SYDNEY — Hop a mere 14-hour flight from Los Angeles to here in July, and it’s as if the sun has decided to renege. Where it toiled past 8 p.m. back up and over there, it knocks off at just after 5 here, even in a land it legendarily adores. All of a sudden the physiology must grapple with the weaker winter light, even if pleasant days in the high 60s make it more a “winter” than a winter.
Life can seem a notch slower than peak in the great metropolis, even if not in the case of the Australian white ibis who walks right through the door of the Royal Botanic Gardens’ indoor cafe to mill around, scavenging.