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 1st.
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.
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