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Finally, with only 20 or so travel hours and a very uneventful stop in Munich Airport we landed late in Lisbon to the longest taxi line ever.  I had booked a car online, but that didn’t work out.   Other things that didn’t work out: our vegetarian meals on the plane, the hotel wanting to charge us for the missed night and the epic case of the flu we all caught.  This wasn’t your average flu.  This was Portuguese style flu, which is to say it took it’s time.  In the heavy long summer days, it settled in, had a smoke and a pastry and enjoyed a long stay with each of us in succession.

This is one of 19th century french boudoirs in the former palace where we stayed.  I don’t know if it was the flu, jet lag or a general sense of suspended time one feels in this old world city but it all became very Alice in Wonderland.  Epic tiled walls, decadent Mauneline architecture, Moorish Castles, 16th Cenutry Monasteries and wall upon wall of intricate tile: Lisbon is both decay and decadence.

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Seen either up close or from a distance, the Sydney Opera House does not disappoint.  I have always been in awe of our own epic contribution to iconic structures.  I know, it was designed by a Dane, but whose soil is it on?  Eh?  Eh?                                                              Note: last comment made with ocher accent and a poke in the ribs, followed by two thumbs up – Aussie style.  This means thumbs laying out at a 45 degree angle, sort of like they are having an afternoon nap.

Syndey was always the big time growing up and there was nothing more big time than the Opera House.   Almost every Australian kid has a badly posed picture wearing their pants too high and tight in front of the white wonder.  So, on a day off in Sydney, I wanted to learn more about this amazing building that won it’s way into existence.  It was paid for by a state lottery (whatever that means) and Jorn Utzon, the famed Danish architect who never actually visited his completed masterpiece won the opportunity (and 5000 pounds) to build his design from 223 other submissions.

It only went $95 million dollars over budget and took 10 years longer than anticipated to complete – so whaaaaaaaaaat?  If the powers that be had known what they were in for, we’d never have this beautiful building to call our own.

On a drizzling, overcast day, as we sat down with our tour group in the theater I was (much like the first time I visited the Opera House) with my mum.
“So where is everyone from?”
“Canada.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        “Ah yes, our commonwealth brethren.  Nice to have you
visit.”                                                                                                                                                                                                 “Japan.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              “New Guinea.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  It sounded like that last response came from my mum’s chair.  I glance over and she is giggling away.                                                                                                                           “Where?”                                                                                                                                                “New Guinea.” My mum sits up higher in her chair, now that she has his attention.

“Oh great, we don’t hear that often.  Are you enjoying it here?”
At this point I feel compelled to rescue both my mum and the tour guide and all of us from whatever will follow.   No, actually I just want to save myself.
“She’s from Brisbane,” I say.
“Trust those Brissy chicks to be up to no good.”
Mum gets that ‘game on’ look on her face as her smile spreads.
“But I’m not a Fuzzy Wuzzy,” she yells out.
And nothing.   Silence.  No one else is from anywhere and we are soon shuffling out of the theater.
As we exit, I whisper to her that it’s probably not a good idea to yell that you’re not a fuzzy wuzzy in a massive group of tourists from unknown origin.
“Why?” she asks.
“Because I don’t think Fuzzy Wuzzy is an appropriate name for any nationality of people.”
“Well, that’s what we called them.”
“Okay, but is that what they liked to be called?”
At this point she is heavily giggling again on her way to chat to the guide.  With that any further discussion of racism or politically correctness is over.

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I said, “almost  3″.

He replied, “so you still have to deal with poop nappies” or something to that affect and then I told him that having my daughter do downward dog while I wiped her was a great trick.   Before I knew it I had my hands on his bottom miming wiping him while he was bent in downward dog on the stage in front of me.

FYI: You definitely need a partner if you plan on trying it at home.

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Any one of these can send me back: politically incorrect humor, a relentlessly humid day, a rising choir of crickets in the afternoon, kookaburras and flying foxes laughing and screeching, fresh dripping fruit, a buried reverence for Britianna (the mother land) , a rebelling against Britianna (after all it’s the mother land), auto auctioneers blurring the boundaries of words as their lips graze the mic, cold green hospitals, sheepskins on carseats in summer, sheepskins on carseats anytime of the year, mass attack by mosquitoes, cane toads in headlights, strawberries and creams/ snakes/ clinkers/ musks/ jaffas/ polly waffles/ cherry ripes (need I say more?), pleated plaid blue school uniforms and then, pleated plaid green school uniforms, a first sloppy kiss at a blue light disco, spunk spotting outside hungry jacks (not the same thing as American spunk spotting), a cigarette with my brother under the bridge by the oval, playing netball with my mum as the coach, playing netball with my mum on the same team, making cream buns at the bakery I worked at (no comments necessary), all manner of working class ephemera, the smell of tobacco in a pipe, knee high socks on men, the smell of stale beer and air conditioning in a pub, pokies dinging, a pie and peas burning my hand.

So, of course the answer to the question is No, not at all….

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In Paddington, Oxford Street has the many of the chain brand designs and access to the bustling, fun weekend markets.   When visiting Sydney a few years ago, after not living here for over 10 years Ifound Paddington not the quaint, artistic area I remembered.  It wasn’t until I ventured down Williams street and got a little lost on it’s quiet residential streets that I found myself in the Paddington I’d been looking for.   Look at the the beautiful woodwork on the roofline and subtle stained glass windows of this house. The winter afternoon light warming my daughter, mum and I.

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The large old pubs like London Inn that provide wine, beer, great food but no coffee to Alimentari, a tiny classic Italian Cafe that serves a great latte and home-made pasta to take home.  We stopped at Gusto, a tiny corner cafe and were able to find great salads to accommodate our vegan ways.  You can see the stocked cabinets below.  For a country that is overflowing with unused space this neighborhood is a treasure of tiny alcoves.  All of the stores, homes and restaurants are squeezed into tiny restored beautiful row houses or stone buildings.

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