Australia (yes, this is NOT China) drives on the left, walks on the left, sneezes to the left. How do you avoid being run over? Are Australians bound to be more left-handed too? I figure, they’ve got to be, because the left does most of the work in a car: gears, wipers, climate control, radio. Try that for a change.

Darling Harbor skyline

So, here we arrive in Sydney, in our Holiday Inn, in December 2023. Wherever you look, there are no fat people, least of all the slim and trim Singapore Airlines hostesses. Have they banished the overeaters to Tasmania? Hardly anyone in downtown seems older than 30. Where do they put their seniors? These skinny, fashionable Oriental girls and boys must be all students? I sure feel out of place now.

We tourists are the oldest people around. Some grey-haired troopers in North Face puffer jackets carry sizable backpacks and meander about with walking sticks and hiking boots. Occasionally, you see parents dragging their kids around in a cart. They could be British or German or Dutch. We all hang out at the Public Market. That has everything we need, from lychees to toothbrushes.

The Holiday Inn at Darling Harbor lies amidst China Town. Only Asian people around, Beijing ducks in the shop windows, tasty donut holes (Emperor Puffs) filled with custard, boba shops with many flavors, and the whole range of Oriental cuisine. But what’s with the jostling? Did everybody switch off their inborn proximity sensor?

Asians seem to have expensive seafood taste: a can of three abalone mussels for 100 Dollars! I am not joking. All that dried seafood, some of the most ominous kind, is all very expensive. The abalone—big trays of different mollusks, 1 kg for $675—are harvested in the wild waters of the Tasmanian Sea. Some shell fish divers have even braved shark attacks.

But just go for it! In Australia, you don’t need money. They will take a plastic card for everything. Even the commemorative coin machine at the Sydney Aquarium spews out your minted penny for a tap. The aquarium is an excellent place to go under the sea. It has some of the best shark tanks around

Buses also will let you ride for only a tap: a tap on and a tap off. (No, not a swipe!) If you’re lucky, the tapper doesn’t work and the driver lets you go for free. However, something is amiss with the busses: a signal flashes “bus stopping,” but where-the-heck do we stop? Count on the driver to let you off at the right place because nobody else may speak English.

I always thought I speak English well, but my American accent occasionally collided against the Aussie-speak. It was sure fortunate that our friends taught us lessons about slurpy Tim-Tam cookies, Lamingtons, and the (peculiar) Vegemite spread in the safety of their home. Later I learned some of the local intricacies the hard way.

On the first morning, a ketchup packet exploded on me: I pointed it the wrong way, squeezed, and voila had ketchup all over my snout. Most things don’t seem obvious when you’re under a 14-hour jet lag. Yeah, the blow dryer flicked the frothy soap all over my shirt. Silly me, I hadn’t approached the duplicitous (double-action) faucet from the right angle. Fortunately, Sydney seemed so much cleaner than our American cities. Kudos to the restrooms! And drinks come only with paper straws and there is an extra charge for takeout containers.

I had fun bumbling along the parks and exploring on foot. My mission on Tuesday was to reach the beach. Another faux pas! Bondi is pronounced “Bon-die” or “Bon-day” Beach. Good day? Or a good day to die? Huh? That’s what the Lakota would say. The bus driver wrinkled his brow, then smiled, and taught me the correct pronunciation of my destination.

I finally made it to Bondi. The sandy bay looked just like in the pictures. I encountered fewer tattooed people here than I had expected. But the ones that afforded body art, displayed their whole tribal story from neck to toe. Surfers, right!

It’s fun to watch the surfers at Bondi. Even better than staring into the tide pools at La Jolla. I settled into a coffee shop for a capuccino and avocado sandwich. Australia had me then and there.

At the Sydney Darling Harbor Wildlife Zoo posing with sleepy Koalas