterfall is slapping you in the face like a random French guy challenging you to a duel. When you reach the bottom of the falls, you pull yourself along another rope Sly Stallone "Cliffhanger" rescue-style. Ultimately, this waterfall abseil was one of the most invigorating and memorable moments of my entire trip.

View from top of waterfall

This is not me

Nor this

Afterwards, there was a nice 10-foot rock jump, which I did about four times. When I see rocks and water, I feel like I'm 12 and just have the insatiable urge to jump. The climb back out of the canyon was more strenuous than I would've liked. The path and stairs are practically 90 degrees.

I'm doing Shooter McGavin here

When we got back to the outfitter headquarters, there was a nice cooler of Tooheys waiting for us. A flavorful light beer that was one of my favorite Aussie beers. When I returned the wetsuit, the guide just told me to hang it on a clothesline. I don't know if any of those have been washed in the last year. My board shorts, which I wore underneath the suit, smelled like death, and I had to wrap it up in like three hotel laundry bags. It was actually a scent I was unable to remove until I returned to California and one that would frequently perturb my sister's senses as it hung in the hotel bathrooms. Smelly suits were the only negatives of the excursion. The rest was exquisitely high and wild.

After the canyoning, I walked with an English backpacker to the Three Sisters and grabbed a meat pie and pint of Magners Light at an Irish pub called Harp & Fiddle. This English chap was a fine gentleman, recently laid off so he decided to travel, and I kept asking him to give me some UK slang. The only thing I remember is "pucker," which means "great." The problem is "pucker" in other slang means "anus." Sadly, this is a term I doubt I will use.

Does that chalk pint taste pucker... or like pucker?

Walkabout: Australia Day Two

The train! The train!

Southern California needs more efficient public transportation. Most other major metropolitan areas have great trains, subways, buses, rickshaws, not us! Sometimes I feel like Bob Hoskins in "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?"mocking Judge Doom and his "lame brain freeway idea." That stinking freeway has made everything in Socal so far apart that sometimes we just have to crash into each other to feel something. (I don't agree with this statement. I just stole it from the movie "Crash," which I liked but is widely criticized as one of the worst movies to ever win a Best Picture Oscar.) I digress. After eating a sausage roll for breakfast at the wonderfully titled Pie Face, I took the train and bus to the world famous Bondi Beach. By the way, the sauce packets in Australia are ingenius. They aren't squeeze packets, nor dipping containers, but a miraculous combination that allows you to squeeze and drizzle an appropriate amount of sauce onto your sustenance without getting your hands dirty. More brilliant than Guinness.

Dammit.

I've not heard of this ordinance.

The weather was consistently overcast, accompanied with a most unpleasant chilly breeze, which rendered the ocean too cold for swimming or snorkeling. My sister and I did the famous Bondi-Coogee beach walk. A gorgeous 3-4-mile walk along five of the region's finest beaches: Bondi, Tamarama, Bronte, Clovelly, and Coogee. I thought many of them resembled California beaches like Monterrey, Santa Monica, and Ocean Beach; even the architecture was similar. The water, however, was brighter and more colorful, both greener and bluer than Cali. 

That's my sister.

Bondi Beach. We both look like we're in high school.

The walk isn't what I'd call a gentle stroll. The coastal trail rises and falls like Mitt Romney's approval. (Oh snap, political reference! Edgy!) Several in-shape locals jogged the trail, and if I wasn't with my sister, in Reefs, or basically myself, I would've been interested in doing the same. There are enticing lap pools next to many of the beaches, as well as tide pools for wading. The lap pools provide a calmer swim than the ocean, and include some of the greatest views. Speaking of views, Sydney beaches are pretty much topless. So they've got that going for them. Which is nice.

The pool water was originally blue. Stupid pee-ers.

Gordon's Bay. There's an underwater nature trail here.

Bronte Beach

After finishing the walk, my sister and I killed some time in Coogee. For me, that involved tasting some genuine Aussie vegemite! A ordered a vegemite sandwich at a deli, but he said the kitchen was closed. I told him I'm a dumb American tourist and just want to try it, so his nice co-worker gave me me a spoonful of the sticky icky. It's an incredibly salty, gelatinous, brown paste. It's a taste I have not acquired.

You call that a spoon?

It was at least an hour before the restaurant we wanted to eat at opened, so my sister decided to get a Thai massage. As I sat in the waiting room at this place, back and feet aching, I decided to get one myself, with some foot reflexology, whatever that is. This was my first professional massage. My shoulders were a little sunburned, so when the 4'10 Thai lady started going to town, it was definitely more pain than pleasure. Early on, she adjusted my back ever-so slightly, and a firecracker-like sound popped off. She stopped briefly, probably thinking she paralyzed me, and in a state of bliss I told her that's all the norm for my jacked up spine. It's rather deceptive how strong these tiny Asian masseuses are. They look normal, then they touch you and it feels like a Hulk smash. 

Small biceps. Herculean hands.

One thing I couldn't help notice, when you're getting a massage, your face is in this hole cushioned by towels which covers your eyes but opens your mouth. As you lie there face down with your mouth open, you're predisposed to drooling! I swear, gravitationally, it's practically impossible not to drool in this position!! After the first fifteen minutes or so, I started slurping up whatever potential drool I might have out of paranoia. I didn't want this woman to find a giant puddle of saliva underneath the massage bed after we finished. I can't be the only one this has happened to. Hello? Anyone?? Bueller?

So much meat. That's what she said!! OHHHH!!!

The massage ended happily with a couple cups of delicious hot tea with sugar and milk. Then my sister and I headed to a Brazillian BBQ named Churrasco. It was all delicious, and reminded me of my jaunt to Brazil an entire year ago(!), and of course, I ate too much and felt like exploding. Despite being massively full off filet mignons, sirloins, chicken, and about 90 servings of grilled pineapple (it was the only thing remotely sweet to counter the barrage of saltiness), I ordered another Aussie beer, a Coopers Pale Ale upon recommendation from the bartender. It was a poor choice. I'm sure he had a laugh after I left.

Next up: abseiling and canyoning waterfalls. Here's a preview:

Olympic something in Hyde Park

Rocks.

This was a heck of an ab workout.

Didgeridooing It

"I had the shot. There was no danger. So I took it."

Taken when all electronics were supposed to be off.
Happy plane didn't explode as byproduct.

"You took it. And broke a major rule of engagement."

Lt. Pete "Maverick" Mitchell's defense for firing on another F-14 during a training exercise seemed to be the exact sentiment I felt before absconding to Australia late February. I found myself with some extra time off during the usual no-fly zone sweeps period; so I e-mailed my sister, a quasi-professional world traveler, listed about 10 countries I was interested in visiting, and asked if she knew of any websites for last-minute deals. As it were, the world traveler tells me she's going to practically half the list I provided (which included Australia and Thailand), and if I end up going to Australia, I wouldn't have to pay any lodging.

Done! I didn't (couldn't, shouldn't, whatever) want to take too much time off, so I scheduled a quick 9-day trip (two nights spent on a plane) to Sydney for 4-and-a-half days, then to Cairns (and the Great Barrier Reef) for another two days. The cost of the plane ticket was a couple hundred dollars more than I wanted to pay, but over the course of a week I spent debating this trip, I psyched myself up too much and I knew if I didn't book, I'd regret it. Stupid carpe diem attitude!! It's costly when you've got a travel epidemic. 

Fancy, huh?

I flew Virgin Australia (and earned Delta SkyMiles) and it's one of the best airlines I've ever flown. Hip neon colors, roomy seating, incredible on-demand entertainment selection. Unfortunately, I wasted much of the 15-hr flight watching the unfit-for-public-viewing "Cowboys and Aliens" and "Transformers 3." The other bummer was they asked me where I'd like to sit, and I told them window towards the front of the plane. At the check-in counter, the woman told me I'm in luck and there's a seat in the second row in coach. Score. Little did I know, that entire front row is for parents with babies, including changing stations. Damn you, Scuba Steve!!! Eight hours of the flight I felt like I was in the customer service section of Babies-R-Us. #NotReadyToBeADaddy

I got into Sydney around 7:30am, took the light rail to my sister's hotel, the ParkRoyal near Darling Harbour, and after a quick shower, we headed through Hyde Park (which looks like Central Park to me, but don't most big parks tend to look similar?) to the NSW (New South Wales - I kept having this urge to call it North Southwest) Gallery where there was an extensive Picasso exhibit on loan from Paris. For the life of me, I don't understand what I'm looking at with Picassos. Don't get me wrong, I'm crazy impressed and his wide range of artistic endeavors is genius, but when it comes to interpreting some of his surrealistic paintings of women, I can make out boobs and that's about it. And what's with his infatuation with minotaurs? He would've loved "Role Models."

Figures Au Bord De La Mer

After perusing the museum, my sister headed off to work, while I walked along the gorgeous Sydney Harbor. There's a famous lookout point called Mrs. Macquarie's Chair, which was carved out of a rock. It overlooks the Opera House and the Sydney Harbour Bridge. As I walked along the trails, I quickly noticed everyone stays on the left side of the road as opposed to the right. Cuckoo!! The bridge and Opera House are in a neighborhood called Circular Quay. 

MacQuarie's Chair... without the chair!

Tebow!

The Opera House is pretty sweet; I was hoping to catch a show of Carrot Top there, but apparently he's not on the schedule there for the next couple millenia. There are some Aboriginal Australians playing didgeridoos on the street in tourist spots in this area. I wanted to take a picture but felt it might be uncool. Plus, I'd seen these guys in "Crocodile Dundee."

That guy was tall

Not to be confused w/Bridge to Terabithia

As I passed through a historic part of town called The Rocks on the way to the bridge, I ran into a guy wearing a KTLA hat. We bonded over our LA and TV connections; then he grabbed my bum and I shanked him. (This did not happen.) After walking the bridge, I headed towards the Sydney Aquarium, which I figured could be one of the world's best. If you ever do this, be sure to buy tickets online because it's 50% off. The aquarium is in Darling Harbour, which looks like its 20 miles away according to city maps, but really just 2-3 miles. I challenge anyone to find a Sydney map that's drawn to scale. Impossible. 

Shark

People looking at shark

Unnecessary movies

The aquarium had some good stuff: platypussies (is that not correct?), penguins, long-necked turtles, various sharks, sting rays, and a strange DVD section in the souvenir shop with oceanic classics "Ghostbusters" and "When Harry Met Sally." Honestly, has anyone purchased a non-sea-related movie at an aquarium gift shop??? Who does that? "Hey honey, I loved the penguin exhibit. Now let's buy 'Black Hawk Down'!"

100-year egg

Xiao long bao

I took my sister out to a famous Chinese dumping restaurant that night, Din Tai Fun. I guess there's 5 or 6 in the world. They have excellent xiao long bao. I also got some century old egg, apparently not quite as old as the thousand-year-old egg my family normally calls these dark-colored eggs. The eggs may have lead, so they're not particularly healthy, but served on top of cold tofu it's quite refreshing; and an excellent complement to the dumplings and my Cascade Premium Light, an Aussie lager that tastes like butt.

Not real bird

Not in Whistler

We capped off the night by walking along the Darling Harbour, a nice spot that's been revamped to bring in tourists, but quiet considering it was a Monday night. 

Hyde Park - masculine statue

Sydney Botanical Gardens

Tiramisu puppy. Made from genuine puppy