I have to start checking in earlier. I was about two hours early for my flight, and the queue was huge. At first I didn’t think this would be a problem, as the friendly AirPacific agent laughed and joked with me about my height, but then she told me exit rows were not available. So I got an aisle. In row 68.

It was just like my trip from LAX>SYD, actually, as I found myself in the penultimate row — with children behind me. (Well, it was a little different from the Qantas plane: AirPac lacked those lovely bags that encouraged you to drop your rolls of film inside and post for development — unless you were nauseuous, of course, in which the fairly subtle USE THIS BAG FOR AIR SICKNESS line presumably took precedence.)

Despite the seating, the flight was fine. I watched a bad movie and took advantage of the gratis alocohol. At landing, I didn’t bother to rush to deplane. I knew a huge Customs queue was still to come. I was correct, and when the 45-minute wait was finished, I grabbed my bag and walked over to the ATM. There I was stumped. Not only did I have no clue what the exchange rate* was, I couldn’t even discern which account was which. If “current account” was checking, then was “access” savings? Somehow I pushed the right combination and got some Fiji dollars, which I grabbed and breezed through…

…into the waiting arms of about 40 very polite, but very aggressive Fijian women. I deflected all of the “Excuse me, sir? Can I help you?”/”Sir, what’s your hotel?” queries and pushed through to the taxi stand. Then I realized I had truly no clue what I was going to do once I got there.

Before coming, I’d wrestled with two options. There was the laze-around option, which entailed doing nothing and getting a tan. Then there was the “Feejee Experience,” a recently-introduced trek around the mainland that was supposed to be good but full-on. I couldn’t decide, so I’d booked neither. Basically I had a plane ticket and a plan to figure it out when I got there.

So that’s what I did. I ducked back through the women and into a travel agency with a proper store front, where I was able to book some accomodations at various islands. When that was done (and my driver was waiting) I was presented with a shell necklace, in what I assume is the Hawaiian style. I doubt, however, that this is just a show of hospitality. I think it’s also a sign that says “hands off, (competing travel agent) girls. He’s mine.”

* Exchange rates are always tricky. At Sydney airport, Thomas Cook was sold out of Fijian currency, not that I bought any. The spread they were offering was AU$1.4226 buy, AU$1.1338 sell. Quite a spread. (XE says AU$1 = FJ$1.24.)

Then there’s the matter of American dollars. The June 2003 edition Lonely Planet put the exchange rate at US$1 = FJ$2.05. Four months on, I got FJ$1.84 for each US$1 from the ATM. The weak dollar sucks. (Unless you’re Matt, of course.)

Hey, I know I’ve been lax with the updates for the last few weeks. That’s more a case of my impatience with pay-per-minute Internet access than a lack of things to say. But I hope to get through the backlog by the end of September (sneak preview: let’s just say I may not be using pay Internet access by then…)

But for now, I’m off to Fiji this morning, where I’ll be until next Friday 26 Sep as part of the Week of John festivities.

See you when I’m 26.

Travel anywhere in the Sydney metro (this was taken at Coogee beach) and you’re likely to see these little stop signs below the signals. The three stacked black circles are meant to convey “if the signal is out, stop here.” Many of the signs also have another text sign beneath them explaining the concept.

The approach puzzles me. Isn’t it common sense to do just that? Is another sign needed? Makes me wonder what inspired all these signs to go up. An accident? A lawsuit? (If so, you’d think we’d have ’em in America.) Or are they just really, really unreliable signals?

Seems like something better suited to a rule you learn in driver education.

Free Wireless internet — just bring your laptop and sit on down. Cheap beverages (cappucino, Coke products, various beers.) Plus Cuban freakin’ cigars on offer.

Now of course I know jack about cigars, and for all I know these are the Cuban Swisher Sweets — the most expensive is about ten bucks. (They all say ‘Habana’, that’s all I recognize.)

But I’m tempted to buy one just because I know I can’t at home, a fact that the young kid behind the counter in the USA sweatshirt seemed vaguely aware of: “Yeah, I heard about that,” he said when I mentioned they were illegal in the States. Then his face got scrunchy: “Something about Fidel Castro…?”

Yeah, something like that.

• The Spencer St. train station isn’t much of anything.
• I’ve seen more Porsches in 5 minutes than I have so far in Sydney (though I did see a right-side drive Corvette there. That was weird.)
• In Sydney, the NSW plates carry the slogan: “The First State.” The Melbourne (Victoria) plates answer back: “The Place to Be.”
• There’s an extensive tram network, with a casual ticketing system that reminds me of Amsterdam (i.e. one could ride for free fairly easily.) I wonder, do any American cities (not least of over 3m people) have trams anymore? Are they on the honor system?
• The street signs are either charmingly idiosyncratic or freaking irritating, depending upon how lost you are. Some major streets aren’t labeled at every intersection — but some alleyways are.
• The street names are also a trip: they have plenty of “little” streets here, which are prefaced by “Lt” on the signs. Thus “Lt Bourke St” is Little Bourke Street, not to be confused with Lieutenant Bourke St (which fortuntately does not seem to exist) or just “Bourke St,” which is like a block away. Little doesn’t seem to have anything to do with length or prominence. Or maybe I just haven’t figured it out yet.

On a bit of a whim, I decided to go to Melbourne this weekend. Due to some scheduling issues — and, okay, nostalgia for my European train travel days — I opted for a sleeper car rather than the faster (and cheaper) Virgin Blue flight.

Thus Thursday night I found myself settling down into Berth 25, Car A of a CountryLink XPT train on the Sydney – Melbourne route. The accomodations were really quite posh, and it took me a bit to figure out why; in fact it wasn’t until I visited the buffet car and turned to back from whence I came, where a sign read FIRST CLASS PASSENGERS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. For a moment, I was at a loss. How would I get back to my cabin?

Then I realized: duh. The complimentary newspaper, complimentary hot or cold breakfast delivered to the cabin by my “personal attendant,” complimentary toiletries tote (toothbrush, comb, shampoo, conditioner, soaps, etc.), monogrammed towels for use with the shower (!), seats wide enough that I could stretch across them, two fold-down beds instead of the more common four… These were not the usual accoutrements of economy train travel.

A staffmember confirmed as much when I said “Random question: is this first class?” He gave me the briefest of glances before saying “Yes sir, of course.” “Ok,” I continued, “are there, um, any other classes?” “Certainly. Economy class is located just beyond the buffet car.”

So as you might imagine, this only added to what was already an enjoyable little journey. I was feeling very Cary Grant (with perhaps a dollop of Agatha Christie sans the murder bits) as I stole across the dark Australian night in my posh train cabin.

Oh, and naturally I used the shower. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a shower in a moving vehicle, so I took the opportunity. I chose to take it that night, as my shower was shared with the elderly couple in the adjoining cabin, and I didn’t know if they would favor a morning clean.

But that shower: What fun! It was an engineering marvel, with just enough room to stand (and you can bet that sucker had a traction mat down.) The cramped space was nice when the train jostled a bit, and your wet self bounced around on the walls (if that is, you were not blessed with my own preternatural sense of balance.) At times the lack of space was a tad less convenient: there’s nowhere to go when the water starts, and it starts cold. No worries, though, as it soon enough ramps up to the Centigrade measurement on the dial. (You do know what Celsius temp you like your shower water, don’t you? No? Good thing they have a pleasant default temperature.) Also I’m pretty sure the floor drain just went straight through, as the train noise was pretty loud.

After the shower I ducked into the top bed (just because I could) and slept pretty well until the 6.20 delivery of my breakfast, which I ate while I watched the sky change color.

It was all just a blast and I really enjoyed it.

With a slightly larger team, we did slightly worse: 3rd place. I thought we were really in trouble when I heard the film question: common actor in The Fly II, Haunted Summer, Manifesto, Lionheart, The New Kids, Anaconda… I had no clue. (Answer.)

All was not lost, however, for during the next segment there was another common actor question. I actually only heard two of the films (Varsity Blues and Enemy of the State) but that was enough. Two other people made it up to the front before me, but neither knew the correct answer.

My prize: more Heineken schwag and assorted salty snacks. I think it’s time they start giving away money.

Here’s a few pix I never got around to posting:

Bondi Beach. Another lovely beach, this time with swimmers even! A hundred meters or so from this sign, a cute little group of red-suited kids were learning to surf, and doing a much better job of it than I ever will.

Later at Bondi, I decided to pause a moment and take in a view I don’t get at home.

Manly. These stickers…

… are surprisingly common, so I asked a local if they had any effect on the junk mail. She said they did cut down the volume, but I gathered it actually meant inserts and leaflets being stuck in the slot, not actual post.

Bondi Junction. I’ve seen two of these Coke machines now, offering you the ability to buy a Coke product with your phone. The costs is 33¢ plus the cost of the Coke (A$2 usually) and it shows up on your mobile bill. I’ve heard much about “m-commerce” but I’m still at a loss as to why anyone would go to the time, effort, and additional expense to dial 10 digits instead of using a single coin. Would love to know how well this technology is doing…

You knew I had to do it eventually.

Imagine getting paid to sit in hospital scrubs on a ledge with two small placards leaning against you reading BE THANKFULL FOR EVERYTHING, FOR SOON THERE WILL BE NOTHING.

That’s what I saw today on high-traffic Pitt Street, where a young guy was clearly being paid to promote the film 28 Days Later in advance of its 04 Sep Australia release.

Talk about an easy job!

(Scrubs Guy is part of some other non-traditional 28DL marketing efforts, including stickers with the biohazard symbol reading THE END IS EXTREMELY F*#KING NIGH.)

Another night with Simon & Co., this time to the dodgy Kings Cross district for a pub quiz. This particular quiz had been selected because it was held at an Irish joint and some of the questions had a bit of a British bent.

A few of the questions I can remember:

• Which car manufacturer makes an ‘El Dorado’ model?
• What is the French word for ‘Scotland’?
• What was Johnny Rotten’s real name?
• What did a ‘wainwright’ make?
• What are the first 5 words of “American Pie”?
• On which body of water is Glasgow located?
• What musical of film and stage involved Sally Bowles of the Kit Kat Club?
• Where is “Home & Away” set? Where is it actually filmed?
• What is David Hasselhoff’s character’s (full) name in “Baywatch”?
• Name the 4 sovereignties that begin with ‘V.’

Under the team name of “The Good, The Blonde, and The Lanky” (Simon has freshly dyed blond hair, and the other two are tall and trim), we took first place and collected a prize of 50 drink vouchers — a retail value of roughly A$200.

There was also a special bonus question that involved some Heineken/Rugby World Cup schwag (cap, rugby squeeze, bottle cozy and soft-side cooler.) That question was “Which actor has appeared in all of the following films? Object of My Affection, Murder at 1600, Canadian Bacon, And the Band Played On, Manhattan Murder Mystery, Crimes and Misdemeanors…” I won that one. (It’s Alan Alda.)

So I guess I know where we’ll be next Monday night.

Sunday morning I met Simon and his friends Phil and Keith, all English. By Sunday night, I found myself in a (straight) bar with them at a karaoke contest presided over by two drag queens. The night provided further evidence for my theory that karaoke really brings out the interesting people.

Take the man who sang “Unchained Melody.” He was 86.

The single best thing about a hostel is that it’s almost impossible not to meet new people (the bad thing being they leave after a few days.) Today I met two girls from Scotland, who like me are nominally here to work. Unlike me, the younger of the pair had never been away from home for longer than 2 weeks, so this year abroad was quite an adventure indeed.

As has become de rigeur with new roomies, we traded thoughts about what each of our respective countries does better (e.g. in telecom, the UK came out a clear winner with SIM Cards, but the US came roaring back with free local calls.) Then I mentioned what still sticks out in my mind as one of the strangest foodstuffs I’d seen available in Britain: Heinz Baked Bean (Frozen) Pizza. How would they possibly defend that concoction?

“Oh, it’s brilliant,” they immediately said in shared glee.

I’ve now had 6 people from 4 countries take me to task on the state of affairs at home, by which I mean the Iraq conflict specifically and the policies of Bush in general.

Typically, they broach the area with some delicacy, as when one pair told me they came to Australia instead of a planned trip to America because, well, (and here they blushed a bit) they really didn’t like what America stood for right now. In other instances, it was more direct: what’s the deal with Bush?

Once someone was even surprised that I was an American out and about, saying he thought that perhaps we would all be staying at home, afraid to venture out.

I try to tell everyone the same basic points: that I didn’t vote for Bush, and indeed the majority of Americans didn’t. That I am deeply, deeply concerned about many of his policies and those of his allies, and that I worry that real, lasting harm will be caused to our environment, our economy, our civil liberties, and our reputation in foreign affairs.

But then I tell them that I believe in the American electoral system, and in our ability to eventually find someone better. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Do these things look like they might be related? Yeah, I’d say so too. But that was not the prevailing thought in my room the other day.

For whatever reason, a discussion arose about ATMs and one man noted he had a Maestro card. I assured him that the card would work in Cirrus (MasterCard) ATMs. He disagreed, saying they were different.

Well, yes, but look at the card, I said. It’s the same symbol, the same typography. “No, no,” he said. “The Cirrus has a blue circle. Maestro has a red circle.” One of his countryman agreed with him.

Now as it happened, I was coincidentally on the Maestro Card FAQ a short time later, and I found my way to printing the page that includes the line “Maestro is a member of the MasterCard/Maestro/Cirrus ATM network…” I presented it to my doubter a short time later, perhaps a shade triumphantly.

That’s when things got interesting. Though he immediately acknowledged his mistake, he put my zeal for accuracy down to my being an American. It wasn’t that I in particular was one didactic dude, it was that Americans in general thought they knew it all, and thus how could I help being that way?

It’s interesting, when you get thrown into a diverse situation like this, that some use nationality as a filter through which to judge personality.

I rode CityRail three times yesterday, and I saw three different kinds of security. First I saw two NSW policemen walking through. Given that most cars have a message noting “Uniformed and plain clothes police patrol this train,” I thought nothing of it. But they were apparently on the prowl: they found a guy, brought him to my car, and took him into custody for travelling without a ticket.

When I got off the train, I saw transport police requesting proof of identification from someone else (I think it was a student eligibility thing.) Then, when I took the train back two hours later, there were men in iridescent “CityRail Security” vests.

So that was three kinds of security for the trains. Throw in the fact that I also saw patrols on the Harbour Bridge (private security — I wonder if they were there pre-terror warnings?) and Sydney feels pretty well managed, in terms of law enforcement.