s this tale starts, my sister Adrianne and I have just landed 
in glamorous Sydney, Australia - my beloved, adoptive home for 
the past 4 months.  Our vacation at the Great Barrier Reef had 
just come to an end, and while I fretted about returning to classes, 
Adrianne was ready to let loose for the 2nd part of her vacation.  
We had big plans in store for Sydney.

Step One after we landed was to procure transportation into Sydney 
and find Adrianne's hotel.  Her travel agent had said that it was 
near the University of Sydney and St. Andrew's College, where I live, 
but we'd been burned by them before, so we were skeptical.  We trudged 
through the domestic terminal and headed downstairs to pick up our 
luggage - in my case, a large duffel and a smaller, carry-on sized 
suitcase; in Adrianne's case, a huge suitcase, a small duffel, an 
overstuffed backpack, three didgeridoos, and an aquarium jammed full 
of marine life she'd poached off the Reef.  Okay, I'm lying:  she 
only had TWO didgeridoos.

We headed outside into the late-afternoon haze, and for only the 
second time that week didn't get rained on.  Hooray!  Adrianne and I 
secured a ride on a packed little minivan headed into the city.  We'd 
pulled out a map and found Adrianne's hotel in posh Elizabeth Bay, a 
pleasant bayside neighborhood.  Well, as pleasant as you could expect 
from an upscale suburb bordering King's Cross, the red-light district.  
Our minivan had arcane, shorthand names for various Sydney suburbs 
scrawled across it; we deduced that "KNGSX" meant King's Cross and, 
since the leather-seat-and-champagne-bottle-equipped Elizabeth Bay 
limousine seemed to be running a few minutes late, we hopped aboard.

Approximately 18 other travelers were also crammed into the back of 
the metrobus.  The driver directed Adrianne to sit backwards, on the 
floor, next to the sliding door; I rode shotgun.  After pausing to 
collect our money (10 bucks, I figured, was enormously cheaper than 
what the universally rat-faced Sydney cab drivers would've fleeced us 
for, even if we would have rubbing elbows, knees, sweat, and God-knows 
what else during our ensuing ride).  

Little did I realize, however, that our driver WAS, in fact, a Sydney 
cab driver.  A ringer!  His manic driving was a dead giveaway.  
Fortunately, though, Adrianne and I were first on the list to be dropped 
off, so we got the shortest ride.  Along the way, the minivan's CB radio 
started to squawk as someone, presumably in the home office, tried to 
contact another cab.  Apparently some kid had left his CD player in the 
cab, and was on the phone asking for it back.  I heard the driver 
exclaim wildly in thickly accented English; I only caught bits and pieces, 
but I got the distinct impression that he had no idea what the dispatcher 
was saying.  

Throughout this intriguing dialogue, our own cab driver was merrily 
speeding through red lights, dodging children, and playing "chicken" 
with oncoming traffic while simultaneously adjusting the radio, his 
rear-view mirror, his hair, his ass-cheek-position on the seat, missing 
his shifts into third, and, I suspect, trying to initiate a drag race 
with a Honda at a red light.

Eventually we crossed Willams Street and entered into the heart of 
King's Cross, Sydney's notorious red-light, gay, drug, party, backpacker, 
and nightclub district - a bizarre social cross-section which nevertheless 
seamlessly integrates on nights and weekends.  Prostitutes continuously 
bum change outside the McDonalds, next door to nudie/gay bars, hostels, 
and trendy nightclubs.  It's an interesting place; fortunately for idiot 
American tourists like myself, it's an interesting place with a relatively 
heavy police presence.  

Adrianne's hotel, as I mentioned, was in Elizabeth Bay, scarcely out of 
eyeshot of The Cross.  Regardless, it was a pretty posh place.  
Unfortunately, it's nowhere near the University of Sydney.  The wrathful 
travel agent strikes again.  Still, we got her checked in and, still 
lugging my enormous duffel bag to and fro across the lobby, hailed a cab 
to get over to St. Andrew's College.  

Another hair-raising ride through Sydney at the hands of a (seemingly) 
blind, maladjusted cabbie followed.  I swear, cabbies in this town 
aren't born; they're hatched.  I have proof.  

We eventually made it to the Uni, and Adrianne got her first look at 
my severely fraternity-like home.  We decided to grab some dinner in 
the impressive Dining Hall at St. Andrews (only fair, Adrianne had been 
paying for me since I ran out of money in Cairns) before going out that 
night.  I live in the Thyne building, an ugly little postmodern 
monstrosity.  Those of you familiar with Boston City Hall (or, for 
that matter, UMass Dartmouth) would recognize it immediately as 
something of an eyesore.  The upperclassmen (from their comfortable 
rooms in the Reid building) refer to it disparagingly as "The Shoebox" 
due to the decidedly small, rectangular nature of the freshman rooms 
in Thyne.  I have to admit, though, my "tiny" first-year's room is 
more than twice the size of the single UMD gave me in my third year 
there.  Figures.

Anyway, the real action at St. Andrew's is in the Main building, which 
dates back to the latter half of the 19th century.  Tall, narrow 
hallways (branching off into tall, narrow rooms, of course) snake 
throughout the building; the first floor has a custom carpet with 
the College's seal embroidered in.  Walking (or running, or skipping, 
it's really up to you) through the enormous, heavy wooden door, down 
the hall to the right, and up the stairs will bring you to our Dining 
Hall.  This is, not surprisingly, where we eat our meals.  It's a 
fairly huge room, filled with long, narrow tables, which in turn are 
flanked by long, narrow benches (sensing a pattern yet?).  The walls 
are lined with portraits of past principals and benefactors, some 
decent, others hideous.  Apparently, we don't have enough principals 
and benefactors, because down at the far end are a whole bunch of 
really, really crappy acrylic paintings.  I think they're supposed to 
be pictures of Drewsmen playing rugby and other College games, but 
they're so atrocious I really can't say that with any authority.

In any event, the Long Table (I'll refrain from explaining how it got 
the name) is on a raised dais on the left as you walk in - this is 
where the principal, senior officials, post-grads, professors, and 
other important people sit during Formal Dinner; the rest of us spread 
out among the tables in order of rank.  Formal Dinner happens Monday 
through Thursday every week; all the Collegemen (those of us not playing 
sports, attending club meetings, or too lazy to sign up for a late meal, 
that is) don shirts, ties, and Academic Robes and file in at 6:30.  The 
key to Formal Dinner is to arrive early:  the rush is to pick a table 
and then sit anywhere but on either end.  Sitting on an end means you 
serve.  After we slurp down our soup, those sitting nearest the Long 
Table are charged with doling out portions of the main course to the 
rest of the table - this is doubly tragic on Lamb night, 'cause our 
knives are really dull.  Anyway, the poor bastards sitting at the other 
end aren't off the hook - they have to dole out dessert (this can be a 
sweet gig, though, as the clever ones will save the biggest, choicest 
selections for themselves; it's pretty much a letdown, however, when 
our chef gets lazy and gives us fruit cups for dessert.)

Sadly, Adrianne didn't visit on a Formal Dinner night; we were still 
technically on vacation so everything was pretty laid-back.  After our 
jaunt in the cafeteria and a brief tour of where I live, Adrianne and I 
decided to hit Sydney's prime tourist spot, Darling Harbor.  This place 
is incredible - 2 upscale shopping plazas, 3 museums, a Chinese Garden, 
an exhibition center, the world's largest movie theater, and countless 
hotels…all a short walk from Chinatown!  Does it get any better?  
Adrianne marveled at the unparalleled skyline view as we wandered past, 
on our way to the IMAX theater.  

We saw a 3-D movie created by the Cirque du Soleil.  Although most of 
that movie was really, really cool, parts of it reaffirmed my idea that 
I'll never, ever understand the French.  Anyway, Adrianne and I were 
oth tired, so after the movie and a bit of sightseeing, we each went 
home.

The next day we met up early, though, to see the Sydney Aquarium.  We 
spent the morning there and had a blast, then made our way towards The 
Rocks for lunch.  The Rocks is another tourist Mecca, full of tiny shops, 
tourist attractions, pubs, street markets all in the shadow of the 
Sydney Harbor Bridge.  The Bridge was our main attraction this day, as 
we had tickets for the 2:05 BridgeClimb!  This is wear they strap you 
to the Bridge via a short harness and a stylish gray BridgeSuit, and 
you and about a dozen others hike all the way up the Upper Arch to the 
very tip-top of the Bridge. 

The BridgeClimb was, in a word, awesome.  Truly, dictionary-sense 
awesome.  We started by donning our BridgeWear and storing any loose 
jewelry and bags in lockers down at Base.  We had a demonstration on 
how to use our harness and clip (a really sinister-looking contraption 
made primarily of two inward-facing toothed wheels.)  A short "simulator" 
consisting of some wire mesh and stepladders supposedly gave us an idea 
of what it was like to climb but not really.  It was much sturdier on the 
Bridge than on the simulator.  Heh!  We got fitted up with one-way 
radios and earpieces, then walked out to the Approach Ramp of the 
Bridge.

This first part was, for me, one of the toughest sections.  The walkway 
consists of two planks side-by-side, suspended about 40 meters above 
the ground and extending for 250 meters out to the southeast pylon.  
There was only one handrail.  The scenery here was terrific, though.  
The supporting structure was perfectly geometrical; it was a real trip 
to look at.  We passed over the Weekend Markets in the Rocks, and waved 
at the little tourists below (we couldn't call out, though - we were 
passing through a residential area!)

After the Approach Ramp, we passed into the concrete pylon (strictly 
decoration; it doesn't do anything to keep the Bridge up.  It just looks 
cool.)  The next step was a series of stairwells built into the side.  
At the top, we had four near-vertical ladders that would carry us to 
the bottom of the Upper Arch.  Here's where those BridgeSuits became 
key - we would be passing within, oh, 3 to 4 feet of the traffic on 
the Bridge.  The last thing those drivers need is a bright t-shirt 
distracting them while they're doing 60 in a narrow Bridge lane!  
For that reason, our suits were colored Harbor Bridge Gray.  
Camouflage!  It didn't take for me, though, because I couldn't help 
turning to wave at passing motorists as I scampered up the ladder.

At the top, we turned to walk up the rest of the Bridge to the top.  
This was by far the easiest portion of the climb.  The Arch is about 
3 meters wide, there are two handrails and a convenient staircase 
built right in!  It's really just an easy stroll to the top.  We 
meandered up, stopping a few times to take a rest or a picture.  Our 
BridgeGuide, the ever-knowledgeable Terence, was packing a digital 
camera.  He snapped about four photos of each of us (available for 
purchase back at Base upon the trip's conclusion, of course.)  
Adrianne sprung for a photo of the two of us grinning above the 
Opera House, as well as the complimentary group photo.  

We had an incredible view from the top of the Bridge; all the way 
from the mountains in the West to the ocean in the East.  Terence 
picked out all the geographical features of the city while Adrianne 
and I tried to pick out recognizable buildings from the movie "The 
Matrix" (filmed in Sydney!)  We waved at all the passing helicopters.  
A few would pause, snap a photo or two, and wave back!  I checked 
the paper the next day, but I guess we weren't important enough to 
make it in.

We moseyed back down the Bridge (on the other side, this time - it's 
a big loop) and backed down the ladders.  This time when I went down, 
I felt a puff of air on my left side and looked behind me in time to 
see a commuter train blast by about 3 feet away.  I couldn't suppress 
a whoop as that thing barreled past!  Going down those ladders was by 
far the toughest part of the climb for me - even worse than the 
Approach Ramp.

As we made our way back to base, an enormous Cruise ship left it's 
mooring and slipped under the Bridge.  I swear the Captain waited 
until he'd just tucked the ship's horn under the highway before he 
let it rip.  We were about level with the top deck, about 150 meters 
away.  It was like God clearing his throat.  Jesus.  Adrianne and I 
whipped out our hankies (attached to our wrists by an elastic band - 
don't want to lose it!) and waved goodbye.  A few people noticed and 
waved back!  I'm willing to bet that, even though they were on the 
deck of a Cruise ship, they were jealous.  I mean, I'm pretty sure 
they'll never get Kathie Lee Gifford to sing "Ain't We Got Fun?" at 
the top of the Sydney Harbor Bridge.

So after arrival back at base and the removal of our gear, Adrianne 
and I had dinner at a nearby pub (recommended to us by Terence, 
knowledgeable as always.)

The next day, Sunday, Adrianne had scheduled a Harbor Cruise for herself.  
After sleeping very, very late in the morning, I finally got her 
messages and rushed to meet her at the dock - I at least wanted to 
make plans for when she came back.  Instead, Adrianne surprised me 
by springing for my ticket to join her!  Go, sister!  We had a blast; 
the boat was one of these enormous, modern jobs with an open top deck.  
It was billed as a "coffee cruise," meaning that halfway through it, 
the girl lecturing us about historic Port Jackson (as Sydney Harbor 
is officially known) took a break while some sullen deckhands served 
up lukewarm coffee and miniature, slightly damp, two-bite muffins.  
I think I had about ten of those damn things!  Anyway, we had gorgeous 
weather, and the cruise was a delight.  Even though autumn had settled 
on Sydney by then (and holds us tightly in its frigid grasp as I write 
this!) the air was warm and the sea breeze was perfect.  Heaps of 
sailboats and powerboats of all sizes crowded the harbor.  Technically, 
powered craft (like ours) are supposed to give way to sailing vessels 
under Australian law - which we did, for the most part.  I noticed, 
however, that when we were out of the main harbor and cruising up one 
of the side bays that our skipper seemed to delight in sailing straight 
through a small-boat race being held by a local yacht club.  The sailors 
didn't look too thrilled, I might add.

I should note that some of the property along the harbor is gorgeous.  
In addition to quite a few national parks, there are private houses and 
mansions everywhere you look.  The government owns a few residences and 
properties along the shoreline; the rest seems to belong to rich folks.  
Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman own a house near the harbor, but it can't 
be seen from the water.  Too bad, Nicole's kind of cute.  We did see, 
however, a bit of land where "Mission:  Impossible - 2" was supposedly 
filmed.  I know, thrillsville, huh?  Some of the houses are actually 
quite nice and rather ingenious.  We saw picture windows of all shapes 
and sizes (some actually jutting out into thin air!) and, in one 
particularly rich fellow's narrow, glassed-in garage, a Jeep Cherokee 
mounted on a turntable - it seems some folks can't be troubled to turn 
their cars around in the driveway.

Eventually, we had to leave our muffin wrappers and coffee mugs and 
return to shore.  That night, Adrianne and I visited that most 
recognizable fixture of Sydney's skyline, the AMP tower.  AMP is a 
very large, very rich company in Australia.  Despite this, no one I've 
ever talked to seems to know exactly what it is they DO.  I suppose it 
doesn't really matter - all you really need to know is that they're 
rich enough to build a shopping mall with an enormous, 250-meter tower 
plunked on top of it.  This tower has 2 observation levels, 2 revolving 
restaurants, several colossal neon signs, and 3 25-foot wire-frame 
models of Olympic athletes in athletic poses - a Wheelchair Basketball 
player, an upside-down Gymnast doing a split, and a Sprinter.  These 
are actually pretty slick - they light up at night and, although they're 
hazy and indistinguishable unless you're pretty much in a hovering 
helicopter, they're neat to look at.  You can see them from just about 
anywhere in Sydney, too - this is one hell of a huge tower!  Anyway, 
we rode a cramped, tiny little high-speed elevator to the top, where 
we lingered and watched the sun go down over the Blue Mountains.  

I was able to use one of the high-powered binoculars on the observation 
deck to determine that in my haste to leave that morning, yes, I had 
indeed left the light on in my dorm room.  I'm not kidding!  Believe 
me when I say that this is one huge tower!  My dorm room, incidentally, 
can't be closer than three miles to downtown Sydney.  Probably more 
like five, even.  Whatever, the tower's glowing blue neon signs and 
eerie yellow upside-down Olympic Gymnast are like nightlights for me 
when I go to sleep.  

Adrianne and I used the bird's-eye-view to renew our argument about 
which buildings were used to film "The Matrix." Anyway, one of the 
coolest buildings I've ever seen can, I feel, only be appreciated from 
the northern side of the AMP tower.  Adrianne and I walked right by at 
street level and never even noticed.  Suspended over the side of a 
nondescript brick building on Pitt Street is a complete, highly accurate 
and impeccably detailed bookcase.  Sounds boring, I know, but you have 
to see it for yourself.  From the height and distance of the observation 
deck, the effect is overwhelming.  The accuracy is uncanny; I thought my 
mind was playing tricks on me!  I shoved some little kid out from behind 
a set of binoculars and looked for myself; I even noticed some books that 
I have sitting on my bookshelf at home!  These weren't fictional titles, 
they were actual reproductions of actual books, enlarged about a billion 
percent!  I was flabbergasted.  I explored that mural for probably about 
fifteen minutes - I think that little kid was pretty ticked at me.  
Anyway, there were about three dozen "National Geographic" magazines 
stacked on one shelf, next to a pile of videotaped movies (I couldn't 
quite read them, but one looked like it said "Braveheart."  That was a 
nice touch, I thought.)  A 35mm camera case laid one shelf above; the 
strap dangled over the edge.  Some of the paperbacks had tattered, creased 
spines - I couldn't believe the lengths the artist(s) had gone to make 
this faux bookshelf look authentic.  That pretty much made my day.  I was 
downtown a few weeks later and realized that this building was right next 
door to my travel agent.  I swore when I then realized I'd forgotten my 
camera!  Fortunately, I had opportunity to go back again the next week 
and get some pictures - turns out the whole thing is a canvas sheet 
roughly the size of the Seattle Super Dome hanging off the edge of the 
roof.  Crazy!

The next day, Monday, I had to go back to school.  It was harder than 
hard to drag myself from bed in the morning and trudge off my Literature 
tutorial.  My fellow students didn't disappoint, however - they hadn't 
done the assigned reading, either!  After our lecture, I went back 
downtown to meet Adrianne again - we had made plans to visit the zoo!  
I was pretty excited, I have to admit; living in Sydney limits one's 
exposure so such cool Aussie animals as koalas, kangaroos, platypuses, 
and the like.  It's true, I hadn't seen a one, even on my trips out to 
Canberra, Cairns, and wherever!  I was starting to feel gypped, to tell 
you the truth.  Anyway, we took a ferry to the northern banks of the 
Harbor, an area called Manly, to the Taronga Zoo.  We only had about 2 ˝ 
hours, and the rain had returned, but we were still pretty enthusiastic.  
That enthusiasm waned shortly after we got into the zoo.  Even accounting 
for all the Olympics-inspired construction and renovation, this was one 
sad zoo.  The animals were kept in small, old-fashioned enclosures, and 
lots of them weren't even around most of the time.  I don't know where 
they got to, but the effect of seeing all those empty animal enclosures 
was pretty dismal.  The elephants sealed the deal.  Shortly after 
visiting the Orang-Utan and Giraffe enclosures, A and I caught a ferry 
back to town.

The next day, Adrianne continued her exploration of Sydney's shopping 
districts (including the ultra-swank mall in the gorgeous Queen Victoria 
Building) while I continued my classes at Sydney Uni.  We met that 
afternoon for dinner before her flight out.  We had had a wonderful week 
and a half of vacation in some of Australia's hottest destinations, and 
we celebrated with a valedictory dinner of Chinese food on King Street, 
the local strip near St. Andrew's College.  It certainly wasn't glamorous, 
but it was fun, and somehow fitting.  It felt like old times with Adrianne, 
back home.  Almost made me forget how much time I've spent on the opposite 
end of the world, unplugged from my family, my friends, my life.  And it 
made me hungry to come home.

That evening, Adrianne flew out of Australia, headed for some beachside 
fun in Fiji.  I missed her again as soon as she left.