18. Thursday, Jan. 1: A quiet New Year. Some passengers feeling the motion as we enter rougher seas on approach to Australia. Cearic Rouse and I invited to the bridge to see the set-up there. The bridge is the one part of the ship of which the skipper is proud. Says it is as well equipped as any great liner. I would not doubt it. The latest in navigational aids. Radar, depth sounding machine, and the new "Loren" to supplement the old Mackay radio directional equipment. Smoke and fire detecting apparatus, bridge-controlled CO2 fire extinguishers, etc., etc. Friday Jan. 2: Entered Sydney Heads before daylight in thick weather, and anchored at Watson's Bay for quarantine and immigration inspection. Docked at Circular Quay, right in the city, about 9:30. A most awful mess in handling passenger's baggage. It was after 2 P.M. when I got through Customs, and it would have been hours later had I not bribed a wharf laborer to root out my things and assemble them for Customs examination. The hand baggage of over 500 passengers was stacked on a narrow, covered deck, about 20 feet above wharf level. From there it was moved, one piece at a time, by sliding it down a steeply inclined, low-sided chute. Great amusement on the part of the wharfies when a suitcase jumped the side of the chute and landed on the wharf. A loose piece on the side of the chute pierced more than one suitcase as I watched. I rescued my typewriter and lighter baggage before passengers were forbidden to re-board the ship, then got a chiselling wharfie to handle the heavier pieces. All operations stopped an hour for lunch. It was plain to me from the beginning that the wharfies were resolved to make at least an eight-hour day of handling the baggage - perhaps a bit of overtime. Customs officers very decent and not too fussy. I declared some cigarettes and a few curios picked up at Pango. Was charged 15/6 per carton duty on the cigarettes. No opening of bags or inspection except in regard to declared articles. Letters from George Tate saying he was in Brisbane. No business I knew of to keep me in Sydney, and no business possible until after week-end. Decided to transfer passenger's baggage go to Brisbane by night train, and bought my ticket at the dock. The railway transfers passenger's baggage to the station and puts it on the train. Seemed a nice arrangement to me. Took only my brief case and hurried into town to call at the Australian Museum and present a letter of introduction to R. W. Robson, editor of P.I.M. Robson away and his office closed tight. At the Museum had a talk and afternoon tea with Dr. A. B. Walcomb, the Director. A geologist formerly on the faculty of Queensland University. Friendly enough, but not a man I would expect much of. Roamed the streets, looking in shop windows, and made visits to the bars of the leading hotels in the hope of finding someone I knew from the North or New Guinea. Found only a ship's passenger. Sydney is a real city, with a character of its own, but reminding one of both New York and San Francisco. Shops seem smallish after those of big American cities, but window display good. Prices apparently much lower than those in New Zealand - about present U.S. level. Clothing of most kinds is sold under a ration coupon system. Nine things in the windows. Women well turned out in summery cottons. Did not see a single example of the "new look". The slim, agile build of both men and women noticeable to a newcomer from the States. Brunettes are common enough here, but facial features are not cast in one mold, as in Auckland. For all their athletic appearance, the Sydneysites move with much less bustle in the streets than the pudgy New Yorkers. Practically every man wears a service man's badge on his coat lapel. Burma campaign moustaches are popular. The stylish hat has a wide brim, the crown is pinched down low all round like a Harlem pork-pie, the rim raked down in front and up behind. Peculiar style. My train left Central Station at 7:40 PM. I started without a sleeper berth, but managed to get one from the conductor.