Boo!

I was thrilled to discover that the Sydney Opera House offers behind-the-scenes tours. These tours dive into everything — the global design competition, the construction saga, the political brawls, the triumphs, and the obscure little tidbits you’ll never hear on a standard visit. The only downside? About a million steps. Maybe two million. Somewhere between a workout class and a pilgrimage.

Cindy, being far wiser than I am, kept digging and found a tour specifically for older folks or people who are “step-challenged.” Unfortunately, that now describes us perfectly. But the good news: it included everything the standard tour offered, except we got elevators and back hallways instead of staircases and wheezing lungs. Even better, the group was limited to eight people — exactly the number you can cram into the elevator without recreating a rugby scrum. She booked it instantly.

Some of the steps we wanted to avoid – Behind the steps is the stage door where our tour began

Tons more steps inside. Our tour group heads toward the hidden elevators

Our guide was fantastic. With such a small group, we could actually ask questions, have conversations, and wander at a relaxed pace — far better than being herded around in a pack of 50 wearing headsets like a confused swarm of techno-sheep.

One of the early surprises was learning that the Opera House sails aren’t white at all. They only look white under the violently bright Australian sun. Up close, the tiles are cream and matte ivory, arranged in a subtle chevron that gives the building texture. The effect is remarkable — from afar, dazzling; up close, earthy, like the shell of some elegant sea creature.

A closer look at the tiles at the base of one of the sails

The same sail base – from the inside. This is how the support ribs come together

Another fun fact: the theatres aren’t part of the sails. Not even a little. Each theatre is actually its own building tucked neatly beneath those iconic curves. The sails are basically architectural hats — gorgeous, dramatic hats — perched above the functional spaces below. It’s strange to stand inside the building and realize the world-famous silhouette isn’t the part where anything actually happens. It’s pure form, zero function, and yet it defines Sydney more than the Harbour Bridge or a thousand kangaroo souvenirs.

This wooden box is the Joan Sutherland Theatre. It is a stand alone building inside the sails

Then came the riddle of the missing gutters. When it rains, water doesn’t quietly disappear into neat little channels. It pours off the sails like spontaneous waterfalls, drenching unsuspecting tourists who suddenly find themselves starring in their own surprise baptism. This was deliberate, of course — aesthetics over practicality. Clean lines first, dry tourists second.

The acoustics were another marvel. In the Joan Sutherland Theatre, operas and musicals are performed with no microphones. None. The sound simply sails through the room like it was born there. The larger concert hall uses speakers, but even those feel oddly natural. At times you forget you’re in a building engineered by humans and not inside a giant wooden instrument.

Inside the main concert hall. All the wall shape baffles and choices of wood act to perfect the purest sound possible (pic from wikipedia.org – photos are not permitted by tourists inside the theatres)

Most amazing of all: the sound is identical whether the theatre is full or empty. Most venues sound hollow when no one’s in them. Not here. Every curve, panel, and even the wood on the seats was chosen to absorb and diffuse sound perfectly. Even the backs of the chairs play a role. It’s a magnificent design — art and engineering whispering to each other in perfect sync.

When I was a school kid in England, we learned about Botany Bay as a defining moment in British history. There was no romantic glossing over. We heard about the prisoners chained in the holds, the hunger, the disease, the months-long journey, and the unlucky souls who didn’t survive it. Still, we were taught to feel that strange British mixture of shame and pride — the grim reality and the awe of reaching the ends of the earth.

Botany Bay today sits just south of Sydney, calm and quiet. Hard to imagine that this was the landing site for Captain Cook in 1770 aboard the Endeavour. To the British, a “discovery.” To the Dharawal people, an intrusion into a world that had existed for tens of thousands of years.

The British returned 18 years later with prisoners because their jails were overflowing. Botany Bay was supposed to be ideal — except the soil was awful, the water shallow, and the whole place generally ill-suited to starting anything, let alone a colony. They moved to Sydney a few miles north, leaving behind the misery of their first attempt.

Standing there now, watching planes drift overhead and the water lap gently at the shore, it’s hard to reconcile the scenery with its brutal past. History feels strangely close, like it hasn’t quite finished telling its story.

Botany Bay. I’m pretty sure as a youngster learning history that I never thought I’d see this – James Cook sailed through the gap on the horizon on April 29, 1770

Getting to the bay was easy — a short walk to the train station, a connection at Central, then a bus. Public transportation in Australia (at least everywhere we’ve been) is incredible. We never waited more than 10 minutes. And we finally rode our first double-decker train, which felt oddly exciting for two grown adults.

Central Station is very cool. And, it is massive!

Inside Cental are several levels leading to train platforms

Double-decker train

Inside the double-decker train (not really old person friendly or people traveling with luggage)

One of our unplanned stops was the maritime museum. Normally, maritime museums rank somewhere between “mildly dull” and “please let me out,” with the lone exception of the Columbia River Maritime Museum in Astoria, Oregon. But after spotting a submarine from the Parramatta River ferry, curiosity got the better of us.

The lure that caught this fish to go to the maritime museum

The Australian Maritime Museum lived up to its reputation — mildly disappointing. But the submarine was interesting. I lasted about ten seconds inside before concluding that submarine service requires a very special type of person — specifically, someone who does not value oxygen, personal space, or sanity.

This is a cabin for 2 officers – Jail cells have more room than this

The engine room

There were a couple of tall ships, too. We always enjoy those. The craftsmanship is gorgeous: the wooden blocks, the planking, the braided lines, and all that varnish that someone has spent half their life applying. They’re soothing in a way modern boats never are.

To one side was a tent set up with a guy repairing old blocks like this – a true craftsman

I’m not sure why but, I find the tall ships to be eye candy

Having fun

We ended up chatting for about 15 minutes with a woman hand-sewing a sail on the James Craig, one of the museum’s tall ships launched in Glasgow in 1874 that still sails on good-weather days. She was a volunteer, and easily the most fascinating thing in the entire museum.

Amazing to see a ship from the 1800’s moored with a modern skyline in the background – James Craig launched in 1874

A stroll through Sydney’s massive Hyde Park on a sunny day is a photographer’s dream:

A view of the opera house and bridge

Time to smell the flowers

A magnificent jacaranda tree in full bloom – they smell incredible

Cindy pauses at Mrs Macquarie’s Chair

Rainbow Lorikeet’s bath in the fountain

Now for the really funny part. One night at the condo/AirBnB, we grabbed a New York-style pizza from the place downstairs and flopped onto the couch to watch a movie. We picked Fall Guy only because it was the first thing Netflix shoved in our faces. Turns out the movie was filmed in Australia.

We enjoyed a fine meal and a I downed a couple of pints of Guinness at this pub

The streets are lined with historic buildings

The old mixed with the new

Earlier that day, Cindy and I had spent hours roaming The Rocks — a historic, atmospheric area where, if you squint, you can almost hear the tall ships creaking and the early settlers shouting at each other. We even had a Guinness at what claims to be the oldest pub in Australia (or Sydney — jury’s still out).

So there we were, feet up, eating pizza, when suddenly the Sydney Opera House filled the screen. Then the exact street we had walked earlier. Then the ferry dock we’d used to catch boats all week. It felt like the movie was happening outside.

Every time a familiar place appeared, we both yelled “Been there!” at the TV like excited children. It was ridiculous. And perfect.