It's Really Happening

It’s about the journey… not the destination.

Sure, you could take the ferry to Manly, a funky upscale surftown northeast of Sydney. Or, you could go at your own pace on the four-hour Manly Scenic Walkway (MSW). The first step for us was a bus ride about 30 minutes or so from city center, darting over the landmark Harbour Bridge with quick peeks at the tips of the famed Opera House and charming, hilly neighborhoods. At the second bridge, called the Spit, we hopped off (or, as they say here, “alighted” - new word for us) to let our feet do the rest of the job.

The MSW is a 9.5km path that winds along the varied coastline of the middle and north harbour between Spit Bridge and its namesake peninsular suburb (stay tuned for jokes about manliness), cutting right through the Sydney Harbour National Park. The walk showcases some of the city's best outdoorsy assets, including beaches, forests, rock formations, a waterfall, and even some wild animals.

Our walk began in lush tropical greenery, with large leaves encroaching on the path and small lizards eyeing us nervously as we brushed by. They seemed like a cross between iguanas and bearded dragons; we later found out they’re basically just that, called Eastern Water Dragons. With each sighting, the lizards got bigger and bigger. A sudden wave of fear washed over us. “Oh crap,” we thought, “We’re hiking in Australia, where everything can kill us.” But the anxiety soon subsided and we continued on, only slightly weary of impending doom from poisonous creatures.

Happy families played at the beaches and friendly locals passed us on the trail with warm smiles and waves. Weaving in and out of coves, climbing up and down wooden steps, and catching spectacular views was the standard. During the final stretch, we even stole glimpses of a few kookaburras (iconic Australian birds), who called attention to themselves with their monkey-like cackling.

Arriving in Manly brought on a change of scenery: hordes of tourists and locals (Manly men and women), most in swimsuits and flip-flops. Around town we saw a Manly Italian restaurant, Manly salon, and even a Manly pharmacy (their number-one seller is, I presume, testosterone). Wet-suited surfers were out catching waves and strutting their Manly-ness.

We were famished, so we bee-lined through the crowded esplanade and right into the first oceanside eatery serving fish and chips. The Fish Shack, with its chalkboard signage and hand-painted wall art, was proud to serve only sustainably-caught seafood, so we were immediately on-board. We opted for local Manly beers and the national specialty of barramundi - Kristen’s beer-battered and fried, mine grilled (perhaps not the Manly-est of choices). After a four-hour hike, it was exactly what we needed.

The return ferry back to Sydney took much less time than our exhausting walk, but it was a perfect way to end the day. We sat lazily and shuttled past the same cliffs and coves that we had laboriously trekked through hours earlier, catching a much different perspective of the beautiful bay. Further on, our new and improved view of the Sydney Opera House was a welcome reward for a long day of hard work.

Disclosure: I'm traveling on a #DTour in Australia on behalf of DoubleTree by Hilton, but it's totally cool because I still do and write about the things that interest me. Hope you enjoy it!

“Chew, Chew, Swallow!” The crowd chanted louder and louder as they rose to their feet in anticipation, camera phones recording. Two of the contestants were nearly finished with their plates, which only a couple of minutes earlier held a sampling of the day’s bites. It was the same food that was in all of our stomachs.

We’d spent that unseasonably warm November day among thousands of fellow food lovers, gathered in the sun on the grassy fields that surround Albuquerque’s Balloon Museum. It was the first inaugural Southwest Bacon Fest, and the grounds were engulfed with salty, sweet, and smoky aromas, constant reminders of the day’s star ingredient. Like all of the other attendees, we’d set out to try as many of the day’s dishes as possible.

Enter friendly competitiveness, the undeniable undertone of food festivals. Just like sports, there are elements of strategy, resolve, and stamina. The goal is to taste as much as possible before a) time runs out, or b) you can’t fit anything else in your stomach.

Our plan of attack: walk among the crowds, surveying the lines, peeking at the range of offerings. Bacon doughnuts, bacon waffles, bacon coffee, bacon brownies, bacon sliders, bacon hot dogs, and bacon ice cream, to name a few. Realization set in that we’d miscalculated even before arriving: why had we eaten breakfast at home? Rookie mistake. Pushing that memory aside, we hopped in line, agreed to share everything, and readied ourselves for breakfast #2 (and #3, and #4...).

By the third queue, our strategy had evolved. Divide and conquer, as they say. Loren headed off in search of thirst-quenching beers, while I ended up at the end of a particularly long string of people, in hopes of trying the most basic dish being served: bacon on a stick. Half an hour into the wait, I was sandwiched in line between Mr. Neck Tattoos and Mr. Plaid Shirt Grandpa. On any other given day, we would’ve been scattered across the city in our respective bubbles. But that day, with beloved bacon as our mutual focus, our differences faded into the background. We descended into discussion, suggesting must-taste dishes and sharing the surprising flavors we’d encountered so far. Food has an amazing ability to bring people together. Plus, waiting in long lines creates a sense of camaraderie.

After I’d successfully retrieved my bacon skewer slathered in sweet chili sauce, my picnic table neighbor’s eyes fixated on the stick, eyebrows lifting. “Now that looks good. Where’d you get it?” he asked, evidently on the hunt for his next dish. I pointed, still chewing, then added, “I waited in line for over an hour, but it’s worth the wait.” He thanked me, already heading off toward the line.

After a few more plates, we heard the announcer assembling the bacon-eating contest. As we joined the growing crowd, our competitive spirits piqued and we were pumped to do some sideline cheering. The contestants were seated at a long table, some with napkins tucked into their shirts, some with hair tied back, and one with his daughter on his lap. They smiled at the crowd and wearily eyed their plates of bacon goodies. A moment later they were shoving it all into their mouths, gulping it down with water. It was quite the spectacle.

Minutes later, everyone gasped with excitement as one contestant (the guy with his daughter) cleared his plate... but hadn’t yet finished swallowing. No dice. Suddenly, the guy I'd pegged as a prime competitor grabbed the lead! The crowd roared as he slowly stood and raised his hands, swallowing his last bites while nodding triumphantly, face a bit reddened, eyes a tad bloodshot. Trembling, he accepted his hard-earned trophy: a small bronze pig.

By the end of the day, our strategy had all but evaporated, probably owing to our sugar and beer buzzes. We made one last sweep to make sure we'd hit all of the major bases before strolling out into the sun-drenched parking lot. Mission accomplished.

Sydney's (Very) Scenic Walk to Manly

Bacon Fest: Field Day for Foodies