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It was almost dark by the time we got into Katoomba. The sun was dropping gracefully behind the outlines of spider branches, and among the now flickering neon motel vacancy signs and deserted main street, we were on the hunt for some food, finding only a narrow, dimly lit restaurant with the typically Australian rule of BYOB.
Our Singapore Airlines jumbo jet skirts along the eastern most reaches of the Indian Ocean and then swings all the way across the full width of the Australian continent to grasp New South Wales. The seven hours from Singapore were breezy ones, and soon we’re touching down on a bright spring morning at Sydney Kingsford Smith Airport.
It’s ANZAC day here in Australia, and I wasn’t really sure what to do with myself. Most of the city was shut down and closed off to traffic, which, while giving the street performers their chance to shine and make a bit of money, left me largely wandering the city aimlessley, listening to the Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic by the Sundays. It was oddly great.
I am having a great time here in Sydney. I’ve seen a lot, done a lot, experienced a lot. This is what living is all about. I’ve chatted with a multinational variety of cool people in the hostel, explored the surrounding area, and utilised my free transport to ride the convenient train and bus systems and travel downtown as much as possible.
I took a day out of the city, on my birthday, and joined a tour (headed by a Scottish tour guide who incidentally hates Scotland) bound for the area famously known as the Blue Mountains, about 70 miles west of Sydney. The ‘Mountains’ are named so because they do actually have a strong blue tint, caused by the release of eucalyptus oil from the surrounding forests.
