How Did I Get Here? Part One: Melbourne.

Above all else, there is one thing I have noticed about Melbourne. That one thing is this thing: Melbourne is exactly like Adelaide, only bigger. But not really bigger in an exciting, adventurous way. Melbourne simply has everything Adelaide has, in bountiful quantities at inflated prices, and loads more shit. Melbourne is a town of live music. In Adelaide, folkster Grand Salvo and popster Guy Blackman would have played for free in a dark, crowded, smoky pub, on a small corner stage by the front window. In Melbourne, they play at a cocktail lounge selling $10 glasses of Bordeaux wine, in front of tables lit only by tiny candles. It also says something about my hometown that the only people we knew at the venue were a couple from Adelaide, who have moved for work and for music.

Melbourne has far better food than Adelaide, though, and at dirt cheap prices. Melbourne also has far better public transport, aside from those rather unfortunate moments when the trains get delayed due to murder. It has chains of supersized op shops; a traffic rule requiring drivers to turn right from the far left, just like Keith Windschuttle did in the 1980s; a library reading room with lime-green lamps; and, opposite this, a Japanese takeaway store where food is prepared before you have even finished ordering. (No, seriously: no sooner had I handed over my $20 note did we receive two containers of food, immaculately prepared, with separate rice and tofu sections, and cups of miso soup.) But most of all, Melbourne has Erica.

You'll read more about - hell, and from - Erica in the very near future. Suffice to say that Erica is how I got to Melbourne, and Erica is why I will be returning, early and often, in the near future.

My plane landed at Melbourne airport at 9.30pm, and after collecting my luggage I casually walked to the shuttle bus stop just outside the front door. A short, thin impatient man circled me three times, checking the timetables and attempting to peer over the top of my head. The bus wouldn't come for another fifteen minutes. Finally he approached, and in a slight accent asked if I had already purchased a ticket.

"No," I told him, attempting reassurance. "That machine will only take credit cards. I have cash, and we're able to buy tickets from the bus driver."

"It costs twenty dollars, right?"

"Yes, from the bus driver."

"Would you like to share a taxi? It can't be more expensive than the bus, with both of us."

So despite having never met, the two of us hailed a cab to Spencer Street station. This seemed like an excellent idea, until we started driving. Here's another thing about Melbourne: its taxi drivers are, really, quite something. Ours never indicated once to change lanes; turned right without checking any mirror; swore at all oncoming traffic, even that which appeared safely in other lanes; and answered his mobile phone to inform a friend of the Lebanese word for 'cockhead'. He then apologised if we were offended (by his language, not his driving), and took us to the train station. It was here that we realised that our trains were still fifteen minutes away, and thus this Taxi Adventure of Death had really been for naught.

I caught the Upfield train to Brunswick.


As I was taking this photo, a rather enthusiastic youngster asked whether he could pose for me. I declined his kind offer, and put my camera safely away. He and his friends then noticed the Virgin Blue ticket on my suitcase, and asked where I had come from. "Adelaide," I replied. They asked if Adelaide were bigger and more exciting than Melbourne. I felt as though I was depriving children of Santa Claus, but I did tell them the truth. Had I been to Broadmeadows?, they asked. I hadn't. Never been 'a the Meadows, hey? they replied. They told me I should visit. I'm not so sure, myself.

And then I alighted from the train, walked across the tracks, and stumbled into the bar to be greeted by the amazing Erica, in full costume. You might be interested to read that she plays music. On this night, she told her audience that she was waiting for a boy to catch a plane, then a bus (she was not told of my change of plans), then a train to meet her. For anyone listening, it would have been quite an interesting end to the tale to finally see her greet me by the door.

My week in Melbourne passed blissfully. It involved the following items:

Exhibit 1A: Interesting Business Ideas.


Exhibit 1B: Coffee Obsessions.

Exhibit 1C: Bizarre Solicitations on Toilet Cubicle Doors.

At the end of the week (or, since it was Monday, the start of a new one) I returned to Adelaide. Only a few days later Erica joined me, albeit briefly. That is her story to tell. But for now, I will leave you with a scene from Avalon Airport, and the knowledge that tomorrow I will again be travelling through the air. This time, Melbourne's not nearly far enough. By Saturday, I will be walking the streets of Copenhagen. Then the 'travel blog' part of this can truly begin.