I traded late fall in Alabama for early spring in Australia. It was the right move. My hosts were the city of Melbourne, the country of Australia, and Air New Zealand. They worked hard to make me happy. They succeeded.

Getting to Australia is not for sissies. It’s a 12-hour flight from Los Angeles. The time change is so strange that it actually confused my jet lag. It’s 19 hours ahead of central time, or just five hours earlier plus a day ahead (go figure). We flew business class on Air New Zealand (with a layover in Auckland), which meant lots of champagne, sleeping in actual beds, and ordering off a menu. I found little to complain about, especially since the Air New Zealand lounge offered showers and
massages (sadly, not together).

“Why do they call it ‘down under’?” someone asked. One glance at the globe and it should make sense. The continent is down under most everything else. Australia’s founding as a nation is fairly recent, comparatively speaking; therefore, they aren’t nearly as stuffy and tradition-bound as, say, the Brits. Of course the country sort of began as an extended penal colony and that always helps to develop a good sense of humor. Australia is roughly the size of the U.S. but with 230 million fewer people. The food is tasty, the weather is good, the people are attractive, the cities are cosmopolitan and sophisticated. They speak English with plenty of high quality slang (visit www.executivetraveler.net/australianslang for a few examples). The wine is excellent. The locals know how to laugh.

I happened to be the only journalist on this junket. My traveling companions were mostly incentive travel planners for large companies. We went everywhere together and became fast friends. We laughed hard, partied hard, and made too much noise. In short, we were Americans. Here, briefly, is my story.

Day One: The Author Sees Santa Claus

We arrive in Melbourne mid-morning. The dying leaves of my hometown trees have transformed into the full bloom of spring. It’s sunny and 80 degrees. We load buses for the downtown Westin, a wonderful property with stunning artwork. I’m not there 10 minutes before I see Santa Claus walk by outside. A good omen. Later we have lunch at the Docklands (Melbourne is all about water) and then most of us load onto Harleys for a quick city tour. Later that afternoon I hear a knock on my door. Why, it’s time for my “jetlag” massage! That evening we dine at Rockpool, a well-known steak house. I drink four Spanish beers called 1925. Excellent. We sample several types of beef. My favorite is the Wagyu. It’s thin like a waffle house steak but a whole lot easier to cut.

Day Two: The Author’s Lamborghini Breaks Down

We’ve written about scavenger hunts as a teambuilding exercise before but this is the first one I’ve actually participated in since college. The 12 of us were split into teams by Brett, owner of Big Stick Adventures, and then given a set of clues. The clues took us all over the city in search of signs on buildings, clocks on towers, and fish in the aquarium. It was an excellent way to get acquainted with this city of 4.5 million. The final leg of our teambuilding activity involved touring the city in a Masarati, Lamborghini, Ferrari, or Porsche. I was assigned to ride in the Lamborghini but the engine overheated and I was stuck in the 500 horsepower Porsche. Woe is me. Our group actually won the contest. The reward? A tube of Vegemite.

Day Three: The Author Visits Twelve Apostles

Ever heard of the Great Ocean Road? Me neither, though it’s quite famous—a winding two-lane hugging the coastline of southern Australia along the Bass Straits and Southern Ocean. In lieu of driving, we hopped into a twin turbo prop and flew over swaths of the road, including the famous surfing spot Bells Beach near the towns of Torquay and Jan Juc. We landed in the town of Warrnambool (pop. 30,000) and toured the area by motor coach, stopping for a delicious picnic in Port Campbell before heading to the Twelve Apostles, a cluster of huge rocks which over thousands of years have eroded from the mainland and sit majestically out at sea just off the coastline. In 1990, a couple became stranded there after a natural bridge connecting one rock to the mainland unexpectedly collapsed. A helicopter was dispatched and emergency crews rescued the couple amidst a great deal of media coverage. The only problem was the couple happened to be married to different people. They became famous and infamous on the same day.

Day Four: The Author Eats the Australian National Symbol

It’s Sunday in Australia and our merry band of Americans once again load onto a bus, this time heading 45 minutes northeast to the Yarra Valley region, a magical place where grapes are turned into wine and wine turned into money and happiness. On the way to the valley, we stop at Healesville Wildlife Sanctuary and I get my first glimpse of a Tasmanian devil. Tasmania, an island 150 miles off the coast of Melbourne, is famous for its devils, vicious little buggers. Sadly, despite their ferociousness they are being decimated by a form of mouth cancer. Veterinarians are working hard on a cure.

Our winery tour begins at Yering Station with its modern art and beautiful view of the Great Dividing Range. We sample shiraz, pinot noir, and chardonnay and then head to lunch at the Rochford Winery where I get my first taste of kangaroo. Served medium rare to keep it tender, it tastes like chicken. Just kidding. More like venison. On the subject of eating kangaroo, one my favorite Aussies leaned over and said, “We are the only country that eats our national symbols.” That evening we lodged at the five-star Château Yering hotel, where we enjoyed a fine dinner at Eleonore’s restaurant with charming General Manager Sue O’Brien, who seemed to get our questionable sense of humor.

Day Five: The Author Hides a Lobster in His Friend’s Purse

Heading back to Melbourne the next morning, it being Monday and all, we saw a dead wombat by the side of the road. I thought, “It’s been 47 years since I’ve seen that.” Our first stop was the Flemington thoroughbred racecourse, home of the annual Melbourne Cup, which attracts thousands of well-heeled visitors each spring. We ate breakfast on the hallowed grounds while the morning continued to heat up. The flies were ubiquitous. Thankfully, our next activity involved wind, a boat, and chilled beverages. We debarked from the Docklands for a short cruise up the Yarra River to the Anchorage Restaurant for a feast of lobster, crab, mussels, shrimp, and french fries served on heaping platters. All of this, of course, washed down with liberal quantities of champagne. I decided to be cute and sneak an empty lobster shell into my friend Dottie’s purse. She was only slightly amused. I suspected that I would see that lobster again and I was right.* That evening, our last in Melbourne, we toasted each other, our hosts, and our good fortune. During dessert, we were entertained by a menagerie of singers and actors performing songs and skits. I went to sleep with one thought in mind: how to come back with my family.

The end.

*As our entrees were being served at a private dinner that night, the waiter presented my covered dish with a flourish—a lobster shell, carefully arranged on a bed of lettuce. Touché.