I slept lightly, as one does before a super early airport call. Up at 3:30, out the door at 3:50, on the SuperShuttle at 3:55, at Wellington airport at 4:15 for my 6:25 departure.

I had selected emergency exit row seats (at extra cost, natch) for more legroom, which meant I couldn’t check in online because they needed to evaluate my fitness to actually assist in an emergency. The line went quickly, though, as did security. You don’t have to take off your shoes, which is nice, but I was pulled aside to have a look at my liquids, I assume as a random draw. I had repurposed a contact cleaning solution bottle as a travel size saline bottle, and it gave the agent pause that it was unlabeled, but he accepted that it was for my eyes easily enough (it helped that I had my glasses on).

Unlike most airport terminals I’m accustomed to, there were very few food options at my gate. Just one, in fact. I had a foot-long veggie sandwich from Subway for my 5:00am breakfast.

I did some preventative back stretches for the long flying bouts ahead and was alarmed to find after boarding that bending forward to place my shoulder bag under the seat produced some sharp nerve pain down my left leg. Bad timing!

I always sit in the aisle for easier bathroom access and to get up and stretch, but since the first flight was under 4 hours, I opted for the window for once. My seatmates were big dudes and I was pretty bummed when the center seat paid no mind to all the space he took up, including his elbow in my side most of the flight. He was generally oblivious to everything. He wasn’t incapacitated in any way, but his buddy or brother managed everything for him, like pulling his tray down, cleaning up his breakfast rubbish, and literally pulling his arm out of my ribs at one point. I also pushed back, but he slept the entire way and it was fruitless. Win some, lose some.

Nerve pain comes from a disc out of whack, and I knew walking would be good for me. I was excited to take advantage of my daylong layover to explore what I could of Sydney, at a minimum seeing the Opera House and Harbour Bridge.

We landed around 8:15 local time, two hours difference from NZ. A shuttle took us from the tarmac to the terminal, and from there I could not figure out whether to go the international or domestic transfer route, even after I asked a Qantas agent. Um… both? Ultimately, I realized I needed to follow the signs to baggage claim, without picking up my bag which was tagged on to DPS, because that’s what people do when they’re leaving the airport.

Despite having attached the required Electronic Travel Authority to my passport in order to enter Australia, I felt anxious about leaving the airport and somehow not being able to come back in. However, the customs agent scanned my passport and confirmed I was good to go. Yay!

I asked an info desk about bag storage and the train to the harbour. They were in opposite directions in the terminal. I made sure I had what I needed for the day and stored my backpack for $11 AUD. I did not withdraw any cash and hoped I could get by with my credit card all day. Train tickets to and from the airport are expensive: $18.50 AUD each way, about $28 USD total, but it’s the most efficient way to the harbour. There is seating on three decks, a few where you enter and stairs going both up and down. Also? Super comfortable seats, which my back appreciated.

I exited at Circular Quay at 10:15, two hours of my 8.5-hour layover already passed. Just across from the train are several wharfs with ferries going in all directions. Oh! There’s the Sydney Harbour Bridge. So thrilled to be here! Ah, and there’s the gorgeous Opera House. It’s a little surreal to see iconic landmarks with my own eyes that I’ve seen in so many travel photos.

I walked to The Rocks district just a few blocks away from the wharf for a breakfast better than Subway. I found a cute little cafe adjoining a hotel and ate a salmon and cream cheese bagel at their outdoor seating, watching cars and people come and go. I would have been super stoked to add Australia to my geocache map but, alas, the one I hunted around the corner from the cafe was too tricky a hide and I came up empty, and I just didn’t have enough time to make it a priority.

I had thought maybe I would walk the bridge, but I learned from a gentleman at the train station that it’s quite the trek and he suggested I just get on a ferry that goes under the bridge. Thank you, messenger! As it happens, I love ferries. Why didn’t I think of that.

I purchased a ticket from Circular Quay to Barangaroo (nope, didn’t make that up), a very close stop still in the downtown (?) area that you could walk to as easily as take a ferry. I had given the Airbnb office in Sydney a heads-up about passing through, and I still had the idea that I wanted to stop in. It was about a 30-minute walk from Circular Quay and about a 30-minute walk from Barangaroo. The idea was to sail past the Opera House and under the bridge for some killer views and then be done with the harbour.

Well.. didn’t work out that way but I was happy for it. I went to Wharf 5 as indicated on the digital sign of ferry departures and confirmed with the gate attendant that I was in the right place for Barangaroo. He confirmed and said I had 3 minutes. He must have meant until that ferry arrived, but I thought he meant to board the ferry that had just docked. I almost asked again as I got on but I just went with it.

Wrong ferry. No stop in Barangaroo. I ended up much further west in the harbor than I’d intended. Which was great! Going away from the city, I saw some different views. Houseboats, a marina, another bridge in the distance (upon looking it up, it’s called the Anzac). I ended up on Cockatoo Island, a fine turnaround point. I told one of the ferry attendants what happened and he gave me options to either just stay on his ferry and end up back at Circular Quay or which ferry to catch from Cockatoo Island to disembark at Barangaroo as planned. As much as I enjoyed the landmark views, I wanted to keep seeing new things, so I waited a half hour for the Barangaroo ferry.

I disembarked to a busy professional lunchtime scene. So many locals eating in front of wharf cafes for their break from work. I followed directions on my phone through the financial district to the small Airbnb office. I got a brief tour and was offered my choice of anything from the fridge, so I had some sparkling water (very nice after hoofing it for a half hour), a hard-boiled egg, and some cold salmon. Perfect snack. I took some photos and then it was time to head back to the airport in order to arrive there two hours before departure at 16:45. I’d spent 4 delightful hours in the city.

I walked to Central Station (small, not Grand), rode back to the airport, retrieved my backpack and went through security to my gate (I’d gotten my boarding pass in Wellington). Easy-peasy!

It would be an almost 7-hour flight to DPS, and I had plenty of time for a full meal, so I sat at a bistro with a view of the tarmac and had prawns pasta. Expensive, of course, but not outrageously so for an airport — $26 AUD / $20 USD — and a good-sized portion (and tasty to boot).

More back stretches before boarding, and I settled in for the long flight. There was no fish or vegetarian option for dinner, so I was glad I’d eaten the pasta. I picked the chicken out of the chicken salad, leaving red onions and small potato bites, with a salad roll. I continued re-watching the first season of Westworld, as I’d done on my way to NZ, which I thoroughly enjoyed. However, despite getting up to stand and stretch many times, my back was not holding up well. The long flight felt very long.

We arrived at Denpasar at 21:30 local time, four hours behind my body’s New Zealand time. I picked up my bag, and exiting through customs was quick and easy. I emerged into humidity and chaos. A row of drivers looking for passengers crowded a gate like fans at a concert. They held signs with names, and I really hoped mine was among them, but first I needed cash.

The ATM menu was in Bahasa Indonesian, and it took a few tries to insert my card at the right moment and reach the withdrawal option. I had not only placed a travel advisory with my credit union by phone but then also visited the branch the day before I left to make sure all was in place and I’d be able to get cash. It went fine at Auckland Airport. It did not work here in Bali. I tried twice, unsuccessfully both times. I switched to my back-up method, a cash withdrawal from my Capital One (foreign transaction free) credit card, which I’m sure I’ll pay a pretty fee for. Thank you, me from the planning phase, for having the foresight to set up a PIN for this new card in case this very thing came to pass.

Cash in hand (and a long line formed behind me.. sorry, folks), I walked the line-up of aggressive and shouting drivers, and lo and behold there I was on a sign. The driver I’d booked from the boutique hotel where I’d be staying confirmed twice that I was the named person, which I learned during the ride was because he’d never heard the name “Zoe” and had assumed it was male. We had a chuckle over that.

It was good that I was beyond tired because I was too Zen to react fearfully to the haphazard “rules” of Bali roads. Lanes are merely suggestions. Hordes of scooters ride alongside and in between cars and vans.

We arrived at Sindhu Mertha Suite in Sanur at 23:00, and I was checked in quickly. My room had A/C on and an outdoor shower. I was so tired and in such unfamiliar and different surroundings from New Zealand, I hardly knew how to get ready for bed. I took it one step at a time and before lights out placed a call to my credit union. I left a voice mail as it was an hour before they opened and I certainly couldn’t wait for that. I requested an email as they would just be closing when I woke up.

And then, after exactly 24 hours awake, I passed out.