The flight out of New Zealnd provided magnificent views of the mountains on the west coast. Glaciers hug the sides and create secret lakes high in the passes. When we arrived at Sydney the city was hidden under the clouds.Sydney revealed herself slowly as a mistress dancing to the John Butler Trios' "Daniela" as we descended through the mists. Sydney is green, lush, snaking rivers and crashing coasts, opulent, busy and beautiful from this vantage. The brown of the rivers and dark green of the trees clashes with the hard red roofs and deep blue pools. The Opera huddles by the harbour like a hedgehog by a puddle on this overcast day.
I found myself to the central trainstation with a significantly lighter wallet after purchasing rail passes for the week and storage for the luggage headed to Vancouver. I had to run, flip flops slapping the brick floor, to catch the Bundaberg express train. We road past the throngs of stylish youth smoking cigarettes and laughing loudly on their way home from Sydneys beaches. Our train smoothly worked its way out of what I am learning is a very large city. The nieghborhoods on this side of town vary from crowded blue collar townhouses to more rural homes in disrepair with sad metal roofs. The pasenger behind me acts as a guide and comments that some of these nieghborhoods house families that have been on the doll for eleven generations. I wonder how exaggerated that statement is. After an hour and a half the houses are slowly replaced by forest and the path of the train increasingly threads through narrow passes cut through red and yellow rock.
I arrive in a cold Katoomba very aware of my relative nakedness and replace the jandals with shoes and shorts with pants. I didn't bring a sweater. I have never felt so alone or so far from anywhere at this trainstation. This is the first time that no one is waiting for me at the end of a journey. I cautiously head into a hustling bustling and colorful Katoomba with young travelors weaving in and out of bars, clubs, and restaurants. I pass a very plain looking hostel and half a block later find a quirky Victorian style building of many bright colors that is chock full of kiwis, Europeans, and ozzies. They offer me bread and pizza after showing me my bed. I joined a group out by a small campfire in the back yard and fall asleep. I wake up with a cat curled up on my chest in thee wee hours of the morning. The group around the fire still telling tales and sharing laughs. I make my way to bed.
The morning came early and I made my way past the Europeans in line waiting for the showers in various states of undress, some quite agreeable, and make my plan for the day over a rum and coffee.
