Back at King’s Cross we decided on lunch from a Darlinghurst Road food counter that I’d noticed had been especially crowded the morning before, Four Season’s Chicken. There we each ordered a kebab from an unsmiling old Greek fellow with a ’70’s style haircut. When he asked me what kind of sauce I wanted, I took a chance and told him “chile.”

If you order a kebab in the United States, you’re likely to get a styrofoam container with a skewered kebab and a side of rice pilaf. In Australia, “kebabs” are closer to what we would call a Gyro, tenderly roasted chunks of meat with onions, peppers, and other good things, wrapped in a thick pita-like bread. We carried ours back to our little white cube of a hotel room.

The ladies of Darlinghurst Road (and their dates/customers) were right. This was good. More than good. So good that I hesitated before eating the last little morsel because I didn’t want it to be over.

Michael hopped on his 11:00 am shuttle to the conference center. I wiped my mouth, finished a cold bottle of Schweppes Bitter Lemon (the only soft-drink I’ve ever encountered that doesn’t leave you thirstier) gathered my purse and my iPad, and set out for my first solitary walk through Sydney.