Sydney In Hindsight

King's Cross is a fascinating place. Every third door on this very short block is a strip club, a tittie bar, a peep show, a dildo store, or a "massage parlor". In fact, once I had to pop through a doorway just because I was so shocked it wasnt something that would make your mother (but not mine) blush. Turns out it was the public library.

I hate to admit it, but Sydney really was better when I was alone, simply because I wasnt really. I found myself meeting the most interesting people. The Canadians, the Dutch couple, the Welsh chick in the park with the fruit bats, the Italian climatologist from the Antarctic, the pincushion-pierced bisexual girl from Melbourne and her fag stag boyfriend, ect.. We have nothing in common except for the fact that we have nothing in common. We bond over our shared desire to talk to total strangers.

Once you stop trying to be a tourist, travelling becomes so much better. I'd hike up and down Darling Harbor, nap with the fruit bats in the Botanical Gardens, check out the Australian Idol finale outside the Opera House, navigating the heineously bad public transport system (delayed by suicide one evening), cheap takeout and bad cooking, or enjoy a "Goodbye Howard" street party in the nifty Newtown... it was never old. Oh, and dont forget my ridiculous evenings on Oxford.

I'm an ecotourist. Always have been. But Sydney was my urban paradise. It reminded me of New York, and I really felt at home, more so than in any tent. I suppose King's Cross is a wholly different form of 'wildlife' and 'nature viewing', but a scene I blended into perfectly. I

f I can offer one piece of advice in this blog for all 3 of my curious readers, it would be to stay away from the tourist hubs, throw away your travel guidebooks, and buy a few containers of boxed wine to chug with your roommates as you all struggle to understand each other in broken English. That's what backpacking is.