Southern Cross: Doin' it big in Sydney

This last weekend is bitter-sweet. We are all together. Lunch in a courtyard restaurant, dinner overlooking Sydney Harbor, its Bridge and Opera House, an evening's entertainment at the Opera House: Shakespeare's "As You Like It"; Sunday, more dinning and talking, then onto the Cricket pitch for a 9 hour cricket match between India and Australia. 

Roxie's morning walk is extended to a brewed coffee run: two coffee late', one tall long black. Scones do not exist, a variety of doughy heavy morning pastries exist, just not something in between French light and airy, and heavy hockey puck. Phone calls between Andrew and Leah, Andrew in the midst of working on Saturday. We will meet for dinner, overlooking Sydney Harbor: reservations for 5:30, enough time for a leisurely meal, and a quick walk to the Opera House. 

The last night in Sydney, the Australian Company will tour other cities. Their diction and presentation are mostly understandable, and, probably for the first time in my life, I can get the gist of the story; not the first time I had heard it, just the first time I understood it. An early wrap to a late Saturday evening, we head back to Newtown; waiting in line to purchase train tickets, provided an uncomfortable experience of a bare-chested loud out of control young man and a pleading girlfriend. After obtaining train tickets, they were not taken as we entered the train styles, nor needed to exit when we reached Newtown as the exit doors were all wide open.

Sunday, after a late morning Roxie and coffee walk, met Andrew, caught a few brews, we bussed to the cricket pitch. From early afternoon until after 10:30 PM, we bake in the sun, drank beer, ate what we brought in our picnic basket, and watched cricket.  We were treated to a streaker, who made world wide news clips, although he ran straight towards us, I didn't have our camera poised at ready; hence, no pics. We were also treated to an exhibition of the "best batsman" in the sport. Indeed, a remarkable performance. Single-hand edly, he won the game for India.

My knees aching, I waddled down the stadium stairs, and we began our walk to find a ride home. Since the game was in doubt until the very last, a nearly full stadium emptied out altogether. Long lines awaited buses. Might there be a cab available some place? The cab lines were long and snaking into the night air. Dad charged into the street and hailed an empty cab. We pile in, the cabbie is animated and cricket involved. Andrew got out part way through our trip home. We said our goodbyes to him, as if we were going to see him in the morning, but of course we wouldn't.

Monday afternoon, we will leave after walking Roxie, packing and rearranging clothes and presents, grabbing a cab to the airport. On the 747-400, we are seated at the "back of the bus". Push off, lumbering down the runway, we are airborne. Into the afternoon light we settle in: drinks, dinner, movie. I am looking out the window. First there is wave chop on the Tasman Sea. As we rise higher, the cloudless sky fades in light, we headed East, the sun racing West. Now it is night. The stars are brilliant, and there, there out my window, is the Southern Cross.