Sydney

The Land of OZ
Do you come from the land down under? Upon arrival on the red eye from Singapore, I am questioned by the customs agent about bringing cash, fruits, vegetables…oh and am I convicted felon? “Isn’t this where we are supposed to come?” I ask.

The amount of hot young guys in my neighborhood at 6:30am, just returning from the clubs, is amazing….then I realize that I am in the gay part of town…not that there is anything wrong with that. I am staying at a stylish boutique hotel at King’s Cross called the Diamante. The staff are all very good-looking gay men, but bitchier than the women that live to watch Oprah.

The host makes it seem like my room is just about ready at 7am – why don’t you grab breakfast. An hour later they are still working on it. I inquired again – just 5 more mins….half an hour passes…they are just checking on the room. Half an hour later he disappears long enough to get boofed. When he returns, it is back to 5 mins. Finally at 11am, I give up on my room and take off into the city. This starts my bad relationship with this queen.

It is a blustery Winnie the Pooh day in Sydney. Just perfect for having lunch with a friend and wandering Georges Street to start my Christmas Shopping between down pours. The city has a very similar feel to SF and London combined. King’s Cross, where I am staying, is a center point between the Castro, Tenderloin, North Beach and the Marina. What this means to those of you not from SF – gays, heroin addicts, nudie joints, the trendy spots for dining and night clubs. Very cosmopolitan.

That evening, by recommendation of my friend Megan on the ANZA cycling team, I hang at the ‘place to be’ on Friday nights in Sydney. A bar called Ivy, upon multiple levels en plein air of posh yuppie population. Here I meet other visitors from London and Perth who are in town on business.


Maybe the Dingo ate ‘cha shoe.
The next morning, the storms cleared and I set out to walk the city in my cool green shoes, which are soon to become the victim of a shoe fetish. I walked from Kings Cross through Hyde Park to the Royal Botanical Gardens, the Sydney Opera House, the Rocks and down to Circular Quay to take a ferry to Manly.



The ferry to Manly offers stellar views of the Harbor Bridge, Opera House and upon arrival; Manly is similar to Berkeley, if it had a nice beach. Christmas in the summer is hard to image, but all of the holiday fair vendors line the pedestrian walkways to the beach.

In the evening I met up with a girl from Washington, DC who has been traveling for 3 months on her own. We went to try one of the trendy bars and restaurants in Potts Point, Lotus, known not only for their outstanding cocktails with creative names, but stellar cuisine. She has just finished traveling Fiji and New Zealand, much like the trip I took two years ago.

The next morning is beach day. I travel to Bondi beach, which is the LA of Australia, known for Bondi Rescue on Australian TV, equivalent to Bay Watch. From there, I hiked a costal walk across multiple shorelines and cliffs to Coogee Beach. I baked on the beach, just long enough for me to realize there is no ozone layer in Australia.

My last morning, I awoke at 6am to take a BodyPump class down the street. This is the exact same class I have done for the 3 rd day in a row and multiple times in Singapore. Les Mills is an idiot for introducing these pathetic monotamous aerobic classes to the world, but I need some arm work since I’ll be sitting on planes all day.

When I left, my other 2 pairs of shoes were neatly places in my closet shelf, like every anal architect would do. Upon my return, one, only one, of my favorite green platform sandals remained. Disappeared! Poof, into thin air. This is my favorite pair of travel shoes purchased in NYC. I never get blisters in them. Now the queen I am having problems with during my stay at Diamante is working the desk, saw me leave for the gym, and I had to trade him my key for the pass. Either he is trying to make me crazy or has a shoe fetish. I hope he doesn’t stick the shoe anywhere intimate, especially since I walked through all kinds of dung in India with them.

When in the land of OZ….there is no place like home….
The last day is the most beautiful and I have to spend it on planes all day. I flew first to Perth to get a birds eye vies of the Outback. The coast is beautiful. The land between cities is desolate. The people are friendly, but rival the Americans for being obnoxious, especially while traveling.


Before leaving for OZ, I had another embarrassing moment in an Asia massage parlor. No happy ending, no yogurt, but this time I fainted and puked. I blame it on a combination of dehydration from cycling 60k prior in the middle of the day, not eating enough and then having a deep tissue massage, releasing toxins into my body. I felt my temperature raise, nausea hit, a loud music went through my head and I tried to open my eyes, but everything was dark.

Next thing I know I wake up on the floor with two Chinese girls washing me down with cool towels. My body was covered in sweat and when I gained consciousness, I tossed my cookies. Once I got water down I was able to walk, but still could not hold down food.