The 14-hour flight from LA to Sydney was not as taxing as I had feared, thanks to a good seat with plenty of legroom, techno-gadgets to keep me entertained and a couple of interesting seat-mates that kept the converstation engaging.  After departing LAX Saturday night, we eventually descended on Sydney early Monday morning Sydney time (no one really knew exactly what time it was, inclduing the flight attendants, because dayliught savings time threw additional confusion into an already confusing situation after we crossed the International Dateline.)  Sydney appeared outside my plane window as a gorgeous skyline dwarfed by deep blue waters of a very large and irregularly shaped bay defined by craggy cliffs and a few pristine white-sand beaches inserted here and there.  

 

Both LAX and the airport at Sydney were abuzz with dazed and confused Gay Games athletes carrying various tools of their trade:  tennis rackets, bicylce wheels, etc. -- and sporting various team uniforms. 

 

In the course of my journey from San Diego to Sydney, and in my first days in Sydney, I've run across men and women from many parts of the world with an eager glint in their eyes as they prepare to compete in a variety of sports:  a soccer player from Maryland, a figure skater from Chicago, a swimmer from Amsterdam, a tennis player from L.A., a hockey player from Vancouver, water polo players from Paris, triathletes from California.

 

Monday and Tuesday I spent enjoying whirlwind driving tours of the area courtesy of my delightful host Ian, mixed with plenty of walking, exploring downtown Sydney, and meals at sidewalk and beachfront cafes that remind me somewhat of the French Riviera except they have names like Manly (more on why it's called Many later), Dee Why and Bondi.  Ian's loft, where I am staying, is in a very cool neighborhood not too unlike San Diego's Gaslamp Quarter, with gorgeous veiws of the urban skyline and close proximity to plenty of shops and cafes.

 

On Tuesday I had a practice session on my first synthetic grass court ever (see picture), losing badly 1-6, 1-6 to a jolly, hefty Aussie named Phil who picked me up at the airport and is helping organize the tennis part of the Games.   I slipped around the sand-covered astro-turf like a  car on ice, but by the end of my thrashing I was starting to get a feel for it. 

 

On Wednesday I got accredited as a Gay Games athlete.  Confusion and pandemonium at the accreditation center gave way to order and goodwill as hundreds of volunteers worked hard to move the registrants through.  Excitement was in the air as hundreds of registering athletes speaking several different languages got their ID cards, picked up Gay Games souvenirs and gathered information about their upcoming events.

 

Thursday was Halloween and Aussies don't really celebrate that here, so I was a little more homesick than usual.  But a thrilling tour of Sydney Harbor courtesy of the Sydney Ports Corporation broke the spell.  The night ended with the eery site of hundreds of illuminated bats flying madly around the spire atop one of Sydney's highest skyscrapers, attracted to the building's lights.