Sydney Part Two: The Bondi Adventure and The Best Cab Ride

The sky above Bondi Beach

It's good that I had my Hillsong Day and my new mindset, because Monday morning, the second of only two full days in Sydney, I woke up sick. That wasn't supposed to happen! What was going on? I had two music videos to record and a whole city to see. I laid low that morning, trying not to ask too much of my body and quickly defeat the illness. I had to get out eventually, though. I packed my backpack and a lunch, then set out to the train station. A couple trains and a bus later, I was at Bondi Beach! (And, so you don't make the mistake I did, I'll go ahead and tell you that's a long "i" at the end there. If you say "Bondy", you get confused or sympathetic glances.)

I hadn't even reached the sand yet when I heard a ukulele. It was a tall, wavy-haired man in denim, sat on a short, stone wall up the hill from the beach. I set my bag down and pulled my camera out, asking if I could record him a bit. He played a verse and chorus of an Eddie Vedder song and then I sat down on the wall next to him after he spotted my uke and I asked if he'd show me some chords since I don't know many. He taught me the cool, bluesy chords to the song he'd been playing and we messed around for a while, then he asked if I wanted to play his and we traded, proceeding to perform a duet of "Riptide" by Vance Joy. He was from Canada, but had lived in Melbourne long enough to sound like an Aussie and was in Sydney for a job interview. We made introductions at the same time as farewells. His name was Jamie.

There weren't many people on the beach that day, and most of them were running or wearing coats. The only people in the water were surfers with wetsuits, but there were quite a few of them and more turning up all the time. All gorgeous and tan and fit, I might add.

I watched the surfing action for a while, ate my packed lunch, and then fell asleep. It was wonderfully relaxing and the salty air was clearing my sinuses and marking me feel less crappy.

Some minutes or hours later, I began to try to talk myself into swimming. I hadn't brought a proper swimsuit, and as I mentioned, coats everywhere. But I couldn't really go to Australia without catching a few waves, could I?

So eventually I got up and headed toward the far left side of the massive, semi-circle beach where, if I wasn't mistaken, I could see a couple people in the water sans boards and wetsuits. It turned out to be a couple old dudes in Speedos, who probably swim every day of the year. It was clouding over, though, and very windy. I was worried about getting dry. Finally, a little blue sky showed itself and the sun found it, and I said to myself, "It's now or never." I stood up and pulled down my denim shorts, which was mildly terrifying since my upper thighs hadn't seen the light of day since...middle school? But there was no way I was swimming in jeans, and I knew from shopping experiences that my underwear looked like swim bottoms and my quick-dry workout top could pass for a tankini. So off I went, down to the waves and feeling very exposed, but quite confident.


I got into the water, slowly at first, and then got up the courage to dive into the next wave and get it over with. It was very cold, there's no denying that, but it was surprisingly refreshing and invigorating. Within a couple minutes, two guys who had been playing footie on the beach were in the water as well. Not to be outdone, I suppose.

I stayed in the surf for probably twenty minutes, until the current started pulling me to water where it was too deep for me to touch the bottom. I made my way in with some difficulty and then caught a decent wave that sped up the process.

Before

After

One thing I learned: black, stretchy underwear may look identical to a bathing suit bottom, but if you don't squeeze your butt cheeks with every wave, you will freaking lose them.

I laid on the beach until I was mostly dry and then, starting to feel drained, headed back to the house.



By the time I made it back, I felt gross. A hot shower didn't help much, so I set an alarm and took a nap. I felt even worse when I woke up. Sore throat, pounding head like I'd never felt before, achy and could not get warm, and in time I felt pretty nauseated as well. I was supposed to go to the Sydney Opera house to see Sufjan Stevens. I had a yet-unworn dress that suited me perfectly, and I couldn't wait to wear it around The Rocks. But every time I tried to get up, my head worsened. I slept through dinner. I buried myself under a pile of blankets, trying desperately to get warm, and as my deadline for leaving for the train station grew nearer, I grew more sure that I couldn't leave that room, let alone make the trip downtown and sit in a theater for two hours without throwing up. I decided I would try, though, growing very determined and standing up. I even started changing clothes. But my headache became almost unbearable and the tears finally came, hard and fast--both from the pain and the resignation.

I finally crawled back under the covers and started emailing my parents. I had already researched and found that I couldn't obtain a refund for the ticket they had bought me--that we had all gotten so excited about. I had to let them know that I wasn't going, and tell them I was sorry. I just couldn't go. I fell asleep about three times throughout the course of composing that email. My body was exhausted.

Then I made a choice. I had prayed fervently and tearfully for God to heal me, but promised that I would praise Him either way. So I did. I made a Facebook post about this choice, and had the joy of watching as it encouraged my friends and family and I was virtually flooded with messages of prayer.

Then I slept again, for hours, until I finally had to get up at half past 4am. I had been in bed for the better part of thirteen hours, on the second and final day of my Sydney trip, but I had already come to a peace about it.

I packed quickly and set out in the darkness for the ten-minute walk to the station. I hadn't given myself enough time and was pushing my weary body hard, my calves burning as I thought, "What if I miss it?" But I told myself that missing that train wasn't an option. I took comfort and motivation from a couple lines of dialogue in the film The Maze Runner.

Thomas: "What happens if they don't make it?"
Newt: "They're gonna make it."
Thomas: "Yeah, but what if they don't?"
Newt: "They're gonna make it."

I've gotten used to the fact that I will always draw inspiration from my favorite stories, and that they will pop up to help me at the most unprecedented times. I thought of how confident Newt was, completely free of doubt or fear, and just kept walking, with his voice in my head. I made it with a minute to spare.

Then it was trains to the airport, having finally gotten the hang of changing platforms, and I ended up with a -8 dollar balance on my Opal card. The top up machine wasn't taking my debit card, and I had already tapped off to see my balance, so I climbed over the turnstiles and booked it to the store where I had gotten the card so I could put more on it and not get in trouble. Once the clerk realized that I didn't actually need the card anymore, he said, "Oh, I'll just throw it away for you. Don't spend ten dollars on THAT." I thanked him, and headed to check-in.

It was all I could do to not sit down in the short check-in line because I had so little energy, so I was very happy to get through security quickly, find some food, and sit down by a window. I bought some kind of mango-pineapple (I think) smoothie and some raisin toast from Le McCafe (heh) because it was the only thing that sounded appetizing and I wanted to go easy after not having eaten in about twenty hours. It was delicious and helped give me some strength. Upon arriving at my gate, my weary heart was indescribably comforted by the sight and warmth of the early sun along with the thought of Gandalf the White riding to the aid of Helm's Deep, while Gimli tells Aragorn with a gentle smile, "The sun is rising." (See? I told you. Inspiration and encouragement from the strangest sources.) It was an, "Everything will be alright," sort of moment.


I cannot tell you how relieved I was to set foot on an Emirates plane again. That steaming cloth at the beginning was like ice water in the Sahara, and made me feel so refreshed. Then we had breakfast and I watched Mortdecai, which was not as funny as I expected, but Johnny Depp and Ewan McGregor are too good a pair to pass up.

Then I was back in Auckland, yet another trip through Customs, and quite a long wait in the airport before time to catch my bus that evening. I had a wonderful, blueberry muffin and a passion-fruit granola yogurt parfait, then allowed myself the luxury of watching some videos on my not-quite-dead-yet iPhone. Then I made a pillow out of a sweatshirt, found a quiet corner, draped my arm over my backpack, and fell asleep. Airport floors are comfy when you're tired.

I missed the memo that the bus I needed to take was not an InterCity bus, but an Airport bus. So I sat for a long time in the cold before I came to terms with the fact that I'd missed it. I was back inside to see if the next bus would get me to Manukau in time for my connection to Levin, but the lady said it wouldn't.

So, resigned to my fate, I walked back out and to the first in the long line of waiting cabs. The driver, a friendly Indian man who had been in Auckland for quite a few years, put my suitcase in the "boot" and then asked whether I preferred to sit in the front or back. I chose the front, and thus began our conversation. He said he had seen me in the airport a couple hours ago, and I told him about missing my bus, choosing not to complain about it, but ending with a simple, "But it's okay."

He had started the meter on the dash as we left, and I really wasn't sure it would be "okay", but I was determined not to let it get me down. I knew I was in that cab for a reason.

We talked the whole way to Manukau. I told him what I was doing in NZ, he told me about what he does for a living besides driving, and I was thrilled when he said he thought I was from Australia.

He said something about how his mother lived over this way and that he might drop by to see her house even though she wasn't there at the moment. That struck me as a little odd, and it should have been my first clue. He parked just down a little hill from the bus stop and I pulled out my wallet. The meter read $49, if I remember correctly. He reached up and cancelled the total, saying, "Oh, don't worry about that. Just whatever you think is good." I was stunned. "Really?" He nodded, brushing it off like it was nothing. I realized later that his reason for mentioning another "stop to make" in that area was to rationalize that choice. He had started the meter counting up when we left, so at some point on the drive, he made the decision to disregard it.

Overwhelmed with gratitude and relief ($50 is a hard blow on a small budget), I said, "Is twenty alright?" He said it was, and I thanked him fervently. I wish I had gotten his name.

And so ended another chapter in my journey.

Sydney Part One: The Hillsong Adventure

Everything from here on out is straight from my travel diary. I wrote it then so that I can share it now.

On the twenty-second of May, I took an overnight bus from Levin up to Auckland. If I had realized before my trip that Wellington International is about nine or ten hours closer, I would have gotten tickets out of there instead. But alas, I did not. Another lesson learned for next time.

The first hour or two were fairly rotten, because I had the most uncomfortable seat on the bus. However, as people started getting dropped off, I was able to move to a seat with legroom and stretch out. The rest of the ride was a piece of cake. We stopped at around 2am at a little convenience store for toilets and refreshments. There were glass cases filled with all manner of pies, sandwiches, muffins, and pastries--and, like most places in this country, you pick them out yourself with tongs and place them in a paper pouch, then show your selections to the cashier. It felt like being in a bakery in the middle of the night. It was so lovely.

It was pouring rain when we arrived in Auckland, but I didn't want to pay for a bus from the domestic terminal to the international and so I sucked it up and walked the ten minutes. I knew I'd be in the airport all day and have plenty of time to dry.

That was where I did my favorite writing so far. I had intentionally left my laptop behind and unintentionally left my phone charger behind, so my big green notebook was my best friend for that whole day.

While waiting to board, I witnessed this kind of amazing interaction between a Maori girl and her friend:
Girl: "I'm so excited to go to...is it 'Australia'?"
Guy: *shakes head*
Girl: "I heard they ride kangaroos to school there."
Guy: *covers eyes* 

Then, I flew Emirates for the first time, and let me tell you, they most certainly were not a letdown after flying AirNZ. Maybe it's just that all foreign airlines are better than U.S. ones. The staff was incredibly friendly, and I think they said they hailed from 19 different countries and spoke 17 different languages. And yes, it was a huge, double-decker plane. Before take-off, they came by with trays of steaming hot, lemon-scented cloths for us to refresh ourselves. (It felt so wonderful that I was genuinely looking forward to it on the way back.)

Then, maybe an hour into the really not very long flight, they served dinner (seriously, so impressed). I chose the Beef Rendang, and let me tell you, it was spectacular. I can still taste it. I've always thought of plane meals as being pretty second rate, but this was so flavorful and cooked to perfection. It had lots of little extras, too, like bread and cheese and chocolate. I could not have been more content. Oh, and they served little mini bottle of wine! SO cute, I had to try it. I chose the Sauvignon Blanc, and it was delicious.

Like AirNZ, all the in-flight entertainment was free. So I watched Project Almanac, which had been on my list of movies to experience this year, and enjoyed every second. I loved the style in which it was filmed and the authenticity of the dialogue. Also, lots of fresh faces.

I got into Sydney International around 7:30pm on the 23rd of May, and got an Opal card for the public transportation system (buses and trains) since I knew I'd be using it a lot. Plus, it's what all the locals have, and it's free--you just top it up with money. I missed the first train out because I couldn't find the right platform in time, so I had to wait about 15 minutes. I got the next one, and took it to Central and then changed lines to get to Concord West. Carolyn's son, Martin, was waiting for me and walked me through the semi-tricky back way to his and Kate's house. I didn't stay up for very long because I was pretty exhausted from the twenty-four hours of traveling.

Insert picture of the cute cats snuggling together

Sunday morning, the 24th, I met the kids (Makayla and Jayden) and we ate cereal together in the family room. I borrowed an iPhone charger and my phone came back to life, and I plotted out which rail lines to use to get up north to Parramatta, the station where the Hillsong shuttle bus comes.

Oh yeah, Sunday was HILLSONG! That was the whole reason for the Sydney detour. We were at worship team practice before church earlier this year when Anthony Johns mentioned how close I would be to Australia and, therefore, Hillsong. He said I should go, but I said I probably couldn't afford to with all the other things I had planned. And my selfless, generous, godly, amazing big brother, Travis, said something along the lines of, "I would pay for you to go." I kind of laughed at first, then was like, "Wait, are you serious??" He was, and I gave him at least three chances to back out, but he didn't. So Travis paid for my round trip plane tickets to Sydney, and at some point I'll tell you about all the other financial blessings along the way. God has been so good to me.

 So yes, Hillsong Day! I got really excited when I came out of the railway station, because I was able to help an elderly woman find her bus. That made me feel like a local, and it always feels good to help others.

I met four or five other Americans in the quickly-growing crowd outside the Max Brenner Chocolate Bar where the shuttle makes its pick-ups, and I think they were the first I had spoken to in the whole month I had been abroad. The conversations were enjoyable and passed the time quickly. We all ended up in a circle, trading stories. I particularly remember the quietest of all us women. She was telling me where she was from and what brought her to Australia, when she started frowning and having trouble finding words. Raising a hand to the ski cap covering her head, she said, "I'm sorry, I have cancer." It was the way she said it and went on speaking that struck me. Not as a claim for attention or sympathy. Only as an explanation.

Another of the women in our little circle, a lady with crazy blonde curls, told us all how she and her husband had begun to see their whole family going in different directions, like strangers in the same house. They knew it would take something drastic to shake them into coming back together as a family, so they and their two sons picked up and moved to Australia. We didn't get to hear the rest of her story, because the bus showed up, but I wanted to.

There were two lovely sort of shuttle hosts, who made us all feel very welcome and comfortable. With my Bible and travel diary in my lap and my heart as light as ever, I watched the streets go by as we drew nearer to Baulkham Hills. The woman behind me was playing United's new album on her home, which only increased the sense of excitement. I didn't realize what the music was at first, but one song ("for endless days, we will sing your praise") moved me so much that I had to ask what it was.

Then we were there, at the mythical Land of Hillsong--the original one, in fact. It could easily have been some huge convention center, given the size, the crowd, and the amount of food and drinks available for purchase. Despite the vastness, however, it did not feel so immense that I could get lost among the crowd. I also expected a sense that it was a "vacation church", where most of the people didn't live in the area, but I saw many people who were almost definitely regulars, which somehow made me feel more comfortable. This was just a normal Sunday for them.

I made my way inside and down onto the floor level, finding quite a good seat near the, for lack of a better word, catwalk.

Then the service began, and I got to hear Taya Smith lead worship at her home church rather than on a tour, and she, Matt, and the others sang the songs that had made an impact on the bus and several others. I wept at least once. My heart was full to bursting, and every word meant the world to me.

Then Brian Huston came out. The hosts on the bus had said that he was "back this week", which was received with great enthusiasm, and I now know why.

Brian Huston has a gift. He's an ordinary Aussie, but God has used him to begin a movement that has spread around the entire world. He has a gift for speaking to his fellow man and making everything seem clear. He has charisma, humor, humility, and passion. I've rarely enjoyed a message so much as that Sunday.

He opened his mouth and said, "This message is called: I'm Gifted," and I immediately thought, "Yep, this is where I'm supposed to be." I have struggled so much over the last few years with how to handle my gifts, how to view them, how to use them, how to deal with praise from others concerning them, and most of all, pride. Then I over-corrected the pride by reverting to diminishing myself and even doubting my gifts. So, sitting there in that enormous, stadium auditorium, I could actually visualize God parting the way and putting every little detail into place just so that I, Brittany Schmitt, could be in that room on that particular Sunday. I had originally planned to go to Ireland and England this year; then I ended up changing to New Zealand, but Australia wasn't the plan; then it was, but on a different weekend. One cancelled plane ticket later, I had finally arrived at the divine combination: Baulkham Hills in New South Wales, Australia, on the twenty-fourth of May, 2015. I have no doubt that every single change of plans and financial blessing along the way were all to reach that end goal.

I won't try to describe the full wonder and impact of the music or the message on that Sunday. I will say, however, that I raised my hand when Brian called for anyone who wanted to pray a prayer of new beginnings, whether they were already saved or not. I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I knew I'd been running from God and trying to live in my own strength, growing more and more self-centered, and it was astonishing to me how readily my hand flew into the air, as high as it would go. No trying to talk myself into it, no mental countdown. Just: I'm ready to change NOW. No more waiting. I had to make a choice. Here's to new beginnings.

Taya Smith

I was so at peace and full of joy when I left that place. I've seen a difference in my life and my mind since that day. My outlook has changed. And sometimes it's choosing how I'm going to react to someone or something. It isn't automatic. But I've noticed that I look for more ways to serve gladly (I don't have a servant's heart), I listen better, I care more. I'm happier. Lighter. And every time I choose others over self, I start to believe a little more that that is what will truly satisfy me, not pursuing my own interests and whims above all else.

I had planned to go back for the evening service, but I chose instead to stay with the Hill family and thus enjoyed a fun evening featuring the neighborhood playground and truly glorious pizza.

 Later, I was watching The Blind Side on Netflix in the living room when Martin and Kate joined me. Kate asked, "What's this?" Martin immediately replied, "It's a chick flick." "No, it's like a family movie," I countered. He turned back to Kate. "So, a chick flick."

And so ended the Hillsong Adventure. I hope to return one day, but I will carry that Sunday with me for the rest of my life whether I go back or not.