Australia Day is the American equivalent of the 4th of July, only without the Independence resulting from an actual revolution, which somehow makes it yet another way in which this country lives in our shadow. Ooh, that statement is not going to win me many friends here...but then, I endured an awful lot of crap from the many drunken Aussies we encountered on our day long pub crawl in The Rocks. For the most part, Australians are very welcoming and gregarious, but pour a few beers down their throat, and they are all to happy to point out the ways in which America sucks, the notable exception being the two youngsters we met who explained in spittle drenched detail why Saddam was evil and had to be executed. He killed 160 people…how many have we killed in the name of democracy?
Nonetheless, I concede that Sydney definitely knows how to throw a party! Australia Day caps off the month-long Sydney Festival, a city-wide extravaganza of performance culture and prolific national pride. As always, the Sydney harbor was the centerpiece of the banquet. The landmark Harbour Bridge served as the finish line for a huge ferry race.Later, we encountered the crew of the 2nd place winners, tossing back beers with their mascot. They informed us, that one cannot consider themselves Australian unless one wears Bond’s underwear. Turns out, they all work for Bond’s.
Five pubs and A$300 later, Kevin and I simultaneously hit the proverbial wall and took our leave of our new found mates, who were showing no signs of slowing down. The 10-minute cab ride home was the best money I ever spent. My bladder never would have been able to endure the 45 minute bus ride. But then, might that have something to do with why it’s called ‘getting pissed’?
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