The photo always goes first on these posts, but not today. And the photos are always ones I have made, but these first four are not my own.

It’s my last day in Australia. Late last night, after getting back from a spontaneous dinner with a friend, I decided to map out the day. I’d seen the Sydney Opera House from a distance, but I wanted to see it from within. A quick check showed a midday concert, the Australian Chamber Orchestra performing Dvořák’s Serenade. While not a classical music fan, I bought a ticket – how else was I to see the inside?

The show was at 2:00 p.m., shortly after 8 a.m. I headed out of the hotel – I was going for another long walk, to see Sydney from ground level. I was about 15 minutes into the walk when I recalled that my dad had been in Australia, on leave from Vietnam in 1968. I did a quick search through the photos I had of his online and found three with him in it, all made … in Sydney.

The first was very distinctive, he was posed in front of a fountain. I stared at it for a moment, then switched to Google and typed in “Sydney sputnik fountain.” Up popped dozens of photos of the El Alamein fountain, about a 30 minute walk from where I was.

How could I not?

Sydney, Australia, 1968

I saw it at a distance, spectacular in the morning light from the side I approached. As I came into this little park, I saw the building that was in the background of the photo his friend had made. I found the spot where he stood, 55 years earlier.

I’ll confess to being a sentimentalist, that moment was pretty powerful. I was on the other side of the world, just as he was. Away from family and friends.

A young father, with his child in sling, was standing a few feet away. I interrupted his Sunday morning and asked the favor – would you mind, I have this photo of my dad from 55 years ago … it was an immediate yes. I got in place, he moved around, made a few, showed them to me, said it wasn’t quite right, made some more …

Sydney, Australia

I thanked him profusely but never got his name. A father with his son helping the son of a lost father …

The second photo was made within a few hours – the lighting was similar and he’s in the same clothes. No notes, but he’s next to a distinctive statue, there’s a fence behind him and you can see a bit of the harbor. I stared at a map, figuring it had to be within walking distance. The Royal Botanic Garden? That seemed the most likely place, so I headed that way.

Sydney, Australia, 1968

There was a museum near where I entered the garden. I showed the photo to a docent, but it was unfamiliar to him. I started walking further into the gardens, heading towards the harbor side, when I saw a gentleman walking with purpose and I, again, interrupted his Sunday.

He peered over his glasses, taking the phone from my hands. Yes, yes he knew the statue. But where was it, he wasn’t sure. Maybe by the conservatory? Follow me … and off we went. Around a garden, down a path and he saw one of the park rangers. He asked him to look at the photo, he had to count some fence openings but would be right back. (More on this in a moment.)

The ranger said it looked familiar, then pulled out his phone and made a photo of mine, texting it to a colleague who called a moment later. The statue had been removed for restoration a few years ago but was now in a new location, next to the conservatory.

The first gentleman, David Van Nunen Oam, had returned and said he’d take me there, so off we went. His wife was American, I asked where from. Valley Stream, N.Y. My godmother lives in Malverne, a town over, and she and my mother grew up in Bellrose, not far from there. David was there because he was planning out an upcoming exhibition as he’s the president of the Australian Watercolour Institute.

We came around a bend, there it was.

Sydney, Australia (Photo by David Van Nunen Oam)

He looked at the third photo and thought it might be the Governor’s House, but probably not. He had to depart, I thanked him and headed towards his idea. While a lovely place, it wasn’t where the photo was made. A guard there thought it might be the Prime Minister’s grounds, across the harbor, but that seemed unlikely. Later in the evening, I found the location in the city. Accessible, but I was out of time, my travels were near done.

I walked some more, enjoyed the show, was surprised at how the Opera House looks so different in detail and then had a final meal. An early departure tomorrow, a long flight and I’ll be home again.

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Narooma, Australia

The morning dawned crisp and I hopped on to Zoom to join our weekly happy hour back in the states. My hopes were higher for today, and they were exceeded.

The photo above … I pointed the rental Peugeot north out of Eden with a coastal route planned. After ducking into a few charming places, I saw a sign for a tourist route and thought, I’m a tourist … a few moments later I spotted a little park up on the cliffs, overlooking a beach.

I parked and walked to the edge, proceeding to make very mediocre photos. It was windy and, every now and then I thought I heard a musical note or three. Too long on the road, I thought. I went back to making mediocre photos, creeping around the edge of the cliff to look out to the sea more than the beach.

The notes got more consistent, then I saw the white van. And in the passenger seat, a gentleman playing flute.

There was some comfort in the music, there was more in knowing I wasn’t hallucinating.

I listened for a few moments then approached, chatting for a moment before asking if I could make a photo. It’s one of those daunting things photojournalists must do, to approach strangers and ask for assistance. Our entire careers are based on the generosity of others.

“Let’s do this.” An immediate, unhesitating response.

I wish the photo rose to the quality of the memory. Casey Greene gave me another one of those connections to cherish. He goes up there as often as he can to practice, finding inspiration in the view. He was playing along with some music on his phone, trying to work out a Charlie Parker piece.

It was a brief encounter on my 27th day on the road. A few notes in the wind, fleeting. A musician who was warm and welcoming. But it was a reminder of what I had looked forward to.

It wasn’t to check off the sights, the ability to say I’d seen the Sydney Opera House and watched a Women’s World Cup match. It was to spend a little time with people who were living lives like my own, sharing a little grace with a wanderer.

The rest of the drive was wonderful. Two lanes of macadam that rose from the coast up into the hilled forests. Villages with oyster farmers and old Bedford trucks.

I arrived in Sydney late, checking back into the hotel I’d started the trip at. With rain looming, I headed towards an area I thought I could grab a late bite to eat. I peaked into a few windows that looked too fancy, then came around a dark corner and heard a voice call out.

There, on a street in Sydney, a woman I’d worked alongside in Melbourne. Shireen Ahmed from the CBC was out with a cousin and I was lucky enough to join them for dinner.

To drive some 500+ kilometers on the wrong side of the Princes Highway, longing a bit for home and finding friendly souls along the way … serendipity is wonderful.

Eden, Australia

Eden, Australia

Eden, Australia

Eden, Australia

Merimbula, Australia

Merimbula, Australia

Cobargo, Australia

Tilba, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Lakes Entrance, Australia

My original plan was to take the train back to Sydney, but I realized I needed to see more of this place and a window view wasn’t going to be enough. This morning, I packed the last things away and picked up a rental car, then headed out.

The day was overcast and the route I selected was … less than I’d hoped. East out of Melbourne, my first target was Lakes Entrance which one person had told me was lovely and another said was desolate. The latter, alas, proved true – most of it was quiet and closed as it was very off season.

I pressed on along the coast, deciding to stay in Eden. Arriving after dark, there wasn’t much to explore and, again, most of it was closed being winter. I found a little place for dinner that promised charm and delivered a palatable fish and chips. A late night walk was relaxing but visually minimally productive.

Tomorrow’s journey is along the coast, ducking into national and state forests. Hopeful.

Eden, Australia

Eden, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

My final day in Melbourne. One last match I’ll edit from the apartment in the evening which left me with a day to wander.

The light and architecture in this city are wonderful. My collegue said it’s much like Boston. And it is, if the road planners knew how to draw a straight line. The mix of old and new, of heritage and hope, is intoxicating. I’ve been here for nearly three weeks and everyone I’ve met has been kind, gracious and welcoming.

If I need to flee my homeland, this would work.

A long walk with but one destination, the Fox Collection. Small but powerful.

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Our last match at the stadium and I’m editing two games again. Having the work of my students flowing in from two different pitches, in two different cities, trying to watch two different games … I need more practice. And I want more practice.

Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

If you’re going to cover international women’s soccer, there’s one player you want to see – Brazil’s Marta. This is her last Women’s World Cup, she changed the sport forever.

Melbourne, Australia

Back at the stadium and there was an Australian rules football team practicing alongside.