Well now, if you can picture it, there I was, up before the birds, rubbing the sleep from me eyes, standing beneath the great steel arch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. The air was cool, fresh, that kind of salt from the ocean that fills your lungs and clears your head. And as that golden sun started creeping up, Sydney itself—well, it just sort of...woke up, like a city stretching after a long nap. The water sparkled, honest to God, and the skyline—ah, the skyline, with those crisp, glass towers shining and, of course, the Opera House just sitting there, elegant as ever, like someone who knows they're the center of attention but doesn't need to flaunt it. Even after all these years, I still get goosebumps remembering how the city felt then.My first time guiding a tour across Sydney…aye, I’ll always remember that. A bunch of us, wandering like kids at a carnival, stopping every few steps to gawk at something or other. That trip, it was the ignition for me wanderlust, you know? I saw in Sydney this wild, fearless mix—modern ambition with that old sense of storytelling, like any Irish city but with more palm trees and less rain. I knew from then on, I’d always be chasing that feeling, that crisp beginning to an adventure.From Sydney, where the energy is all sunrise and anticipation, I found meself in another shimmering city along the coast—can’t say which one was me favorite, but this particular spot had glittering towers mirrored perfectly in turquoise water. There’s a hum, a pulse you can feel when you’re close to the water but surrounded by skyscrapers—like the city and the sea are having a long chat, each refusing to give up the spotlight.We crossed these beautiful, old bridges with ironwork you’d swear was hand-tied, every arch and rivet telling stories of generations past. The thing I love about cities like that is how they blend the old with the new—you’ve got sandwich shops in buildings older than your grandparents, and then look to your left, a high-rise shooting into the clouds. At night, the lights come on like somebody flicked a switch, everything twinkling or glowing, dancing across the water. It’s magic, pure and simple.Actually—here's a good one—I wandered off from the group in this riverside city one night, you know, just letting the mood take me, and stumbled across this tiny café. The door was nearly hidden, but inside, it was packed—locals, not a tourist in sight. Turned out there was a live traditional music set going—one of those moments where you feel like you’ve slipped into someone else’s story for a while. I sat with a pint, listening to strings and whistles, absolutely delighted at the world’s kindness in letting me find it by accident.Now, it wouldn’t be a proper trip if you didn’t chase a bit of adrenaline, right? So off we went to a seaside amusement park—the kind with roller coasters so close to the ocean you can hear the waves underneath your screams. Kids laughing, adults screaming louder, sea breeze sharp on your face. There’s something brilliant about it, the mix of terror and laughter, the view of city towers as your stomach drops out from underneath you.And just as important, you need to find that bit of calm. After all the noise, we’d wander off towards a park—lush greenery, palm trees waving like old friends. I’d sit there, quiet now, just the sound of water and sailboats gliding by, and it’d reset me soul a bit. Where was I going with this? Oh right, balance! That’s the gift of travel—the wild energy and the silent pause.There was this one coaster, a proper scenic circuit—high up, giving you views over green hills, parks, even spots of the city stretching to the edge of the earth. Each twist and turn kind of mirrors the journey, you know? You’re flung about, heart racing, but every so often you come up for air and see something that makes you just stop...and take it all in. Adventure keeps you young, but pausing for the view keeps you wise, I think.One of the real joys—no, the best part—of travelling, is whenever you get the chance to dive deep into local traditions. I always try to throw meself into the mix—whether it’s hopping into a local dance, no matter how daft I might look, or sampling something sizzling and strange from a street food cart.The best stories come out of these conversations you strike up—like sitting beside an old fella on a park bench, listening to him talk about the city as it was fifty years ago, or chatting to a lass in the market who tells you where to find the real hidden corners. That’s where you find the heart of a place, not the postcards but the people.My best advice? If you’re after more than just what’s in the guidebook, just ask a local what you shouldn’t miss—it’s never the main square, it’s always something tucked down a lane or happening on a Sunday afternoon. You’ll come away with stories you’d never find otherwise, and maybe, if you’re lucky, a new friend or two.Evening comes, and cities—oh, they really show off then. Bridges shining like necklaces, streets pulsing with light and music floating out of every doorway. Some cities, they bloom after dark, don’t they? Street festivals with colors you’d never find in Ireland, laughter beaming out onto the cobbles.If you want a taste of a city’s true rhythm, go find where the live music is—could be in a crowded bar, or just a busker with a battered guitar under neon lights. I always tell folks: step outside, even if you’re tired—take in the sounds, dance a bit if the spirit moves you. Never mind if you don’t know the steps.And on the practical side—keep an eye out for transport options that run late, know your customs so you don’t end up in the wrong queue or ordering dessert when you mean the main course. The best night out is one you remember with a smile and only a little confusion about how you got home!Some of the finest memories aren’t made under famous arches or atop coasters, but in quiet neighborhoods where every shop feels stitched into the local fabric. Street art, tiny bookstores, little parks with just a few old men nodding over chess—these are the treasures you find off the main drag.If you want to really connect, try showing up at a community event, maybe buying produce at the market before breakfast, or even just greeting folks in their own language—even if your accent’s all wrong, it’s a kindness they won’t forget. People are the real landmarks, far as I’m concerned.For the curious, don’t just stick to maps—poke about with local guides, use the apps, check what folks are raving about on social if you’ve a mind for that—and let yourself wander. That’s how you find the stories you’ll really cherish. So keep exploring, friends; there’s always another hidden corner, another adventure calling. Until next time, may the road rise to meet you, and may your next journey be just around the bend.

Episodes

Bridges, Skylines, and Roller Coasters