After a grueling week of technical rehearsals and previews, "Long Day's Journey Into Night" has opened. For as many years as I've been in this business, and as many opening nights as I've seen, I never grow tired of that special celebration –- the ritual of opening a show, the communion between artists and audience, the acknowledgement of the thrill and value of creative work.

Since I've been here, there have been several first nights in the Sydney theater community, and the Sydneysiders have a tradition I'd love to see adopted by my Portland fellows. Every theater company sends good wishes to the show which is opening: They literally make a flier, have actors, designers, stage crew and staff sign it, and then they fax it to the opening show. It's simple, thoughtful and much appreciated by the recipients. We Americans say "break a leg," in the superstitious tradition that wishing good luck will bring bad fortune. For the same reason, the French say "merde," to trick the malicious theater spirits into believing that everything is already going wrong, so they needn't create more havoc (dancers say "merde" as well – I can't blame them for not wanting to consider the alternative). In Australia, they say "chookas." This means "chickens." I've had so many people wish chickens upon me I could open a Popeye's franchise.

My backstage area is like a hub of illegal activities – a fake distillery, sheets of freshly printed cash, scurrilous cigar preparation. Any cigar aficionados would be appalled at my wanton guillotining of perfectly good Coronas to preset a few butts on stage.

On opening night there is no fanfare. Director (and co-artistic director) Andrew Upton does not make a curtain speech. But there is that thrill in the air, that suspension between the worlds, when the house lights dim and the stage becomes alive. The performance goes off without a hitch. Four acts and three curtain calls later, it's on to the celebration! Sydney Theatre's lobby is jam-packed. The crowd, well-watered with good Australian Shiraz, enjoys co-artistic director Cate Blanchett's lovely congratulatory speech. She graciously acknowledges the staffs of both Sydney Theatre Company and Artists Rep by name: another Sydney tradition worth bringing home. So, on we go.

Tamarama Beach

Eight shows a week for the rest of the month, then home to Portland! Suddenly my time here has become precious, and I'm out and about as much as possible. On a brisk Sunday afternoon, vocal coach Charmian Gradwell and I visit Sydney's Eastern beaches by way of a cliff walk. A colorful, changing sky entertains us as we make our way along tan sandstone walls and green bluffs from North Bondi to Tamarama to Bronte Beach. Neoprene-clad surfers are out in a couple of spots, catching a fat wave or hoping for the next one. Charmian and I watch for whales (see none) and count a few cargo ship on the horizon, as they light their lamps. We head back just before twilight.

On a rainy Tuesday, I take the bus to the University of Sydney. Established in 1850, the school boasts a massive campus, and an array of architectural styles from its earliest Oxford-like gothic revival halls to the stunning New Law Building, an eye-catching glass and wood structure on the edge of Victoria Park. Housed in one of the oldest buildings is the Nicholson Museum. It's worth the trip to see an impressive collection of antiquities from Ancient Egypt, Greece and Cypriot, as well as a few treasures from the Roman Empire and the Near East. An immense portrait of Sir Charles Nicholson hangs in the first gallery. After a bumpy start in a Victorian orphanage, Sir Charles seems to have led a charmed life, and his legacy is well-maintained in this outstanding little museum. By the time I've had my fill of urns, statuary and mummies, the rain is coming down sideways. I take the bus to Chinatown for a hot bowl of noodles with roast duck and king prawns, and then it's off to the theater. Time to make the whiskey!

-- Stephanie Mulligan