The plane ride was brutal, of course. I've flown half as far before and wanted to chop my lower limbs off and eat them raw. It would've been better than what they served for breakfast and solved my leg room issue at the same time.
I land in Sydney around 6 in the morning on Wednesday. Total confusion. I feel gross and nervous and excited at the same time. Going through customs is almost more than I can handle. I decide to walk downtown. It's 4 or 5 miles, but I've got plenty of time till I have to meet my couch surfing host, Adam, and I'd like to get a feel for the local geography. The taxi attendant laughs when I ask him directions on foot. The path leading away from SYD turns out to be pedestrian paradise and I have no trouble finding the way. I get my first taste of backwards traffic; everybody on the wrong side of the car and street. My brain is functioning like fart vomit; I can't imagine what it would've been like to get a rental car and drive myself to the city. Guaranteed smash.
On my trek downtown, I make the following observations: I packed too much. Shoulders are not happy. This traffic is dangerous even if I'm not driving. I keep looking the wrong direction when I step out into the crosswalk. Where are all the homeless people? Perfectly good park benches and underpasses are empty of inhabitants. The streets don't make a lick of sense. I'm used to grid and this is triple helix in the 4th dimension. I'm 8000 miles from home. Everyone and everything I know. 8000 miles across the sea.
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