That's it I'm writing from Australia, sitting in my dorm desert.
I arrived in Sydney on Wednesday night (local time) and I turned a little to find the driver who would take me to the hostel. Once located, I realized that I fell on the driver the friendliest in the world: Cedric, a young Parisian who put his bags in Australia five weeks ago after "the festival is too" for six months between Canada and the United States. Broke, he hears about the "working holiday" in Australia and decided to continue the journey. He tells me he combines six jobs and two company cars and the Australian way of life is very pleasant. I am his only customer that night and he offers a tour of Sydney.
It is 21 hours and the city is swarming with people, there are youth groups in all directions, taxis, bars, pubs, Asian restaurants galore. You go through the botanical garden at night, shows trees with strange shapes, and we stop to contemplate the panorama. Here I take a deep breath of iodine: we are on the Sydney Harbour and later we see the Opera. One approach to discover that Australia is doing everything possible to get the football World Cup in the coming years: stylized balloons are projected onto the Opera House and create a festive atmosphere.
We shoot a little, and then he accompanied me to the checking in the hostel. I get to backpack the best known of the city tells me he, and where he himself lived for several weeks, Wake Up. Cedric gives me the coordinates and is expected to go surfing next week with his roommates on the famous Bondi Beach.
Then I come to my lair: a dorm room-full of Irish. Immediately took pity on the feminine element that landed in their field, the four boys have Playboy removed the posters and put away their business. I try to remember all the names ... Dave / Mark / Oli / John ... Dave / Mark / Oli / John ... From the outset, the contact is going very well, they are hilarious to me confessing that they begin tonight a cure anti-alcohol for the last ten days still give them a headache!

