The Rocks

We spent the day in Sydney, Australia wandering around this beautiful harbor city. We spent our morning in the historical area founded by convicts. Stealing a handkerchief or a loaf of bread in England meant a sentence of 7 years in the penal colony of Australia. Practically, that sentence was for life because there was no way to buy your passage back to England. Essentially, England was simply attempting to export its surplus of poor people. By hard work and the Grace of God Australia became a success. Settlers came to see that in many ways relatively classless Australia was better than England. Certainly the weather was more comfortable. Tonight we go to see Carmen at the Sydney opera house.

As soon as Carmen died (we knew she would) we got up from our seats to leave Sydney Opera House and we were surprised to find that it was raining kangaroos and koalas. The forecast had a ten percent chance of rain, but there was thunder and lightning and a south-of-the-equatorial downpour. We were all in our glad rags, so all of us Wikings waited in the opera house for some break in the rain. But soon it looked as though Carmen would get resurrected before the rain slacked off. We and our shipmates were the only people remaining in the building, and a few tired Australian security guards looked as though they wanted to get home to their supper of krumpets or whatever these people down under eat. They quietly started pulling these velvet ropes across the exits, so we figured we better brave the deluge and get out. Our ship had relocated to the west edge of the Circular Quay, so we had about a half a mile to walk through a downpour. Thor’s hammer was kicking up a fuss, and buckets of the South Pacific soaked us down to our underwear for about a twenty-minute walk-run back to the ship. At some point in our hurried journey, about the time I felt little rivulets running down my legs, the situation got silly and we started giggling like a couple of fools. We finally saw the international passenger terminal ahead. Safety at last! As we walked quickly toward a young security guard he wanted to see our security pass. I dug it out of a drenched sport coat from a pocket filled with rainwater and he said, “Romantic! Just like Fred Astaire.” I said that “romantic“ was not exactly the word I had in mind. But he let us in and we came back onto the ship. Without even going back to the stateroom, we sloshed up to Mamsen’s and got a bowl of hot pea soup, a hunk of delicious brown bread, and a little glass of sherry. Now my heart is warm, my soul has been enriched by the wonderful music of Bizet, my girl is laughing, and I’m going to bed. Amen.Read more