Time, Travels | Mark E. Johnson [ • ] Photojournalist

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