Melbourne

I have always loved Melbourne. I suspect it is partially due to growing up in Tasmania and seeing her as the mecca of the mainland. The short flight across the strait and the highly anticipated landing at Melbourne Airport, known always as Tullamarine, signified the commencement of the immersion in the big smoke. My first visit was when I was 11 years old, a school trip that I barely remember, but the city has stayed with me always.

Melbourne is, as I see her, a grand dame. She is broad in the hips and adorned in relics of a well-lived past and a unique and multifarious present. The dame is not Sydney (shiny, flashy, perfected), nor Brisbane (a bastion of re-invention), not Canberra (planned and accessible) or Perth (brash and new) or any of the other fabulous cities of mainland Australia. Melbourne is more akin to some European cities with the CBD ringed by parks and interlaced with public transport networks that have become part of her finery. She does not conceal her flaws and cracks, she embraces them with a flourish. The city is not ashamed or abashed by her clattering noise, messes and sluggish waterway.

When I think of Melbourne I see trams, food, Flinders Street Station, the Yarra, graffiti, art, music, and bars, a multi-cultural, multi-social milieu society that somehow muddles along in poetic chaos. She’s busy, she’s quiet, she moves with an endless grace that I just love. To extend the metaphor I see her as an antiquated relative who has somehow mismatched her shoes, wears colours that clash and an ostentatious hat with an improbable feather. But is much loved because of it.

I love the little bars that once would have been called speakeasies. (Personal favourite is Rebel Rebel in Preston). You could walk past and not notice them if you weren’t looking. But inside is ambiance, eclectic décor, music (live or on vinyl), laid back bar staff and a feeling really far too cool for the likes of me. And yet there is a stool at the bar, or out the back for everyone. Dogs included. There is not one type here…like Melbourne itself…it’s an everyone is welcome kind of place.

And the trams! I’d go to Melbourne just to ride the transport system. For a writer it’s a paradise. Not good if you’re a bit fastidious and don’t want to spend a significant part of the trip under someone’s armpit. (I’m not very tall…it’s a life hazard). We catch the 86 most days. It never disappoints. There’s a story at every stop. The entrances and exits are 9 out of 10 times fabulous. I don’t think I’ve taken that route without coming away with a story. The tram takes you from Southern Cross, through East Melbourne, Fitzroy, Collingwood, Clifton Hill, Northcote, Thornbury, Preston and beyond. I could live in any of those suburbs and be a happy human. The eateries, art stores, bookshops, antiques and more appropriately second-hand emporiums are plentiful. Nothing like a browse through some of the oppos. (Opportunity shops). One in particular I’ve never been in because of the spider webs and there was the time my husband was kicked out of there for asking too many questions of the owner!

Food…every single cuisine. We’ve had a pretty good go and much of it. Favourites include DenDeke, Brunettis, Bang Bang and anywhere in Degraves St., Flinders Lane and Centre Place. Go for the food!

And of course she, Melbourne has her shiny spots. The developments along the river, entertainment, restaurants, casino vibes, shopping…endless shopping. The theatre scene, music, sport and galleries add to her sophistication. She is diverse if nothing else.

And she has her problems. Homelessness still shocks me. Evidence of the mental health crisis can’t be ignored. The police, poorly paid and upset about it, have their work cut out for them given the escalating crime rate. Something always seems to be set alight, or ram raided in Melbourne. There’s always a protest… a powerful and full-throttle demonstration for climate, for Palestine, freedom and human rights. These southerners are passionate. All part of the colour. All part of the story.

I have a child living in Melbourne. I’ve lost him to her. She has captured him with her wanton appeal and atmosphere. He is inspired by her. I don’t blame him. She is a siren with all the seductiveness of the creatures of Greek myths. (half bird, part-fish and a little human with an alluring voice - sounds a bit Melbourne like). He doesn’t always like the weather…Melbourne is renowned for interchangeable seasons in a single day. But so what…it’s only weather.

There’s so much more than rain, burning sunshine, blasting southerlies and sea fog to experience on any given day when you’re with the grand dame!

A city is not gauged by its length and width, but by the broadness of its vision and the height of its dreams. Herb Caen Journalist