Monday in Sydney

Jason arrived at our pre-determined time and we quickly made our way down to the ferry docks called Sydney Cove or Circular Quay, somewhat near the Sydney Opera House. Upon arriving, despite our best attempt to run/jog to make the 10:30 am ferry, we discovered that we missed it by about a minute and we watched as our intended boat sailed away in front of us. As with most things in my life, the loss was actually not such a loss because it offered an opportunity for us to walk over the the opera house – a place where Jason has performed in all but two of the theaters. We passed some Aboriginal musicians playing their long horn type instruments, called didgeridoos. They are exceptional musicians/athletes in my opinion because the instrument is basically a hollowed out piece of wood that they hum/buzz their lips through while performing something called circular breathing -- blowing out the mouth and breathing in through the nose simultaneously. The show was spectacular and the sounds of this instrument quite foreign to my ears.

We enjoyed listening as I had never heard or watched it prior to this trip, then Jason offered to show me the inside of the opera house. Having an artist who has actually performed inside such an iconic world structure, show me the inside of the building, seemed awfully special to me and I said a little thank you to the universe for continuing to offer me these special add-ons during my Australian adventure. The inside of the Opera House is very simple – large concrete covered I-beams bent into the shapes one sees outside is basically it. Wood and concrete dominate the internal structure and although Jason mentioned something about the city pulling back from the architect’s original interior design and it not being finished, I found myself pleased deeply by the restraint and lack of over-indulgence. We spent a little too much time here and had to run back to the ferry so that we did not miss the 11am.

Getting out into the Sydney Harbour allows one to truly appreciate the enormity of this place. I had no idea how incredibly large the Sydney Harbour actually is – miles and miles of water ways and dozens and dozens of little inlets, coves, bays, and beaches. We ferried past the Australian Prime Minister’s house on our way toward Manly Beach – an impressive compound directly across from the Opera House. We passed a tiny island – a fort that was built from Australian paranoia to protect Australia from the Russians during the Crimean War time period (if my memories of history is correct?). The Russians never came back then and the fort would never have actually protected anyone since naval advances at the time would have blown the little island to smithereens.

I loved being on the water, watching the beauty of Sydney Harbor pass me by as I sat comfortably in my seat on the port side of the vessel next to Jason who provided commentary and history as we journeyed. He motioned to me to get up as we got close to the port at Manly. My body charged with childhood excitement, as I prepared to experience another first – swimming in Australia, on the other side of the Pacific Ocean!

I forgot three beach essentials that morning – sunblock, a beach towel, and sunglasses. I did, however, remember to pack that lovely black speedo I purchased at Target, so all was not lost. And, to be honest, there was nothing that was going to keep me from getting into that water. After docking, passengers flocked across the street onto a sort of promenade that leads to the other side of the narrow strip of land, opposite the ferry station. I considered buying a beach towel, but opted against the selection of touristy towels with the Australian flags, Koalas, and other obviously Australian icons. We made it to the beach front in just 5 minutes. Immediately, greeted by large pine trees across the beach, I knew that I was not in California where the trees would most certainly be palms of some variety. For a Monday, the beach hosted quite a few people. A quick look around produced no little red life guard Speedos, something I consider quintessentially Australian, and sexy (but typically only when wore by Australian life guards). Jason informed me that I was about a month or two early for spotting those uniforms at just about the same time I noticed that the life guards were wearing full body wet-suits. Sexy too in their own way, but not exactly what I had envisioned for my first face-to-face encounter with these guys.

I also quickly noticed that there were not a lot of Speedo wearing people which Jason attributed to the fact that Speedos are not exactly the norm for this family-oriented beach, the weather was not exactly warm (just coming out of Winter here), and the crowd was not overly gay, thus not necessarily fit enough to show off their bodies. So, here I was again. Stuck in a situation where I was just going to have to embarrass myself again in front of lots of strangers (similar to the time my spray tan melted off at the baths in Budapest, which I cover in the Budapest portion of my blog). I ducked into the beach appointed changing room and exited wearing my little black number, exposing my pale body in all its glory (or lack thereof). We walked north to the flags which indicate where it is safest to swim. Jason put his towel down, which we decided to share, just next to another couple of guys also in Speedos (a gesture I appreciated as it made me feel a little less self-conscious). After a few posed shots near the water in my suit, which I will never wear back home, we packed our valuables away in our backpacks and headed toward the water.

Thrilled to finally be touching the ocean, I almost forgot to react to the freezing water as the icy juice grabbed my feet and proceeded to make them numb. “Oh, my God,” I remember yelling over to Jason who was reacting to the cold water in his own unique way. Undaunted, I continued, noticing very small shards of sea weed floating everywhere in the water. When the water hit me at my waist, other parts of my body decided to find warmer zones as well and this made me chuckle thinking of that Seinfeld episode where George repeatedly defended himself with the excuse of “shrinkage”. At this point I was beginning to adjust, or perhaps my mind simply overpowered my body’s reaction. The waves were luring me closer and others were already body surfing and swimming further out beyond where I was considering my options. As a large wave approached, the decision became easy – get knocked on my ass or just go for it and dive into the wave and get all wet, real quickly. I forged ahead, placed my hands out in front of me in the dive position, closed my eyes, and jumped into the middle of the giant wall of water slamming in on me. Wow, I just took a wave, another virgin moment gone in an instant and it pleased me immensely to lose it to such a spectacular force of nature. Swimming in Australia is now checked off my list of “wanna-dos”.

We, Jason and I, thrashed about in the waves for about 30 minutes before I decided I had exhausted that experience. I needed to get my pale ass out of the water and out of the sun. The hole in the ozone layer over Australia is intense and I did not want to push my luck against this spectacular force of nature. Another quick stop inside the changing station and I could rectify my worry and get my clothes back on. As I turned to go into the station, I stepped squarely onto a big pile of dog shit, smashing it all over my foot and in between my toes. Jason laughed so hard at my misfortune that I think he may have leaked a little urine. I was not amused, nor was I overly irritated (like I would be had this happened back in LA). Somehow, my mood was so exceptionally elevated by the ocean’s charm, that this little bit of annoyance was just that – a temporary irritant to be quickly forgotten (and thoroughly washed off in the sink inside the changing station).

We wandered around trying to find a place to grab lunch before we needed to jump on the ferry. Jason is a vegetarian, which I kept forgetting even though I went through a vegetarian phase for years when I first moved to California – and should be more sensitive to others on this course, and all my suggestions included various meaty options, like kebabs. After checking out a number of joints, we went back to one of the first places – a burger joint that served a few vegetarian burgers, basically falafel burgers. I was excited to try the Australian beef burger, but quickly changed my mind when I read on the special board that they were featuring Kangaroo burgers. Yes, the same kangaroos you are thinking about right now!

Earlier that morning in the hotel, I was IMing on FB with my roommie, Karl, and he asked me if I had tried kangaroo yet. I feigned shock at concept, even though secretly I thought that would be a kick. He told me to stop being so damn American in my thinking and judgement of other cultures. This, of course just prompted me right then and there to try it as soon as the option presented itself. I am sure Karl did this on purpose. Sure enough, just like all amazing things in my life, they just manifest after I have the thought and decide to bring it about into my reality.

I ordered the kangaroo without hesitation and again could not contain my enthusiasm for another virgin moment, so quickly on the back of the one I had just de-flowered in the Australian Pacific. I don’t know if I let on to Jason how excited I was about the kangaroo eating situation, and I didn’t want to talk about it with a guy who is a vegetarian as that seemed a little gauche, even for me.

The burger tasted delicious – a unique taste akin to a blending of beef, lamb, and maybe a hint of venison. It disappeared down my throat in about 3 minutes as I barely took the time to enjoy the moment – it was that tasty. The chips, (French fries) which accompanied my burger, balanced the flavor of the kangaroo nicely and the sweet chili dipping sauce complimented everything. I so liked this virgin experience, I plan to go back for seconds. When I head north to Cairns, or when I am in the way outback, I plan to try the kangaroo steaks.

Back in Sydney, I left Jason at the bus depot near the ferries and made my way back to the room for a quick nap. At 7 pm, I needed to head down to China Town to a small hotel with a basement theater for the Liza show I had mentioned earlier (the one I moved my Bridge Climb for from Monday to Wednesday night). Karl’s friend, Trevor Ashley, would be performing then, and I was added to the list at the last minute as a guest of the star – very cool.

It took me no time at all to walk through the city to the find the hotel and the theater in the basement. I arrived just at 7:30 as instructed. Quickly, the theater began filling with obvious industry types (I call them show people) – full of color, exuberance, and flair. I have always liked being around "large" people because they make me feel relatively normal. I have been told I have a large personality and can overpower situations with my stories and zeal, so it is always wonderful to be in the company of others who are equally large, or larger, in their love and passion for life and the experiences they are having on this planet (that’s how I see it). This night, however, I relished the role of wall-flower. I knew no one in this audience and I happily took the opportunity to stand among them, mostly un-noticed (except for some subtle flirting by a few guys), so that I could just take it all in and appreciate the moment. The crowd darted around, table hopped, and exchanged kisses, both real and air from across the room. It was obviously a group of people with great love and respect for each other’s talents.

Just after 8 pm, the lights and music began, and I watched a man I had first met two days earlier as a cute, slightly chubby man, completely transform himself into Liza Minnelli. I suppose as a gay man, I need to say I appreciate drag and that I love Liza since she (and her mother Judy Garland) are icons to generations of gays and will probably continue to be so on some level for future generations of gays, but I am a fan of neither, really. I don’t “get” drag and I have only marginally enjoyed Liza as I have never been a huge fan of theater or camp. I do appreciate Liza on a personal level as she strangely has lived a life very similar to the lives many gays experience, and on that level, I do feel somewhat drawn to her strength as a survivor. But this analysis is a whole different conversation.

When Trevor, as Liza, first hit the stage, I smiled. He was magical, capturing small nuances that only an obvious fan and talented artist could maneuver. I should say, Trevor does not lip-sync – he both speaks her voice and sings her voice during his show. Trevor as Liza immediately begins bantering with the audience, telling stories of Liza’s life, and adds witty comments which deliver impact in the hearts and minds of the audience on many levels. As an American, I found the Australian portions of the writing very accessible and understandable. Trevor’s delivery and timing are superb – better than big name performers I have seen around the world. I found myself transfixed, completely caught into the illusion of watching Liza perform. Somewhere about halfway through the show, I had a profound moment of appreciation and shed a few tears of joy. I was that moved by the talent of this man. I had to force myself, my mind, to pull back from the multi-dimensional illusion to contemplate the magnificence of what was happening before me. A man I met as a man was on stage dresses as Liza Minnelli. This man was both speaking in Liza’s voice and singing in Liza’s voice. This same man was dancing Liza’s dances and pulling off Liza’s big and subtle movements and ticks. This same man was bantering with the audience, some of course written and other comments ad-lib. He was working in conjunction with a five piece musical group. At one point, he even introduced a young male singer and interacted (acted) as Liza impersonating Donna Summer with him as they sang a duet – Enough is Enough. The tears of joy and appreciation surprised me as I am a tad bit cynical having lived in LA so long. I have been fortunate enough to have witnessed a lot of theater, concerts, shows, and various other forms of live entertainment. I did not expect to be absolutely blown away by such talent in a basement theater of a hotel in China town in Sydney Australia of all places. The odd thing to me is that I am still (three days later as I write this) completely thrilled to have witnessed what I witnessed on stage. I feel so blessed and honored to have shared in the communal experience that was his/her live performance. I “felt” so much during his performance and can only finalize my comments my stating that I was awe-struck and feel wonderfully fortunate by the encounter and synchronicity of the whole event.

I ended the night with a nice stroll back to the Westin. Simon was already sleeping and I jumped into my bed and feel into dreamland as well.