Australia - Day 8A - Auld Lang Syne

1/1/17, “Auld Lang Syne”

Sydney (Kingsford Smith) Airport, New South Wales, Australia (SYD)

“Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?”  That rhetorical question are the first words out of my mouth every New Year, the first line of the Auld Lang Syne.  It is a heartened reminder that, even as we celebrate a New Year, we must not forgot the old, the good old days that trigger a sense of nostalgia because, they, too, began this exact same way, as a New Year on January 1^st.  That is what is meant when the song itself, “Should old acquaintance be forgot and auld lang syne.”  It literally translates to “old long since”, but it means “the good old days.”  This is how we know that we are remembering the old before we are celebrating the new.

The chorus is an imploration to drink to the old days, “We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.”  By drinking to auld lang syne, we ensure that the good old days are never forgot, and, I always make it a point to never forget the old, both the good and the bad, even as we ring in the New Year.  New Year’s is always a happy time, because, no matter how bad the preceding year was, it brings hope of a better year.  It is the very first page of a blank notebook, and any story can be written in the book.  That is why we celebrate and drink to oblivion, so that we can enter the year with nothing but the highest of expectations and sheer joy, while we still remember auld lang syne with a growingly distant fondness.

I suppose this is fitting on a more literal level, too, as I am about to fly to Los Angeles, where I will be meeting up with two very old and dear acquaintances over the next two days, friendships that go back to 2012 or earlier.  This is the triumphant airport entry, but it would be premature to do the final reckoning of this trip, yet, as the time in California will be an integral factor of the final reckoning.  My time in Australia was a brilliant success.  I did what I set out do, checking three Goals off of my list (all Seven Continents, all Seven Natural Wonders of the World, and all 27 Olympic Stadiums).  I had an amazing time in Tasmania, and I had an epic NYE celebration in Sydney as I rang in the New Year.  It is that epic celebration that I will now recount.

After I closed, I made my way back to the hotel, stopping outside the Museum to use their Wi-Fi to publish.  I had a bit of an issue figuring with charging my phone, and I would want a full charge before I headed out for the night.  In the end, I got up to 90%, which would be kind of tight, and it meant I would have to conserve battery power.  Around 5 PM, I started getting ready, putting on my white tie and tails in my annual New Year’s outfit.  It is an outfit I have so that I can wear it exactly once a year.  The fact that I was going to the opera tonight made it all the more appropriate.  Since I was in tails, I could only bring what would fit in my pockets, carrying a shoulder bag with tails being utterly inappropriate.  That also meant that the water bottle would stay at home, but it had done its job, coming to all seven continents with me, and, besides, I would want a bottle of champagne for the midnight picture, anyway.

I walked to the restaurant, gathering some sideways looks from people who thought it was more of a costume than an actual outfit.  Most people were wearing casual clothes, but there were a few people wearing what I’d call “creative black tie”.  I was soon at the restaurant, and they seated me with the dignified service I’d expect of Australia’s finest restaurant.  They had noted in my booking my 7:45 opera and would provide service on the proper timetable accordingly.  First they brought the complimentary glass of champagne, then bread and butter, all of which was heavenly.  For my meal, I ordered bug tails (like a mini lobster) for my appetizer and the steak for my main course.  I had a martini with each course and a second piece of bread between the courses.

The bug tail was for more exquisite than its name suggests, and the steak was as exceptional as I would have expected.  It was then time for dessert, and I chose the chef’s speciality coconut sorbet, which, of course, was far more complicated than just a scoop of sorbet.  It was divine.  After that, it was espresso and petit fours, which were on a bad of barley seeds.  I asked if the barley seeds were edible.  He said that they were but looked at me with a sidelong glance as if to say that no one eats them.  They were, quite possibly, the best part of the meal.

After dinner, I walked towards the opera house, smoking a Partagas on the way.  Australia has an interesting smoking culture, which permits smoking almost anywhere outdoors, even crowded and confined spaces.  I could not imagine being allowed to smoke in Times Square on NYE.  Multiple security guards confirmed this, no one questioning my cigar as I waited in line for security or went through the security tent.  However, I was also cognizant of the “asshole factor”, and I did not want to be a complete asshole, but, ironically, this open smoking culture made that more difficult, since there were no designated outdoor smoking areas.  Well, here at the airport, there is an entire outdoor smoking terrace, which is wonderful.

Okay, so, continuing with my story.  I was soon at the opera house and had to ditch my cigar before going in.  I was certainly the best-dressed person in the audience, but the (male) performers were dressed exactly as I was.  I took my seat and took my ceremonial picture, which I had some difficulty posting, due to the extra demand on the cell towers and Wi-Fi at this time.  The performances were delightful, and the best part was the emcee who delivered a riproaring monologue with a litany of topical humor.  There were some pieces I recognized, like the William Tell Overture, but more pieces that I did not.  No matter, it was all wonderful.

At intermission, I got a shot of gin to take outside, as the 9 PM fireworks (the “family fireworks”, as they call them) shot up over the Harbor Bridge, well-visible from the foyer.  This would be the idea spot for midnight.  Then came the second act, just as wonderful as the first act.  They did an “in memoriam” video reel that left hardly a dry eye in the house.  At end of the performance, they brought everyone out to sing “Auld Lang Syne” and invited the audience to enjoin, which I did gladly.  That was followed by the unmistakable music and dancers associated with the “Can Can”.  That was it, and it was time to go outside.  I had to strategize what I would want to do for midnight.

The outside foyer was the best area, and I would want a bottle of champagne for midnight, too, along with my cigar.  I am using the term champagne, but I mean “sparkling Australian brut”.  They sold it by the bottle there, and they said I could prepay for a bottle to pick up before midnight, but they would have to open it for me.  I got a double shot of gin to drink before midnight, and I accompanied it with a Por Larranga.  I was not the only person smoking out there, but it was crowded, and, again, I was aware of the asshole factor, despite the clear directive that smoking was permitted anywhere.

At one point, someone complained about my cigar in a very unpleasant way, but, not wanting to start a fight with him, I asked him where he’d like me to go instead.  That wasn’t good enough for him.  He wanted the fight, so I was willing to oblige.  He said that there people everywhere and that he didn’t want me to smoke it anywhere since there were people everywhere.  That was not his battle to fight.  If he complained and asked me nicely to move, I would have obliged.  If other people complained, I would have moved again.  He wanted the fight instead.  Since he didn’t tell me to move, I stayed put.  “You’re a real shithead, you know that?”  “Yes, I am,” I gladly replied, knowing that me owning that description would only further infuriate him.  I then saw him preparing his phone to take a picture of me.  Playing along, I stood in my most upright pose, looked right at him, and asked, “Do you have the flash on?”  He confirmed that he did.  Not being able to get a rise out of me, he was even more frustrated and let out some more epithets.  “You’re a special, entitled, fuckwad.”  Again, I gladly owned those titles.  Reader, the ironic part of this?  There was only about five minutes left in my cigar, and, as soon as he walked away from me, I was actually done with the cigar.

I ditched the cigar and went to the restroom.  On the way back up, I was stopped by an usher, who asked if I had a ticket for the opera.  I said that I did and asked if he wanted to see it.  He said there was no need, that I was the only person he saw dressed in tails all day, and he would have let me in even without a ticket.  It was now 11:30 PM, so I was making my final preparations.  Long story short, retrieving my bottle of champagne cost me my coveted spot on the foyer, but there was a side area where, if I got the exact right spot, the view would actually be slightly better.  I got that spot.  It was almost time.  My phone, cigar, and champagne were all ready.  The countdown began, and, at 10, we started counting aloud.

At the stroke of midnight, the fireworks erupted over the bridge.  It was glorious.  I took my sip of champagne, lit up my special Davidoff Year of the Rooster cigar, took my ceremonial pictures and started singing “Auld Lang Syne”, exactly like I do every year.  The Wi-Fi allowed me to post my pictures to social media, but texting my friends to wish them a Happy New Year was hampered by the over-burdened cell towers, which is what always happens at midnight on NYE.  I drank and smoked and wished anyone who made eye contact with me a Happy New Year, as I do every year.  I kept singing “Auld Lang Syne.”  I was happy, truly and completely happy, with nothing but the highest hopes for 2017.  It was truly a time for celebration.

As the festivities died down, I kept drinking my champagne and smoking my cigar, getting more and more toasted, long since having reached the point of “Utterly and Royally Toasted”.  It is the one time of the year I allow myself to get this toasted.  As I walked around, at one point, someone in re my tails, asked if I was going to sing for him.  “Sure, I can sing for you.  /Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?/”  He cut me off and wished me a Happy New Year, a greeting I gladly returned.  At that point, I started to make my way back finishing the bottle of champagne and leaving it on the recycling bin before I left the controlled area.

It was then time to stumble, and I mean stumble, back to the hotel.  Again, this is a definite part of the New Years’ tradition.  In case my reader lost count, that’s a glass of champagne, two martinis, three shots of gin, and a bottle of champagne (that I drank like it was a bottle of soda).  It was a good night, and it foreshadowed a good year.  By the time I got to my room, I was literally bumping into the walls, and I unceremoniously dumped my formalwear on the floor, knowing it would not be worn for another year.

I had smartly set my alarm before midnight so that I would not have to remember to do it in my drunken stupor.  “Epic and Official”, I told myself as crashed into my bed.  I slept fitfully, both due to the provocation that the porter in Macbeth says drink does and due to the text responses coming in all night.  It didn’t matter.  I would have fifteen hours to sleep on the plane.  Around 8 AM, I got up and packed and got dressed before grabbing a flat white and taking a taxi to the airport.  The airport was beyond crowded, and my flight was delayed, so I had a chance to go outside to the smoking terrace, where I sat down, lit up my 2012 Christmas Pipe (the same pipe I smoked on New Year’s Day in Quebec and Antarctica and Taipei), and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close and actually publish as Day 8A due to the fact that I am about to go back in time.

Australia - Day 7 - Another Year Over

12/31/16, “Another Year Over”

Sydney, New South Wales, Australia

In less than 12 hours, I will be watching the fireworks burst up over this bridge, as I ring in 2017 from the iconic Sydney Opera House.  By any measure, this has been a most interesting year.  By the numbers, it brought me to 5 continents, 18 countries, 9 Olympic Stadiums, 3 Natural Wonders of the World, 3 New7 Wonders of the World, the site of one of the Wonders of the Ancient World, and more World Heritage Sites and National Park Sites than I can recall.  By the headlines, it is a year that saw the exit of Britain from the European Union, the election of our first President without any prior political or military experience, an associated surge in right-wing populism around the world, and more celebrity deaths than I care to remember.  It is a year that I thought would never end, yet also somehow went by too quick.

I am now smoking my 2011 Christmas Pipe, my traditional New Year’s Eve pipe, the same one I smoke in Quebec, Port Lockroy, and Hong Kong.  It also the same pipe I smoked in view of Mount Everest at Syangboche.  Soon, once the fireworks erupt, I will be able to include Sydney in the list of iconic places where I have rang in the New Year, and, a few days, later, this trip will be forever remembered as one of the greatest trips I have ever taken.  It has been a resounding success on every level, but I just wish I had more time.

As for the year itself, let’s review.  It began in Hong Kong, and, when that trip came to a close, two very interesting things were going on.  The Oscar race was about to began, and the Iowa caucuses would be not much later.  At that point, I assumed that Spotlight would win Best Picture.  It did.  As for the Presidential nominations, I did not know what to think.  Hillary, as much as I hated her, seemed the sure favorite on the Democratic side, but the Republican side was not clear.  I did not see how Trump could possibly win, but I also did not see how anyone else could beat him.  Out of a sense of amusement, more than anything else, I began to root for him.  Somehow, miraculously, he never faltered in the polls, and he kept winning primaries.  By the time the Oscars came around, he certainly looked like the frontrunner.

As for the Oscars, I saw them all, not just the Best Picture nominees, but every single nominee from Foreign Language Film to Production Design to Documentary Short.  I saw all 50-some nominated films.  I watched the Oscars, celebrating Mark Rylance’s talent and Leo “finally” winning his Oscar.  I cheered when Spotlight beat out Revenant and Big Short.

Meanwhile, my travels continued.  Mexico, Peru, South Carolina Flanders, New Mexico, and I kept going, while Trump and Clinton kept winning primaries.  That brought me to the summer, which I began in Greece, at which point Trump was considered the presumptive nominee.

I have previously recounted the summer in great detail as a whole, and I do not want to be repetitive, but I will focus on my trip to England, which took shortly before Brexit.  The whole country was talking about it, and I was glad to join in the conversation, at roadside tea stands, at pubs, wherever anyone was talking about it.  The trip was a letdown, but my return last month made up for it, as did the Fantastic Beasts premiere.  When I got back, the vote soon occurred, and I stayed up late drinking gin and smoking Cubans as the returns confirmed the results.  When I went back to England last month, they were still talking about the fallout.

After I celebrated my 29^th Birthday in Rome, by the time I got back, the Oscar race had started again, but the general election was of more interest.  Trump embarrassed himself at the debates and with old audio recordings.  That was when I stopped wearing my Trump hat, when I learned the news on the way to Texas to say “Mainland US Complete” again.  However, remarkably, Clinton managed to embarrass herself more, and, by the time Election Day came, I was wearing my Trump hat again.  I prepared for his humiliating defeat.  Then the returns started coming in.  When Virginia was too close to call, and he was winning in all the red-tinted swing states, I started to realize he might actually have a chance.  I started doing the math.  Before long, my math confirmed the impossible.  He was actually going to win.  He did.  I cheered as he made his victory speech and stayed up until 4 AM watching the returns.

The next day, the transition began, and the Oscar race heated up.  As of now, Manchester by the Sea is my favorite, but La La Land will probably win.  When I get home, there are still plenty of movies to watch, and there will be lots more once the nominations come out.  I did my England return, the right way this time, saw Everest, and then met Raymond in Kathmandu.  We had a great time together in Nepal before I went to Qatar.  I got home, and then the calendar was just one page.  I finished up my school year, and then it was time to leave for Australia, and now I’m here, in Sydney, with only 10 hours left in the year.  I have recounted the details of this trip above, so I suppose I need to recount the details since my last entry.

After I closed, I walked back to my hotel, eating my dessert on the way.  I passed out almost as soon as I got home and slept in quite a bit, having given up the idea of any activities today.  It would be a day of pure relaxation and enjoyment.  I woke up around 9:30 AM and went to the hotel restaurant for dinner, opting for their signature breakfast platter, along with two flat whites.  The breakfast was certainly interesting, and, after breakfast I headed out towards the Opera House.

I wanted to properly claim it as a World Heritage Site before I closed out for the year, so I lit up an H. Upmann and headed over there.  I learned two things as I got closer.  First, almost everything was closed off or access-restricted.  Second, smoking was allowed anywhere outdoors.  That was good for my NYE celebrations, but it would make the present a little more difficult.  I learned that I could get a view of the Opera House from the harbor if I passed through some checkpoints, so I did just that.  I got through security with no issues and walked along the harbor, shocked that people were dressed like this was a day at the beach, though I guess it was appropriate for the 90-degree weather.  I wondered if I would be too hot in my formalwear tonight.

I took my ceremonial pictures first at the Harbour Bridge, where the fireworks will occur, than at the Opera House.  I realized that this would be the perfect place to write my year-end entry, but, unfortunately, I didn’t have my 2011 Christmas Pipe, so I had to head back.  I stopped for souvenirs on the way, getting everything I needed, and I was soon back at my hotel.  I reorganized and then headed back to the harbor.  I found spot in view of the bridge, where I sat down, lit up my 2011 Christmas Pipe and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, along with closing out 2016.  It’s been an interesting year in many ways, and this trip has been a great one, but 2017 has some great trips lined up, too, and I can only hope that it will be a better year than this one.  Here’s to auld lang syne.

Australia - Day 6 - Sydney 2000

12/30/16, “Sydney 2000” (Goal 8/17 Complete)

Sydney Olympic Park, New South Wales, Australia

I did it.  I fucking did it.  All 27 Olympic Stadiums.  Not, “I’ve seen all 27 Olympic Stadiums”, no, I can now say, “I have set foot inside all 27 Olympic Stadiums.”  It was no easy task, given that it required going to 24 cities in 20 countries on 5 continents.  It required a great deal of effort, not only in planning the trips, but also in getting inside each stadium.  It was a goal that was only realized through a combination of determination, luck, and, sometimes, even skullduggery.  Each Stadium had its own story, its own adventure to match the uniqueness of each of the Games, and it is those stories that I will recount in this entry.  First, though, I will need to move to get out of the rain.

The view hasn’t changed much, but the perfect view I had of the Stadium’s logo is not possible from the protected area.  I am out of the rain, though, and I can now comfortably recount the adventures that got me to the other 26 Stadiums.  Unlike the previous two times I did this so far, I will recount them by chronological order of the Games they hosted, rather than by the order in which I visited them, though, of course, I will save today’s adventure to be treated last, and, again, I will do this from memory, rather than looking up my previous entries.

Athens 1896.  I first saw that Stadium in 2004 when we did our family trip to Greece in anticipation of the upcoming Games.  During that trip, it was closed to the public, so I could not go inside, though I saw it from the outside.  When I returned this summer, I paid the nominal access fee and was able to set foot inside.  That was relatively easy.

Paris 1900.  That was a little trickier.  It was during my 2013 Eurotrip, and I had arranged to spend a morning in Paris to see the two Stadiums there.  It was no longer in use, and there were security guards, but they didn’t seem to car if I wandered on to the track.  After I took my picture though, which seemed to be forbidden, I was followed by someone who seemed to be working at the Stadium, but he didn’t say anything.  He just started following me until I got back to my car.  That was odd, but I got my picture inside.

St. Louis 1904.  That was the first one I ever set foot inside.  It wasn’t even planned, since I hadn’t begun this adventure yet, but, when I went to Missouri with my friend in 2012, during our last day there, I suggested we go to the Olympic Stadium.  I didn’t even know where it was, and I found out that it was now the track for WUSL, and it was under construction.  That seems to be a common theme.  Many of these Stadiums that I visited were under construction, which actually makes it easier to get into the Stadium if you know what you’re doing.  The gates were unlocked, so we just walked in.  The workers gave us one look before ignoring us.  That was that.

London 1908.  Okay, so that was a bit of an oddball, since the Stadium no longer exists, and the site is now occupied by BBC offices.  However, there was outdoor plaza where the Olympic track used to be, and I was able to take my ceremonial picture there, with a proper Olympic memorial wall in the background.  That was during my second trip to London in 2014, and my plan was to see visit all three London Stadiums in one day.  As I will be recounting, I went 2/3.

Stockholm 1912.  That was a fun one.  I went the Baltics last May with the express purpose of visiting the Stockholm and Helsinki Stadiums, both of which offered tours or access to the public.  However, Stockholm had a bit of a hitch.  During my day in Sweden, there was a soccer match at the Stadium, and I was told that access would be offered after the match.  That was not the case.  I got to the Stadium after the match had ended, and there was no staff in sight.  However, the fences were low, and it was possible to climb them.  Not easy, but possible.  As I began to climb the fence, some fans saw me.  They were still drinking after the game.  Rather than tell me to stop, they gave me a hand and helped me climb the fence.  That got me inside.  Getting out was much easier.  The 1916 Games were cancelled due to the War.

Antwerp 1920.  Well, that’s a good one.  I tried to go during my Eurotrip, but, of the six Stadiums I saw during Eurotrip, this was the only one where I could not get inside.  I would wind up having to return in April of this year, timing my visit to coincide with a soccer match so that I knew I could get inside.  Figuring out their schedule and how to get tickets was no easy task, since they don’t sell online to foreigners.  I had to arrange for a ticket to be held for me to purchase when I got there.  Once I was there, it was easy, as it was just a soccer match.

Paris 1924 (the Chariots of Fire Stadium).  That was also during my Eurotrip, and, it was simply unlocked and unguarded.  It was an active soccer stadium, but I had no trouble setting foot on the field.

Amsterdam 1928.  Again, that was during Eurotrip.  The afternoon I got there, there happened to be a track meet going on, open to the public, no tickets required.  That was fortuitous, and I was easily able to get in and walk around and take my pictures.

Los Angeles 1932.  That was a bit of a challenge, since I had to email ahead of time to arrange access when I went in 2012, but the director just put my name on a security list, which was all it took for me to be allowed inside.  It is the USC Football Stadium, and they were preparing the Stadium for their next game, so I had no issue walking around if my name was on the list.

Berlin 1936.  That was the first Stadium I visited during my Eurotrip, and they offer access to the public for a small fee.  That was no problem to access at all.  The 1940 and 1944 Games were cancelled due to the War.

London 1948.  Again, that was during my 2014 trip to London, and while the original Stadium was torn down, they built a new one in the same place.  It is better known as Wembley Stadium, the hallowed football grounds, as they know it in England.  They offered guided tours, and that allowed me to set foot inside.

Helsinki 1952.  That was the other half of last year’s trip to the Baltic, and that was easy, too.  You have to pay to go up the tower, but the guard let me into the Stadium and sit in the stands for free.  It was glorious, having the whole Stadium to myself.

Melbourne 1956.  Well, I have recently recounted that adventure, the cricket test I saw there four days ago.

Rome 1960.  That required a fair bit of luck.  When I planned my birthday trip to Rome this year, I had no idea how I would get inside the Stadium.  Fortunately, though, they would later announce a soccer match during one of the days of my trip, so I was able to get tickets for that and get inside the Stadium, at least until the pouring rain began and caused us to evacuate the Stadium, but I had gotten my picture by then.

Tokyo 1964.  That’s another good story.  It was May 2014, when I was originally planning on going to the Baltics, but Tokyo winning the 2020 Games and announcing their intention to demolish the Stadium to build a new one in the same spot necessitated me pushing the Tokyo trip up to 2014 and the Baltics back to 2015.  They were supposed to continue to offer tours of the Stadium until demolition began in July, so I figured my trip in May should be fine.  That turned out to not be the case.  Instead, I got there, and it was closed.  I walked around the Stadium, checking every gate until I found one that was unlocked.  I was able to get inside the Stadium and, while not quite to the stands, I was definitely inside the Stadium and could take my ceremonial picture with the field.

Mexico City 1968.  That was another one that required two attempts.  First, when I went to Mexico in 2013 (the Paricutin trip), I was told the Stadium was closed, and I was not about to argue with the police there.  Instead, I wound up returning in 2015, again coordinating it to be there for a soccer match.  I took my ceremonial picture and left before the match had even started.

Munich 1972.  Maybe that’s the best story of all.  That, too, was during the Eurotrip.  It was the reason why I call any time I am racing to get somewhere before it closes a “Munich Run”.  I knew the Stadium offered access until 8 PM, and I had planned to arrive there at 7 PM, but things did not go as planned.  I wound up getting stuck in traffic and having to race at 150 mph along the autobahn to make it there in time.  I got to the Olympic Park around 7:45 PM and then had to proceed on foot to the Stadium, running at times, literally getting there at 7:58 PM.  They told me I was too late.  I begged and offered them a very large amount of cash.  In the end, they relented and let me inside for the regular access price.  The picture I took there shows my sheer joy at having gotten inside.

Montreal 1976.  That was the weekend after I got my new passport in 2012 and decided to drive up to Canada for the weekend.  Getting to Montreal was quite an adventure both due to the car battery constantly dying and issues at border control, but, once I got there, they offered guided tours, so it was easy to get inside.

Moscow 1980.  That was during my spontaneous trip in 2013 to Moscow for the weekend.  Still being a rookie at this, I had no idea how I would get inside.  I had arranged for a tour guide for the day, so, when I got there, I asked him.  He told me that there was a soccer match going on that day, and he could get tickets for us if I wanted.  They were expensive, but it was worth it to get inside.  That was easy enough, and, once we were inside, watching a Russian soccer match was quite an experience.  Los Angeles 1984 was the same Stadium as the Los Angeles 1932 Stadium.

Seoul 1988.  That was another adventure.  It was almost exactly a year ago, at the beginning of this year, during my Christmas trip to the Orient.  Again, I had no idea how to get inside, but, through skullduggery, I figured it out.  I snuck in, but that was not enough.  I had only gotten to the maintenance area, and I could not figure out how to get into stands.  I eventually found a maintenance worker, but he spoke no English.  I was able to communicate to him my desire, and he let me into the stands.  There I was.  The picture I took there shows even more overwhelming joy than the Munich one.

Barcelona 1992.  That was during my birthday trip in 2014, and it was my first stop during that trip.  I went straight to the Stadium, and I knew that there was small area of the stands left open to the public.  After circling the whole Stadium, I found it, and I was inside.

Atlanta 1996.  That was the second Stadium I visited back in 2012, when I went there for a sci-fi convention.  Again, my quest had not yet formally begun, and I only went there by happy coincidence.  The Stadium was known by a different name: Turner Field.  I went to a Braves game as part of the trip, only later learning that that was actually the Olympic Stadium.  Sydney 2000.  Well, that’s where I am now, and I will recount that adventure in due course.

Athens 2004.  That was the hardest and most important.  I had seen it when it was being built in 2004, but, of course, I hadn’t gone inside, so I returned this year to do that.  I had been told the Stadium was now abandoned, so I had been planning to sneak in, by any means necessary.  I was so close to my goal at this point that I was willing to risk getting caught.  In the end, I found an open access point that led to a groundskeeper office inside the Stadium.  I asked if I could take a picture, and he let me.  It was only about fifteen minutes before someone else kicked me out.

Beijing 2008.  That was the other half of my 2015 Christmas trip, and it was the first place I went after checking in to my hotel.  Covered with snow, it was still opened to the public, and access was granted for a nominal fee.  Getting to Beijing (and procuring a visa) was hard, but getting inside the Stadium was easy.

London 2012.  That was my one failure during my visit in 2014.  I tried so hard to find a way in, but it was impossible.  It was under construction, and security was way too tight to sneak in.  When I returned to London this summer, tours still were not being offered, and my car accident precluded an attempt to sneak in.  That was why I had to preface my trip to Nepal last month with a visit to England, where I finally was able to book the (self-guided) tour.  I got in.  I was home.

Rio 2016.  That was the most exciting one.  I went for the actual Opening Cermonies this summer, but I had my ticket stolen.  After spending an hour filing police reports and waiting for a new ticket, they finally let me in, and I was there when the Acting President of Brazil formally declared the Games open, and the stadium became a Stadium.  That’s all of them, no holes in the list, and all that remains is to recount today’s adventure, but, first, I need to light up a new cigar, as this first one was expended as I recounted those visits.

After I closed last night, I published my entry and photos and then had my ice cream before going to sleep.  I didn’t even get two full REM cycles before I woke up slightly after 3 AM.  I got ready and headed down, where the receptionist called me a taxi.  It was a short ride to the airport, and I went to check in with Qantas.  My reservation did not come up.  Uh oh.  I looked at my booking to confirm I had the right time and date.  I did.  It was the airline that was wrong.  I was flying Virgin, not Qantas, so I walked to the other end of the terminal, and Virgin had my reservation.  It was an easy process to go through security.  There was an outdoor smoking area on the other side.  I knew I would only have 20 minutes with the cigar, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.  I chose my cheapest cigar, a Nub, and smoked it until I had to ditch it to board.

I fell asleep almost as soon as we took off, thinking to myself, “I’m going home”, in reference to the phrase I like to use at Olympic Stadiums, since the Olympics are my home as much as anything else.  When they brought the drink cart, I asked for a black coffee while I was still half-asleep, but the coffee was left undrunk, as I fell right back sleep.  I drank it lukewarm with the muffin they had also left me.  Soon enough, we were making our descent, and we landed in Sydney ahead of schedule.

It was 9 AM, so I had plenty of time.  My tour was not until 1 PM, but I was hoping to get there for the 11 AM tour.  Nothing else mattered today.  The name of this entry is “Sydney 2000” for a reason.  I got a flat white and headed to the taxi queue.  As we drove to the hotel, I kept repeating that phrase in my head, “I’m going home.”  This would be the perfect place to end my quest.  It was the first Games I watched so intensely, and it was the Games that cemented my obsession with the Olympics.  I was going home.

When I got to the hotel, my room was not ready.  The hotel was next to an old playhouse, and it was beautifully decorated to match.  It was 10 AM, and they said check-in was not until 2 PM, but they could try to have my room ready earlier.  After some back and forth, I finally got her to say that it would be at least an hour before it was ready, longer than I wanted to wait.  She told me where I could change into my casual clothes, and I did just that.  I took a cab to the Stadium.  I was going home.  I could still remember the Opening Ceremony, all the pomp and circumstance, Cathy Freeman lighting the cauldron, and the Governor-General announcing the Games open.  I was ready for this.

We got to the Stadium, and I saw people going in for their tour.  I asked if they could put me on the earlier tour, and they could.  They also confirmed that the tour would take us to the stands and end on the field.  It was marvelous.  I was ready.  When the tour began, we could see the field, and I was tempted to just take my picture and be done with it, but I wanted the picture to be the last one, at the bottom of the field.  She showed us how the stands can retract, and I wondered at the engineering ingenuity of it.

We then went to the top, where she took us out to the stands.  I now had a dilemma.  If I took a selfie here, and I wanted to, that would count as my picture in the Stadium, so, it was either claim it now or forgo the picture.  I took the ceremonial picture.  As soon as my finger touched the shutter button, I lost all control of my emotions.  I had done it.  My mission was successful.  I was off to the side to be alone in my overwhelming sense of joy.  I had been working four years on this, and I did it.  I fucking did it.  “All 27 Olympic Stadiums.  Goal 8/17 Complete.”  I was home.

I posted my collage, and we continued the tour, going to the Coca-Cola private suite, fitting with my shirt.  We also saw the member’s areas and the locker room.  We ended it on the field.  As soon as we stepped out, I could see in my mind’s eye Cathy Freeman running down the track to win Gold in the 400m.  It was glorious.  That was that.

Our tour was over, and I headed outside, where I sat down in view of the Stadium, lit up a Montecristo, and proceeded to write this entry.  Once the rain started, I moved to the covered area, and, after my Montecristo, I switched to a Vegas Robaina.  On that note, I will now close so that I can head over to the Aquatics arena, where an upstart kid named Michael Phelps was overshadowed by the “Human Thorpedo.”  I still remember those races, just as I remember seeing the GOAT himself in Rio this summer.  It’s been quite an adventure, and I cannot even begin to express the pride (and relief) I feel in completing it.

Sydney, New South Wales, Australia

When I smoked my 2010 Christmas Pipe, the pipe I am now smoking, in Kathmandu a month ago, I said that it beat out all the smokings of this pipe on my previous Christmas trips, in Quebec, in Istanbul, and on the Bransfield Strait.  The smokings in Nassau or Belmopan or Lake Placid (or Port Antonio) do not even come close.  However, here in Sydney, after this triumphant day, the bar has been raised once more.  For everything that went wrong yesterday, today was the opposite, and it was a glorious triumph.  Even the dinner selection, despite my stupidity in not having made a reservation somewhere months ago, was better than last night’s.  The weather was far milder, and it was a day filled with joy, rather than exhaustion.

This was, by far, the most important day of the trip, and my success today leaves tomorrow completely open and unplanned until the NYE festivities begin at 6 PM.  It lets me relax tomorrow and enjoy my big night.  “Relax” and “enjoy” are not words that I usually associate with my travels, rather more often associating those words with a weekend in New York binge-watching TV or movies, but I earned it.  I fucking earned it.  I had to manage my way inside 27 Stadiums for today’s triumph, and it is impossible to express in words how it feels.  This smoking of the 2010 Christmas Pipe is celebratory like no other smoking has been.  Whenever I think of the pipe, it will always be this smoking that takes pole position on the list.

Tomorrow’s entry will be accompanied by my 2011 Christmas Pipe, as is my wont to do for my NYE entries, and that list will be in good company, but this was something special.  Of all the 17 Goals I set out for myself, this was the most meaningful, other than the initial goals of every US and Canada state/province/territory and WHS.

Setting foot inside all 27 Olympic Stadiums, is that even something anyone else has ever done?  I would not be shocked if I was the first person to have ever done it.  Who goes to the WUSL track with the 1904 Olympics in mind?  Who does that and sets foot inside the plaza at the BBC building where the 1908 Stadium used to be?  Actually, take those two and in the Rio 2016 Stadium, which can only be counted after the Games were formally opened this summer, and those three alone might be a unique accomplishment.  Beyond those three, I would think Athens 2004 would be enough to ensure the uniqueness.  Add in all the other Stadiums, all 27 of them, and I am more and more convinced of my claim, that I may very well be the first person to have set foot inside all 27 Olympic Stadiums, and that’s saying a lot.

Today was a great day, and today’s accomplishment is one that I will remember for the rest of my life.  It also means that I will probably have to go to Tokyo in 4 years to see what new talent joins the old and to renew my accomplishment.  Okay, so I left off as I was about to head to the Aquatics Centre.

After I closed, I made my way down Olympic Boulevard, and I was reminded of the Olympic Park in Rio.  This one was so much better and well-designed.  I soon arrived at the Aquatics Centre, which has family swimming pools now, so there was a bit of a line to get in.  The fee was much-reduced since I didn’t want to swim, and I headed straight to the stands for the Olympic pool.

All my memories of Rio came rushing back, of seeing Phelps secure his title as the Greatest (Olympian) of All Time, the GOAT, as did my memory of visiting the pool in Beijing a year ago, the same pool where he, miraculously, went 8 for 8.  This was where he swam his first Olympic race.  I hope my reader can understand why this was such a meaningful experience for me.  After I took my ceremonial pictures, I went to the café area to get lunch, opting for a meat pie, a lemonade, and cheese rings.  I could have ordered better, but it filled me up.  I then got a taxi back to the hotel, basking in my triumph as we drove back.

We were soon at the hotel, and my room was ready, my bags and suit already having been brought up.  I was shocked by the décor of the room.  In keeping with the 1930s Hollywood theme of the hotel, the room looked very much a like a movie star’s bedroom.  It took some getting used to in order to figure everything out, but I did eventually.  I treated myself to a seltzer and protein ball from the mini-bar, before attempting to take my nap, but frustration in figuring out my dinner plans got in the way.  Every place I wanted to go was fully booked for the night, and I was annoyed with myself for not having made reservations beforehand.

Eventually I settled on this place called “Canopy”, not far from the hotel, which was labeled as “Modern Australian”, a term I knew to mean fusion.  It was slightly after 5 PM, and my reservation was at 7:30 PM, but I wanted to stop at Parliament on my way to the restaurant.  That would give me exactly enough time for one REM cycle before heading out.

Like clockwork, I woke up 90 minutes after I fell asleep and then headed out, going first to Parliament to take my ceremonial picture.  I was shocked how small it was, since New South Wales is the most populous state in Australia.  I then walked through Hyde Park, enjoying the sites and stopping at the ANZAC War Memorial on the way to the restaurant.

The restaurant was not at all what I was expecting, given the ratings and the price points.  It was closer to a café than a fancy restaurant, but they had outdoor seating, and the weather was nice.  I sat down with a menu, and, ten minutes later, no one had come to take my drink order, which was absolutely unacceptable, especially given the small size of the restaurant and high staff-to-diner ratio.  To make matters worse, the menu was not at all what I expected.  Everything had a Mediterranean theme (be it Greek or Italian or Middle Eastern), but, I suppose, that is what fusion means.

I then realized that, given the Olympic triumph of today, Aussie-Greek fusion dishes would be extremely fitting.  I walked inside and asked what was going on.  The server was extremely apologetic for not coming out earlier, and he helped me with the menu.  I had an appetizer and main course in mind, and his recommendations confirmed what I was thinking, so I went with the assorted bread and Mediterranean dips (hummus, an olive concoction, and tzatziki sauce) for my appetizer and the crispy fish for my main course.  I chose well, and it was fitting to the day.  I also asked for a bottle of sparkling water and a glass of local red wine.  The breads came out soon enough, and they were delicious.

Halfway through the bread, he asked if I was ready for the fish.  I was.  There it was.  My first Official meal in New South Wales, and it was perfect.  All’s well that ends well, and that meal, like this trip, has worked out for the best.  I was happy.  Very happy.  After dinner, I got a dessert to go and walked back through the park.  I found a bench in view of the iconic fountain and church, where I sat down, lit up my 2010 Christmas Pipe, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can finish my pipe and head back to my hotel to publish.