Men with a fondness for really tight pants and really short shorts.

Sydney CBD

Sydney Opera House - Saw Doctor Who Symphonic
Spectacular here in 2012!

This isn't my first time in Australia. I paid my first visit to the island continent in 2012. Then, it was my first time away from the office after two years of working at 826 National with no vacations. I decided to go as far away as I could, far out of my comfort zone with no cell reception. I spent a week in Sydney and a few days in Melbourne, all over the Christmas holidays (American winter/Australian summer). It was a wonderful trip. Sightseeing, meeting new people, visiting 826-inspired organizations, going on a few dates with the men from Down Under. Actually, I have never heard anyone from Australia call it ‘Down Under.’ I think it annoys them, along with Fosters being considered their national beer.

I came back to Australia because I appreciated how genuine and rough around the edges the people are. They are bawdy and loud, hilarious with a devil may care attitude I find refreshing. I always know where I stand with an Australian. Either you like me or you can’t be bothered with me. And there will be drinks. Copious amounts of alcohol - beer, wine or liquor - that help determine if you love me or hate me. Luckily I can hold my own when drinking with Australians so they like me. My liver always hates me after being with Australians but sacrifices must be made in the name of travel.

I love the accents. I’ll admit it. Crocodile Dundee was one of the first VHS tapes we owned when I was a kid and I fell in love with Paul Hogan’s accent. Srangely not Paul Hogan but the accent and the idea that there could be someplace so far away. This is my second visit to Australia though I have yet to make it to the Outback, which I am fascinated and afraid of. Anyplace that holds the most species of poisonous animals and snakes is not a place to visit in a pair of designer sneakers, joggers and a fabulous man-throw. Deadly, cat sized spiders and brown snakes do not care about my fashion sense.

Opera House at Night

So five years later, I come to Australia again, first Sydney, then the capital city of Canberra, then Melbourne. I really like Sydney, placed on the water, gleaming and golden city of the future. Sydney is the city of The Matrix. Seriously. It’s the city they use for The Matrix which gives it a special place in my heart. Abnormally clean downtown and frighteningly orderly. Once again, there is no chance I am going to get lost in this city. Mainly due to the useful street signs that point you in the directions you need to go. Ferries, buses and trains with clear intercom systems and helpful staff. When I ask one of the train staff for help, I expect to get an eye roll and huff we get in the states, especially because she is looking at her cell phone. Instead, she puts her phone away, smiles, asks me where I need to go, and then points me in the right direction. In NYC, I’d be lucky if my question received notice or a slap. 

House in Sydney

This go round, I stay at the Cambridge Hotel in Surry Hills. I am right down the block from Oxford Street, the major gay neighborhood in Sydney. Sadly, like every city I have visited recently, the gay neighborhood is slowly become just another neighborhood. I know this because of the preponderance of young, drunk straight women in all the gay bars. Also my late night meal is taken at a place called Mr. Crackles. Mr. Crackles specializes in all pork products EXCEPT bacon. Ribs, hotdogs, pork belly sandwiches, and I shit you not, a cup of cracklings. Not french fries, fried pork skin. This almost makes up for the bacon-free menu. Almost. I think no self respecting tight pants wearing gay man is going to frequent Mr. Crackles. I am wrong. At 1 am, the place is packed. Sydney gay men are their own special people.

I spend my first evening having dinner with friends Alan and Viv, their son Zacha and his partner, Kate. Alan is one of the founding members of the Sydney Story Factory and the Martian Embassy, an 826-inspired organization here. It is a nice way to begin this section of the journey, an Italian meal and a discussion about the curator/artist relationship in the art world. We talk about the term “outsider” artist and what does it really mean anymore. Is it outsider art if you know you are creating outsider art? Does an autistic person creating art create for recognition or to just create? Do they consider themselves an 'outsider?' It is glorious. 

This took me 2 days to finish!

Scary Pelican

I spend most of my time in Sydney wandering around, taking in the sights, attempting to recognize places I had visited before. I walk through the Botanical Gardens, huge and sprawling, filled with plants I have never seen before and beautiful sculptures. It sits right on the water, giving you the best of both worlds land and sea, The Gardens feel like they are the size of Central Park in NYC. Then a stroll into the Sydney Opera House, one of my favorite buildings during the day or at night. It screams art and culture. I go back to the Fish Market and gorge myself on what seems like 5 pounds of seafood, boiled, backed and fried. What I think are pelicans stroll through the Fish Market’s parking lot, unafraid of humans and waiting to snatch food from unsuspecting tourists. The bird is strange looking and  menacing up close. I wonder if it is strong enough to lift the the Asian woman trying to take a selfie with is so they can feed on her later. I don’t stand around to find out. I walk to the ANZAC Bridge and I enjoy Darling Harbour and Pyrmont Bay.

The ANZAC Bridge

I have started calling lines queues. 

All I drink are Flat Whites. 

I take ferries for public transport instead of trains or buses because it seems that’s what the Sydney-ite on-the-go would do.

Chesty - tank top in American

I begin to think I can be a Sydney-ite but realize my large black man legs can not comfortably fit into the tight pants the men are wearing. I mean second skin tight. Nothing is left to the imagination. Wallets, phones, keys, underwear lines are all noticeable in a way that makes me wonder if breathing is difficult. Don’t get me wrong, I like tight pants but I also like a little mystery when I meet an eligible gentleman. There is no mystery happening in Sydney. On the other end, since the winter weather here is still about 60 - 70 degrees, men are also wearing shorts. Australian male shorts are strange. They are not stylish or tight but like oversized boxer shorts with large leg openings. Twice I have been treated to unfettered free-balling from a gentleman sitting across from me. It seems underwear are not needed with Australian shorts. Like I said, mystery.

The Three Sisters

I go on a tour of the Blue Mountains with about 20 people through Oz Trails. It is a full day excursion to one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. The blue color of the mountains comes from the oils in the eucalyptus trees that pepper the mountain side. It is spectacular, with mammoth rock formations, rainforests, and exotic animals. And it’s all part of the city of Sydney. I learn the city of Sydney is massive, made up of a lot of different neighborhoods that call themselves suburbs but don’t act like suburbs. No separate mayors or city councils as far as I can tell but all part of the larger whole that makes up the city.

On Lincoln's Rock

My fellow tour people and I are entertained by Jayson, our tour guide, who talks quickly with an air of snark, but lovable snark. Jayson is good with people, making the adults and the children on the bus feel comfortable. He keeps calling us his tour family. It is a very multicultural family with people from Germany, Italy, Mexico, Japan and America. He tells very bad jokes and is entertaining which is good because I have no urge to deeply meet any of the people on my tour. The only person on the tour whose name I know is Manuel from Mexico. Manuel is young and suave and the young single women on the tour all want to sit next to him.

Okay, I did too but I could tell I was too old for Manuel because he smiles at me only when he needs to pass me on the bus. The others are nice people but we all know we are trapped on an eight hour tour and then we will go our separate ways. We are here to see the Blue Mountains not make Facebook friends. Well, Manuel from Mexico is on the tour to pick up women. The rest of us are here for the view.

A wonderful last night with meat

I spend my last night in Sydney with Alan and Viv again and we are joined by their oldest son's fiancee from Brazil and a couple from Japan. It is another wonderful dinner discussing the connections between Portugal and Japan. This topic of conversation starts because three of us have ordered a Portuguese dish of swords covered in meat. Besides the ethics of using the meat swords to fight each other, we discuss mental health, the conference on mental health issues Viv is putting together, and a festival being held in Sydney called The Big Anxiety to highlight mental illness with exhibits giving patrons the opportunity to experience different mental states such as schizophrenia, psychosis, and depression. I marvel again at the openness to discuss difficult issues many in the US want to turn a blind eye to. I voice this aloud to Alan and Viv who, without meaning to say ‘yes you Americans need to get your shit together around mental health' tells me how several of their major national politicians will be there in support of the conference and the festival. I have another glass of the Pinot Noir from the Yarra Valley of Australia and think to myself that even their wines have their shit together. Then I remember the tent city in Sydney's financial district and I think Australia and America may not be so different in their shit.

Next stop: Canberra, the DC of Australia (their words not mine).

Paramatta City Hall

Harbour Bridge at night