Ok so the flight is long. I mean, really long. Mind numbing, disturbingly long. The type of long where you start to question whether you trust yourself around the emergency exit. You sit, eat, stretch, walk, eat again, watch a movie, doze off, wake up, check the flight tracker and you've still got 7 hours to go. That kind of long. It's a bit daunting. But I live in San Francisco, a flight to Europe, Asia, or Australia are all pretty comparable. Nonstop to Paris is 11, 14 to Hong Kong, and for this trip, the nonstop to Sydney was 15. Wear your compression stockings!
It was February when we flew to Oz, which in the Southern Hemisphere was their summer, equal to the Northern counterpart's August. It was warm, sunny and stunningly beautiful. Sydney is kind of a hybrid between London, Seattle and San Diego. Beautiful beaches full of beautiful people, marinas, harbors, water everywhere, and all with a subtle British flare. You'll hear "Take away" instead of "To go", "Good to you" as a salutation, mayo is the first choice over ketchup, and you might find yourself in a queue, which as foreign as it sounds, is simply a line. The mass transit is clean, efficient, on time but you'll still need to Pardon the Gap. "Pardon" instead of "Mind" just to slightly distance themselves from their British cousins.