Jacaranda Tree at Rose Bay

Sydney aquarium tank

Rose Bay Respite
By Stan Morse
November 19, 1997

Sydney is embracing summer when I arrive on November 11. The jacaranda trees are flames of lavender at high bloom, the oaks are bursting a green canopy across the suburbs, and the air carries a perfume of nutmeg-lily from blossoming star jasmine, orange jasmine and wisteria.

At night, the sizzling cicadas and croaking frogs are challenged only by the occasional bark of a dog or swoosh of a passing car. I sleep like a newborn.

For one week I'm in a private home that takes borders; what the Australians call a "homestay." I've been here before, and am treated like family. I get a kiss on the cheek from grandma, I know some family history, and the refrigerator is open to me (but not to most guests) if I get hungry. Tonight, we're celebrating the oldest daughter turning 19, and there's a small feast of mangos, strawberries, breads, sausage, turkey and ham.

The home is in the upscale suburb of Rose Bay, just a 15 minute jetcat ferry ride from Circular Quay in the heart of downtown Sydney. The ferries, together with nearby light rail, let me easily explore the Sydney area.

On my first morning, luck brought six kookaburras to the giant Norfolk pine beside the deck; cackling with mad joy, cavorting and proclaiming with gleeful cries their temporary command of the neighborhood. Within minutes, the gypsy birds flew off in a gleeful hurly burly of laughter. Of all the animals I've seen in Australia, kookaburras are my favorite.

From late morning till early evening the sun burns unrelenting, and shade is a premium. With only six weeks until the summer solstice, temperatures already reach into the eighties. Hats and sunglasses are essential; sunscreen, wise. Ozone depletion has a personal meaning in the Land of the Southern Cross. I've seen people burned red, even blistered, from an unprotected hour or two at Bondi Beach.

Fortunately, it's not the dead of summer, yet. The nights are still cool, the humidity is moderate. We've had one spectacular thunderstorm that brawled in around 2 a.m., flashing and booming and pounding torrential rain for an hour. The following morning was sunny, but cool, and a freshening breeze brought hundreds of sailboats out onto Sydney Harbor.

I'm still counting off the "extra" days caused by my failure to find a ship to the South Pacific. But the slack period is quickly coming to an end. In two weeks I fly to Cairns for the first "major" adventure of the trip, three days of ship-based diving on the Great Barrier Reef. My first ocean diving. My first scuba experience.

Two days ago I visited the Sydney Aquarium, and saw many of the colorful reef fish that inhabit these waters. Except, at the Aquarium, they were behind glass. I'll be among them when I dive. Including the sharks. Long, lean, sinuous; the sharks at the Aquarium were less than a meter in length, and still looked dangerous. In the ocean . . . I try not to think about it.

I spent two hours today with a travel agent, booking air to and from New Zealand, plus flights to Cairns, Melbourne and Adelaide. My near-term lodging is resolved, except for three days in Brisbane and eight nights in early January in New Zealand. Brisbane will be easy. But New Zealand will be high season, and booking eight nights, including fly fishing, will be a challenge. I've got leads, and trust that something wonderful will work out. But I'll still be relieved when the bookings are finally made. I'm tired of worrying about where I'll be. And there's still all of Asia and Europe to figure out. But I can leave those places until January and the Australian Open. Right now, I want Australia and New Zealand completely settled, so I can let loose and enjoy every minute.